Vanguard Prime Book 1

by Steven Lochran

  Contents

  Point of Origin

  The Round Table

  The Gallery

  The Red Death

  Prisoner Number 0158

  Escape

  A Foundation of Bodies

  A Warrior, Pure and Disposed

  All These Gods and Overmen

  Alone in the Dark

  Avenging Angels

  Written in Blood

  The Dragon’s Lair

  Thus Spoke the Overman

  Army of Me

  Fire from Above

  What Kind of Day Has It Been

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Steven Lochran wanted to be either a superhero or a writer when he grew up. He has now found a way to combine the two. He has a Bachelor’s Degree in Creative Writing and has worked as a film critic, a projectionist, a DJ and as a sales rep in the publishing industry. He lives in Melbourne with his fiancée Simone but you can find him online at www.stevenlochran.com. This is his first novel.

  For my parents, who lit the flame.

  And for Simone, who kept it burning.

  All kids dream of having superpowers.

  I know I always did. I would see superheroes on the nightly news and wish that I could be just like them. I’d imagine what it’d be like to fly, or turn invisible, or crush a tank into a tiny cube using nothing but my bare hands.

  But then I got superpowers. And my whole world changed.

  One day I was just a normal kid, like any other. Nothing special to see, no secrets to keep. The next I was on the way to a military base, to a life I never thought I’d live. And to be honest, to a life I’m not sure I ever really wanted, as much as I may have wished for it …

  I’ve got my headphones in and the volume turned up so high I don’t hear Dad telling me we’re here until he’s tapping my knee. He’s got this look on his face like we’re going to a funeral and the sick feeling in my stomach doubles. I pull off my headphones and get out of the car. It’s an overcast day and the air is thick with the threat of rain.

  I’ve never been on a military base before. It looks kind of like a great big parking lot surrounded by barbed wire with sheds dotted everywhere. The only way you can really tell that it’s military is because there’s a bunch of guys in uniforms marching in unison on a field of grass only a couple of hundred metres away.

  And they’re carrying rifles.

  ‘The soldier at the front gate said that we had to report to the visitor’s office, which I guess is … here.’ Dad gestures towards the tiny bungalow that crouches in front of us.

  We stop and he pops the boot of the car and pulls my luggage out. He hands the small bags to me and shoulders the large one. Mum supervises the operation like we’re hefting a house onto the back of a semi-trailer.

  ‘Be careful, Park,’ she says worriedly. ‘Don’t hurt yourself.’

  ‘It’s okay, honey, I’ve got it,’ Dad replies. But I can hear the pain in his voice and his face has turned grey. And for the hundredth time I glance guiltily at the cast on his right arm.

  We shuffle our way into the office, where a soldier sits behind a desk, his shaved head glinting under the fluorescent light. He looks confused by our sudden appearance, like he hasn’t seen civilians in a long time.

  ‘Good afternoon. How can I help you folks?’ he asks.

  ‘Hello,’ replies Dad. ‘We’re the Lee family. Our son Sam was asked to report here. He’s … um … joining Vanguard Prime.’

  ‘Park!’ Mum whispers. Not even five minutes in and Dad’s already blown my secret identity.

  ‘Oh,’ the soldier says, looking at me with surprise. ‘I see. Well, a transport will be arriving from the Round Table at fifteen hundred hours. Until then, your son is welcome to wait here.’

  ‘Fifteen hundred hours? That’s three o’clock, right?’ Dad asks. ‘We have to wait here for three hours?’

  ‘Unfortunately not, sir. While your son is authorised to be on the base, you and your wife’s authorisation extends only so far as dropping him off.’

  ‘Are you saying that we … that we have to go?’ Mum asks, wringing her hands.

  ‘That is what I’m saying, ma’am, yes.’ The soldier looks away and starts shuffling papers. He’s obviously finished with us.

  I don’t believe this! My parents have come halfway across the world – just for me – and now some stooge with a two-dollar haircut is telling them they can’t wait with me before a helicopter snatches me out of their lives? I step forward, about to say something, when I see their faces. They don’t look angry, and that’s the worst thing. They just look heartbroken.

