by Samit Basu
“Yes, but face it, Aman, we’re not going to kill him,” says Tia. “But we can’t let them on the island,” says Aman.
“Isn’t this the Japanese billionaire you wanted to work with?” asks Rowena.
“Yes,” says Aman. “But his response to being kidnapped is really not what we wanted.”
“What should we do?” asks Rowena.
“Maybe you and Ulrik should take the sub out for a spin,” says Tia.
“No, we’re surrounded,” says Aman.
“I want to stay,” says Rowena. “I’m a part of your team now.”
“Sorry about that,” says Aman. “Tia. Options.”
“Well, they’re knocking very hard. We might have to let them in. We’ll show them our gardens and science labs and hopefully they’ll go back to fighting sea creatures,” says Tia. “I don’t know why they’re pushing it so far, but they know we know who they really are. And that we can tell the world in a second.”
Aman looks troubled. “I knew we should have found more fighters.”
Tia Prime walks up to him and clasps his shoulders.
“Relax,” she says, and kisses him.
“Can you make them go away quickly?” asks Aman. “I’ve missed you.”
“You go and hide behind a curtain or something,” says Captain Tia. “I’ll deal with this.”
* * *
Tia hails Norio, and they link. The underwater signal is weak, and Norio’s helmet-covered head flickers as it materialises in the control chamber. Norio sees Captain Tia clearly enough, though, with ARMOR’s signal amplifier. She looks extremely annoyed.
“Stalker,” she says.
“Sorry,” says Norio. “But if I’d asked you to bring me here, you’d have said no.”
“What do you want?”
“Aren’t you going to ask me how I found you?”
“You’ll just say Azusa’s a really good detective.”
Norio smiles, and Tia wonders whether he looked this wolfish when they’d spoken last.
“Let me in,” he says.
“No.”
“Then I’ll huff and I’ll puff,” says Norio, as his mecha comes up close to the side of the lair.
“We have missiles, you know. Lots of them.”
“Pacifists with missiles. Inconvenient. We can threaten each other as long as you like, Tia. But one of my team needs to use a toilet. So let me in.”
“Ask him to step outside. It’s only the bloody ocean. What do you want, Norio?”
“I want to meet Aman Sen.”
Tia sighs and crosses her arms.
“You have more trouble accepting his death than I do, Norio,” she says. “And we were really close.”
“Let’s run a little test,” says Norio. “I’m putting you on mute, so you can’t tell my teammates my name.”
He switches on the mecha’s primary communicator.
“Raiju? Your phone is on, isn’t it?”
“Yes,” comes the abashed reply a few seconds later.
“Could you tell all your followers where you are and what you’re doing, please? Let them know who lives here.”
“I don’t know who lives here.”
“Aman Sen.”
“Really?”
“Just do it, please?”
Tia gestures angrily on the holo-screen.
“Okay. Done,” says Raiju.
“Now check whether you can see your update.”
“I can’t.”
Norio’s smile is cold.
“Network, probably. I’ll keep trying,” says Raiju.
“Don’t bother,” says Norio. He switches off the com, turns to Tia, and moves her volume up with a gesture.
“Aman’s alive,” he says. “I want to meet him.”
“He left behind online protocols that would—”
“Don’t bother. Let me in.”
“No.”
They glare at each other in silence for a few seconds.
“I have bigger guns than you do,” says Tia. “I don’t want to use them. I’m sorry, but there are secrets on this island that are important to the world. Please, Norio. You don’t know what you’re asking. Just trust that I only want good things for you. I’m no danger to you. Go away. Please.”
“I wish I could,” says Norio. “I hate this conflict. But there’s something I have to do, something that will save the world, and I can’t do it without Aman.”
Tia frowns and studies his face, but cannot read it.
“Tell me,” she says.
“You know how all the psychics say the world’s ending soon?”
“They always do.”
“Well, it’s true this time. And only I – we – can stop it.”
