Blanc tilts his head and examines the animal, inspecting the body while looking for strengths and possible weaknesses. He likes what he sees and the possibilities it presents.
He grunts in acknowledgement of Deshan's statement, refusing to even grant this woman, who is one of the most brilliant minds in the world, a modicum of respect. She is not his equal. She is an employee, an underling. He can never give her more than that.
"Pack it up and prepare for transport," he says matter-of-factly. He continues to look at the creation and thinks about his next steps.
"Sir," Deshan says, her voice hesitating. She doesn't want to speak out of turn, doesn't want to disturb the great man even a little bit, but she has to. "There are still elements to refine. More iterations to go through. This was not intended as a final—"
He holds up his hand and she goes silent instantly.
There is a knot in her stomach. This is clearly out of line and she has overstepped her boundaries. She wouldn't have, not normally, but it needed to be said.
"Prepare for transport," he replies.
She looks down at the ground, chastened by his reprimand. She worries about the repercussions of her actions, already terrified that she might lose access to this facility, to this technology. She can't go back to normalcy. Not anymore. She bites her lower lip, willing herself to keep quiet. He knows what's best.
Finally, Blanc turns to her, his eyes so focused on her that she can nearly feel their weight leaning against her.
"I know you're aware of the developments that have occurred."
Carla Logan, she thinks.
"The timeline for Danmoc has to be accelerated. Your work will continue here but we have to execute, in the field. "
"Yes sir," she says quietly, the small spark of rebellion snuffed out by his sheer force of will. She never had a chance. When Madden Blanc demands that something happens, it happens. It is only a question of how soon, not "if." She knows that and it is a lesson she won't forget, ever.
She makes a slight bow to him and walks away to begin the preparations.
Blanc turns back to the animal, who has been staring intently at him this entire time. There is no sign of real intelligence, just ingrained obedience. In the creature's primitive mind there are simply base animal instincts, imprinted in cumulative generation after generation of genetic tampering and engineering.
The creature recognizes Blanc's face and other physical features, not with any real understanding of who he is or his influence and power, but with a compulsion that this man is owed devotion and obedience. It is the primal instinct that bonds a man with a dog, but with an even deeper connection and without the love and mutual respect usually found in such connections with domestic animals.
Like his employees, like the mercenaries that work for him, and like so much of the rest of the world, Danmoc is owned by Madden Blanc. Owned completely.
Blanc knows this – he designed it. It was one of the additions he laid out in the creature's genetics to compliment the advanced technology and science offered by The Overseers.
He believes this animal can do what he has in mind: Eliminate Carla Logan. With her out of the way, the slate can be wiped clean. The Overseers can be dealt with and he can reassess his relationship with his alien benefactors.
The superpowered woman has shaken things up and while Blanc dislikes the lack of control and the way her emergence exposed the power imbalance in his alien relationship, he also appreciates that it has taken him out of his comfort zone.
Maybe he had grown too complacent.
The creature makes a soft groan that emanates through the water and against the glass.
"Soon," Blanc quietly whispers to the animal. It doesn't understand him. It doesn't need to. It feels only devotion. That's enough.
Chapter 64
Sometimes I just fly over the city without any destination in mind. It's quiet up here, especially since D.C.'s airspace is severely restricted. It's just me and the President's helicopters. Not even a toy drone is allowed up here.
So far nobody's said I can't fly around. I don't know if the laws apply to someone floating around without an airplane or hot air balloon or anything but my own two feet. I'm just impossible enough to create my own loophole, I guess.
I'm over Georgetown, admiring the rich folks and their nice homes. It's a far cry from Dad's modest spot, but I bet it's not nearly as cozy and homey. That said, you can't beat the square feet and a nice chimney.
I get closer to the business district and then the clubs. I hear some thumping pop music and slow my roll to listen. Taylor likes all this stuff and knows every name. I quit keeping track of it back in high school. Moved on to important, serious things. And now I've got even bigger concerns. It's always something and I can't ever really relax, not completely.
Can I?
I feel more in control than usual; I have to admit. Maybe it's because I can fly and lift cars (I picked up a Camry a couple days ago and didn't break a sweat), but there's been a change. When I stop and smell the roses for a second, I have to concede that I like it.
I can't of course concede any of this to Taylor, but she knows anyway. She's not stupid and she knows me. She can read me almost as well as Dad. To her credit she's not needling me with "I told you so." Not yet, at least, though I bet it's coming.
I'm bopping along to the music and about to fly to another part of the city when I notice something.
The lights of the club are visible from up here and you can see a few feet away from the sides of the club but then it drops off into darkness. A figure steps out from what looks to be a side entrance, walking down an alleyway. All alone.
Then another figure steps out a few feet behind the first.
The first figure is moving in sort of a zig-zag pattern walking to the end of the alley but not making a direct path of it.
Drunk, I assume.
You expect to see that out here, especially in the nighttime. But then it happens.