  ‘Well, okay, son.’ Dad leans down to give me a hug. ‘Now, well … listen to whatever it is they have to tell you. And call us whenever you need to. Just ask to have the charges reversed and we’ll foot the bill.’

  ‘Okay, Dad,’ I say. He pats me on the back and shuffles to one side.

  Mum rushes forward to pull me into a crushing embrace. ‘Call us every week, okay? Let us know how you’re going. If you want to call more than that, that would be just fine. We’ll write to you, too. And I’ll send you a package with all your favourite things in it. And I’ll make sure to take Booster for a walk every afternoon.’

  It’s pretty obvious she’s talking to keep from crying. And now she’s mentioned my dog, I’m finally realising just how much my life is about to change. But I take that thought and the feeling that comes with it and bury them both as deep as I can.

  ‘I love you, Sam.’ She finally kisses me on the cheek and steps back.

  ‘I love ya, son,’ Dad says, patting me on the head.

  ‘C’mon, guys,’ I say quietly, glancing at the soldier. He’s still shuffling papers, but I swear I see him smirk. ‘It’s not forever.’

  There’s an awkward silence. We haven’t really talked about exactly how long I’ll be gone. I don’t think they know any more than me.

  ‘Well … we better get going, I guess,’ coughs Dad.

  They take uncertain steps towards the door, looking back at least a dozen times before they settle into the car and Dad turns the ignition.

  I put on a brave face as they drive away, raising my hand in a small wave, and I try my best to ignore the feeling that’s sitting in the pit of my stomach, telling me that my world has just caved in on itself …

  Briefing Room of the Neohuman Operations Committee, Allied Nations Headquarters, New York

  Fifteen figures sit along a polished oak table. Their expressions are grave and the conversation is hushed, ranging from the military build-up along the Korean border to the nuclear ambitions of a formerly third world nation. Each speaks with the utmost authority – in between questions about golfing handicaps and stock market tips.

  At one end of the table, a chair is conspicuously empty. At the other end, a dark-suited, serious-faced man clears his throat. Everyone falls silent.

  ‘Thank you,’ says the Chairman. ‘I’m afraid Major Blackthorne is unable to attend our briefing this week, and will instead be speaking to us via conference call.’

  He gestures at the speakerphone set up in the middle of the table.

  ‘Major Blackthorne, are you there?’

  Somewhere over the North Pacific Ocean …

  Thousands of feet above a stony sea, an experimental aircraft stabs its way through a thick swathe of clouds. Inside its armoured hull a pilot sits, all his attention on the jet’s controls. In the back, a lone shadow looks out at the horizon from behind a pair of black aviators.

  ‘Mr Chairman. Members of the Committee. My apologies for not being able to meet with you in person, but I’m currently en route to collect our newest member.’

  ‘It’s unfortunate, Major Blackthorne,’ the
Chairman’s static-blistered voice blasts through the headphones, ‘but I suppose it will have to do. If you could please commence with the briefing.’

  ‘Certainly, Mr Chairman. As you’re already aware, we have a relatively low number of Incidents and Operations this week. The Knight of Wands investigated the industrial thefts in Munich. As outlined in the briefing reports before you, he found no links to the Major Arcana or any other neohuman terrorist organisation and passed the matter onto Europol and other associated agencies.

  ‘Our only Incident was, of course, the headline-maker. At roughly twelve hundred hours local time, neohuman designate Cronus – no known aliases – resurfaced after nineteen months of being off-grid and flew into what was a reportedly unprovoked rampage in the Quebec CBD.’

  In the darkened briefing room, grainy security footage of an armoured giant flashes up on the plasma screens that surround the table. The giant is wearing a chrome helmet that hides his face completely. A single horn jutting from his brow gives him a demonic appearance.

  ‘Both Agent Alpha and Gaia were mobilised to deal with the situation. The Knight of Wands had gone quiet during his Munich operation and was unable to respond. The situation was deemed too dangerous to send Machina into, though she was kept on standby should her intervention prove to be necessary.

  ‘Response time was one hour and 56 minutes, during which there were 82 casualties and 306 injured. Agent Alpha and Gaia were transported in via a hypersonic TalbotTech Industries X-84 Kittyhawk, one of five that we have in current operation. They had military support with numbers and details outlined in your reports – all troops, pilots and crew were ordered to intervene only at the command of Agent Alpha, Gaia or myself.

  ‘At roughly fourteen hundred hours, Agent Alpha and Gaia engaged Cronus. Their initial attempts to subdue him were met with … resistance.’

  An African-American man clad in a blue bodysuit flashes up on the monitor. The metal monster swings a huge fist at him and smacks him through the wall of a bank. The concrete smashes under his weight in a cloud of dust and debris. Barely a moment later, the blue-suited man flies out of the crater with electricity spewing from his fists and streaming from his eyes, ready to attack.

  Not a single person around the oak table so much as blinks.

  ‘Between the two of them, Agent Alpha and Gaia overcame Cronus’s defences. Gaia was able to circumvent the magic-based protection surrounding the target’s armour. This allowed Agent Alpha to render him unconscious with a barrage of electromagnetic and thermal energy. Full operation time was twenty-eight minutes.’

  ‘You’ll agree, Major Blackthorne …’ interrupts the Chairman, ‘… that twenty-eight minutes is, for Vanguard Prime, twenty minutes too long.’

  ‘Yes, sir,’ the Major replies without hesitation. ‘We’re analysing mission logs in detail to determine how we can improve our performance in future operations. Cronus is currently detained at Fort Kirby while preparations are made to transport him to the Round Table.’

  ‘Good. Now tell us about this new recruit. He’s very young, isn’t he?’

  ‘Only a couple of years younger than Machina, sir.’

  ‘Who herself is quite young.’

  ‘Yes, sir. In any case, his name is Samuel Lee. His powers first manifested just over three months ago. Though the incident occurred in public, we’ve been able to effectively cover it up with a story about a gas-leak explosion. There was too much chaos for anyone to get a clear idea of what actually happened. Details, including a full list of civilian injuries that directly resulted from the manifestation, are outlined on page sixty-four of your reports.’

  The group rapidly flips through the pages.

  ‘This is a high number of injuries for someone whose power revolves around super-speed,’ says the Chairman.

  ‘We believe it had to do with both the sonic boom he created when he hit top speed and the force-field he generates when he’s in motion, sir.’

  ‘Force-field?’

  ‘Yes, sir. We’ve been unable to determine the nature of it as yet. The initial theory was that it’s a bubble of supercharged plasma that he somehow generates around himself, but that’s since been ruled out. All other tests have so far been inconclusive.’

  ‘I take it this is the reason he’s being brought onboard?’

  ‘That’s correct, sir. He doesn’t know it, but Sam Lee could well prove to be one of the most powerful neohumans on the face of the planet. If the wrong people were to get their hands on him, it could mean the end of everything …’

  I’ve been sitting in the waiting room for what feels like a thousand years when I hear the sound of jet engines. The battery in my MP3 player has died and I finished my book on the plane, so any kind of distraction is welcome, especially as the soldier at the desk seems determined to ignore me.

  I plop the ancient copy of Time magazine on the coffee table – in desperation I had just started mentally cataloguing the kinds of shoes people were wearing in its pictures – and get up to look out the window.

  The clouds open up and a jet emerges like a messenger from the gods, speared by sunshine. Its descent is fluid and precise, almost graceful. It lands in a whirlwind and its hull opens up. A shadow rises from the jet. I start with surprise. It’s a woman.

  It looks like someone has poured silver over her head, allowing it to set into sleek, silky strands that frame her face. She’s wearing a black suit – so black it’s like somebody died – and a pair of black aviators. She’s young, slim, in control. She looks less like a military officer and more like the person who just took out the military officer with a single punch. She leaps down from the jet in a single movement and strides into the tiny visitor’s office.