The second figure begins running for the first. He isn't drunk. He makes a beeline in the direction of the first.
Then she screams.
I make fists with my hands. Time to get to work.
Go.
I fly down, toward the alley. I can see them clearer. The first figure is a young woman, maybe a little younger than me. She's wearing a yellow cocktail dress with some extremely shiny material. She's in heels and trying to run away but it's not easy.
The second figure is a thick, burly man and thanks to a dim streetlight I can see the knife in his hand.
Faster.
My body zooms down to the alley and in seconds I'm above him. In one swift motion I reach below me, and I grab hold of the back of his neck.
Casually I lift him up and it feels no heavier than a paperback book.
"The hell," he sputters.
I stop flying and I hold him, dangling from my hand. He tries to walk but his feet move uselessly through the air.
The woman has stopped running and is instead staring at the two of us, her mouth wide open and in surprise.
"Are you okay?" I ask.
She nods slowly.
"Let me go," the would-be assailant demands.
I will myself to fly a few feet higher.
"Are you sure?" I ask.
"No! No, no, no," he replies, audible fear in his voice. I like how helpless he sounds. I like how he went from predator on the prowl, trying to do God knows what to this woman just seconds ago, to helpless and useless. It is a feeling of power that is almost as good as my, well, powers.
"Xtra," the woman says, slightly slurring her letters. I'm not used to the name, but more and more people have been using it. Once something like this catches on in the press it's hard to curtail. Taylor started using it in her videos about me and people have begun treating those like they're official. I guess they are. So I guess that's my name now?
I look down at her in response.
"Thanks," she says. "I thought he was g
oing to—"
"It's okay. I've got him. This guy won't hurt anyone tonight. None of them will."
I float up, on my way to the police station to drop him off. He squirms a little at the height, but I don't even acknowledge him. He's not worth it. He's unworthy. All these scumbags are.
I can stop them. All of them.
I'm the Xtra, right?
Chapter 65
It is morning, Taylor is terrified and I am enjoying it way too much.
Over the last couple weeks, she has flown with me a couple times, because of course if your best friend in the world can fly, you have to take advantage of it, right? But maybe I didn't notice before because it was just as new to me as it was to her, but as we make our way to our destination, I can see how scared she is.
I'm carrying her in my arms and her hand is tightly clasped around my neck. If it wasn't for my invulnerable skin, she would have cut off my circulation with her death grip.
I shouldn't enjoy this, but I am. For years she has been the one who made me cringe, pushing me to do this, that, and the other thing. I'm usually the one flopping around like a fish out of water while she's calm, cool and collected. Now the tables have turned.
"Doing okay?" I ask, fully aware of how tight her eyes are closed.
"No," she tersely responds. "Can't you fly at like super-speed or something? This seems like it's taking forever."
"I can go a little faster." I can go a lot faster. I've been testing my flying speed and have felt the sonic boom shake across my skin when I break through the sound barrier. I'm able to fly faster than I can move otherwise, and I don't know why. The rules and logic associated with these powers don't seem to operate on science as I know it, not that I'm an expert.
But then how much of any of this can truly make "sense"?
"So then—"
"Well I thought you'd want to take in our historic city. See the sights, landmarks from the air. People come from all over the world to see what we've got here."
"And they do it from the ground, like normal people. I've lived here for years, I don't need the tour bus route, especially not from up here."
I feel her adjust, pulling herself in to a tighter ball and it's everything I can do to avoid busting out into a giant laugh. I keep thinking I should feel bad about this but the humor keeps getting in the way.
I think about when she pushed me out into the lobby and it feels like a lifetime ago. I'm a different person now. A powerful person.
I'm the Xtra, I think. The name keeps growing on me. Taylor says its "branding" and that we need to "take advantage of it." She's proposed a logo, t-shirts, and a whole host of other grand schemes and plans.
Right now, however, she just wants to make it through the flight alive.
"Washington Monument," I announce, trying to keep my voice somewhat monotone, emulating one of D.C.'s ubiquitous tour bus drivers.
For half of a second, she opens an eye and closes it right back up when she sees how far above the iconic obelisk we are. Just across the street from the monument is the African-American museum, three stacked tiers of modern architecture that sticks out from the classic Roman style of such much of the rest of the city. Ahead of us is the wide-open grassy expanse of the National Mall, which runs for several uninterrupted blocks, ending in the U.S. Capitol.
I pour on the speed and head toward the iconic building. It is second nature at this point I've done it so often. Flying feels like something I have been doing my entire life. I couldn't imagine it a few weeks ago, I didn't even like going up in a plane. Now here I am, above it all.
"You should see it," I say.
"I'll buy a postcard. They're cheap. I can even buy an expensive one with a three-pack. I'd prefer that than floating over it."
"You don't trust me?"
"You know I do but – how are you not scared out of your mind up here?"
"A smart woman I know told me that sometimes I just have to be bold and then roll with the punches."
"That woman is an idiot."