  She spots me instantly, shooting me a look that could flatten a tidal wave.

  ‘Sam Lee?’ she asks.

  I assume I nod my head. To be honest, at that exact moment it feels like my mind is floating five metres outside of my body.

  ‘I’m Major Dominique Blackthorne, and you’re coming with me. You’ve just become a superhero.’

  I’m sitting in a state-of-the-art hypersonic jet looking down at an ocean that seems to be alive, the waves crashing and churning in the same way that my guts are crashing and churning. And across from me sits a woman with platinum hair, secretive eyes and a grand plan that somehow involves me.

  ‘We’ll be arriving shortly. Once we’ve landed, I’ll take you on a quick tour and introduce you to some key personnel. Then we’re going to get you fitted. The measurements that were done a few weeks ago would have been accurate, but we’ll get to see how the suit fits you in person now. Do you have any questions?’

  To be honest, I haven’t been paying much attention to what she’s been saying. I’be been distracted by the long thin scar that runs down the right side of her face. A scar that leads almost perfectly to her full red lips. I close my eyes, shake my head and look out at the restless sea below. ‘Nope. No questions. Sorry.’

  What feels like a fog descends on us, and it takes me a few moments to realise it’s actually cloud coverage. We’re lost in its haze for a good ten minutes with nothing but the sound of the engines to break the silence.

  We finally punch through the clouds, the sunshine streaming down on us, and I get my first look at the place I’ll be calling home.

  ‘The STOVAL-RT68 class supercarrier, the largest warship in the world,’ Major Blackthorne says. ‘Otherwise known as the Round Table.’

  I can’t say I’ve ever been much of a military buff, unless you count playing video games or watching the occasional war movie with Dad on a rainy Sunday afternoon. But as I’m staring down at this glistening giant – an entire city in the middle of the ocean – I feel a rush like nothing I’ve ever felt before. Whether that’s a good thing or not, I have no idea.

  We start our descent towards the massive ship, and I can’t help craning my neck to get a good view of it.

  Major Blackthorne moves over and sits down in the
chair beside me. ‘With six giant hydrofoil-style struts supporting a unique circular flight deck and hull, the Round Table is over 2000 feet in diameter, weighs in at 300,000 gross tonnes, carries 150 fixed-wing fighters and helicopters and has a complement of over 7000 crew.’

  She rattles off the figures like she’s given this speech more than a few times, and I’m pretty sure I spot the faintest glimmer of a smirk. ‘Pretty cool, huh?’

  I can only manage a small gulp in response.

  When we land, I’m expecting a lurching sensation and a sudden thump, but instead we land softer and smoother than an elevator. I’m so surprised that for a minute I don’t even think we’ve touched down, but then the Major is throwing me my bags and I get the idea.

  As I step out onto the sleek surface of the ship, I’m flooded by a weird sensation. I hesitate. I realise that this is the moment that everything – absolutely everything – changes forever. It’s a huge thing to deal with, but before I can even think about it a crewmember comes rushing in and rips my bags out of my hands and the moment is gone.

  ‘They’ll be waiting for you in your quarters,’ the Major says as the guy makes off with them. ‘If you’ll follow me.’

  I wonder if she noticed my hesitation. And as I stumble after her I’m suddenly reminded of stepping through the doors of my high school for the first time and having a ball thrown at my head by a crowd of jeering Year Twelves. Lost in memories, I fail to notice the ship’s main tower, which rises up like a miniature skyscraper from the centre of the deck.

  ‘The bridge is at the top of that tower,’ the Major says. ‘It’s from there that Captain Gage oversees everything. Should the Round Table come under attack, the tower can recede below deck. There are over forty weapons systems located beneath panels across the ship’s surface, and all aircraft can be launched vertically from platforms that rise from the hangars located in the hull.’

  ‘So the whole ship is kind of like a giant robot turtle,’ I muse.