I grin and we pass over the Capitol. All of those powerful men down there, every day, so self-important and full of themselves. But when I'm here, above them, they have to look up to a black woman. For a change.
"Whoa," I say as we close in on our destination.
"Oh God, what? Are you crashing? We're crashing. Your powers are gone and we're going to crash. I don't want to die. I don't—"
"Shut up. Look."
"Carla, no. I told you it's too scary."
"Trust me, you big dummy. Look."
I slow down. She's still gripping me. Even at my new strength I feel almost like I can maybe feel her hand; it's squeezing that hard.
Taylor opens her eyes, slowly and tentatively. She's looking at me and I can see right away she doesn't like how calm I appear with the big, goofy grin I've got plastered on my face right now.
"My eyes are open. I don't see anything."
"Look over there," I say using my chin to point behind her.
She sighs, tensing herself up as she moves her head away from mine. She trusts me but she doesn't want to do this.
Now you know how it feels.
She finally looks down and sees what I have been seeing.
"Holy cow," she quietly declares.
Chapter 66
There must be thousands of people lining the sidewalk below us. They are an undulating, rowdy, mass of humanity. The scene looks like something you'd see after a sports team won a championship or, particularly in D.C., a presidential inauguration.
But they're not here for that.
They're here for me. Even from up here I can see the signs. "Xtra." "We love you Xtra." "Xtra for president." And it goes on and on.
It takes my breath away and I can't help but think of my mom. I would love if she could have seen this. I immediately think: She is, and she's seeing it through my eyes.
"Cool, huh?"
"Oh my God, Carla." She looks back at me with excitement, then out at the crowd, then back to me. I guess she forgot to be afraid in the middle of the excitement.
I feel like I've been given a shot of adrenaline. It's like the moment when I first jumped in front of the bullet, only somehow more so. I drift a little closer and that's when they see us.
There is a giant roar from the crowd and it is so loud I can almost feel it. There's more hooting and hollering and now my smile has gone extra wide. I'm sure I look like an idiot blissed out of my mind on something. It is definitely a high.
I can see them clearer now and it's all types of people. Young, old. Skinny, fat. Short, tall.
There are a lot of black people. A lot.
My cheeks feel warm.
"This is nuts," Taylor says. "And everything about you is nuts now. But this is really, really nuts."
"Yeah," I quietly reply, sounding like a kid who has just woken up from a dream. Only this isn't a dream. This is my real life now.
It's one thing to see all the crazy coverage on TV, to watch the clips of my actions get shared and commented on through social media, to see the viewership numbers for those video clips just climb and climb.
It's a whole other thing to see people on the streets cheering your name. Even for The Xtra, that's extra.
For the first time in our flight today, I'm the nervous one.
Taylor, on the other hand, is back to her usual self. Having abandoned her fear of flight she is now busily snapping photos of the crowd with her phone.
"Get closer," she instructs me.
And I do.
The crowd loves it.
"You go, girl," one man yells. "Yeah baby," another one bellows.
I look down the street and I see our destination: The Herald-Examiner building.
What the heck, I think, and decide to make a splashy entrance. It isn't often this kind of opportunity presents itself and I figure it's okay to make a little indulgence for a change. I've been a good girl.
Treat yourself.
I lower and lower us a
nd each time I get closer to the ground the cheering gets louder.
"Carla!" "Xtra!" They yell. There's even someone who yells out "Taylor."
I land in the middle of the street and put Taylor down. The roar from the crowd is deafening.
They're on the side of the street and we're standing right in the middle of the scrum. They're on either side of us and in front and behind us. I scan the crowd and their faces are all in various stages of happiness. Over the moon.
I catch sight of an older black woman with an ornate hat. She's carrying a sign that reads simply "Blessed." She looks at me and nods.
A few people away from her is a tall blonde woman, about my age. She just keeps nodding enthusiastically up and down. A balding white man in gray sweats isn't far away and he's got a pair of inflatable sticks they sell at soccer matches and he's banging them together in an excited frenzy.
It's like that, over and over, for blocks in all directions.
I give them a small wave and the cheer in response is deafening.
Jesus.
"They love you," Taylor says, her voice in awe.
"I guess so."
"Girl." She puts her hand on my shoulder. "They love you. Look at them. Young, old, black, white. They love you."
I'm a little afraid to admit it. This seems like a dream. I don't want to wake up from it and it's as if I acknowledge it too much, that's exactly what will happen.
I ponder it for a second. That would be just as strange as what has happened to me so far.
Surreal.
This is real. This is real.
I start walking toward the building and I soak it in. I'm taking my time. It feels like there's an extra something lifting me up, like Taylor pushing behind me in that lobby, but with thousands of hands behind me this time.
It's real.
Just ahead of us there's one little girl holding a piece of construction paper almost as large as her entire body. She makes a few steps forward, pauses, then walks again. The little thing is nervous as a lamb and I can recognize the fear and trepidation on her face in an instant.
The Xtra- Volume One Page 14