“I’m bored,” says Tia. “And since you’re not going away, I’m telling all the world’s journalists everything there is to know about ARMOR.”
“I honestly don’t care any more,” says Norio, his voice strangely fervent. “I’m too close now to go back.”
“Oh, and I’m taking all your money. I hope you have spare cash.”
“None of this matters to me, Tia,” says Norio. “I may not even survive this mission. But I have everything I need to finish it, except Aman. There’s nothing you can say that will make me turn back. Fire at me if you have to, but I’m coming in. If I die, so be it.”
“All right then,” says Tia.
An alarm beeps in Norio’s control sphere. His mecha’s sensors tell him that missiles in the base have locked on.
“You’d really kill me?” he asks.
“I’ve killed before,” says Tia.
“Sundar dies if I die,” says Norio.
Tia’s gaze wavers. “Sundar built your mechas,” she says. “I knew it.”
“Well, he designed them,” says Norio. “I had them built. But yes, it’s his work. His last work, as it turns out. Goodbye.” He waves his hand, and the holo-screen disappears. Goryo’s demon-mecha powers up, plasma cannons emerging, ready for a desperate charge at Aman’s base.
Overriding Norio’s communication systems, a holo-screen pops up in front of his face.
“Let’s talk,” says Aman.
* * *
Goryo, Amabie and Oni dock into the submarine bay. A squadron of grim, rifle-toting Tias escort them out of their mechas. Oni staggers off with a Tia. Norio attempts casual banter, but these Tias do not respond. They wait until Norio and Azusa have taken off their armour-suits, and then frogmarch them through stalactite caverns and metal corridors until they reach Aman’s war room. Three Tias stay in the room, guns casually pointed at Norio and Azusa.
* * *
Norio’s face lights up when he sees Aman, and all the threatening things Aman had planned to say disappear in a barrage of compliments. Aman had quickly looked up appropriate formal bows, but Norio is almost American in his greetings. Thankfully, he stops short of being European. It is only when a Tia tells Norio firmly to shut it, that this effusiveness stops. Norio sits down at the head of the long conference table, three chairs away from Aman, and grins ruefully. Azusa stands beside him, staring coldly at the security Tias.
“I have behaved terribly so far,” Norio says. “From the bottom of my heart, I apologise.”
“Well, I suppose we started it,” says Aman. “Tell us, then. What’s the plan?”
“I want you to come back with me to Tokyo,” says Norio. “There’s a new armour waiting there that’s just your size. It’s like the one Jai Mathur wears – he stole it from you, didn’t he?”
“That was a long time ago,” says Aman. “And I don’t know if I want more armour. I’m no fighter.”
“The armour is just a gift. So you will be safe in the world outside, and will have no reason to hide any more,” says Norio. He stands up, his eyes shining. “I don’t expect you to offer your unique services for nothing. As for whatever you’re building here, whatever you’re planning to do, the Hisatomi zaibatsu has considerable resources that are now at your disposal. Do you bui
ld machines here? We specialise in rare metals, you know. Indium, neodymium, gallium, whatever you want. You obviously have all the money you need, but believe me, I have systems. All yours. No obligations.”
“That’s very generous,” says Aman. “But I don’t need to run an industrial empire.”
“Yes, but you do need an offline presence to match—”
“Secondary,” says Aman firmly. “What do you want from me?”
“Many things. But I do not come to you empty-handed. I come to you with hospitals, a fleet, a—”
“Stop,” says Aman.
“No, don’t,” says a voice from the door.
Rowena slides in. “Rowena, go back to your room,” says a Tia behind Azusa. “We’ll talk later.”
“I want to know more about the hospitals,” Rowena says. “I’m sorry for butting in, but I need patients.”
Norio surveys Rowena with great interest. “What do you do?” he asks.
“She’s not a super,” says Aman. “She’s our base doctor, and she’s leaving.”
But Rowena stays where she is.
Norio shuffles a chair closer to Aman and a Tia comes up behind them.
“I’ve noticed bad things happen when you move around,” she says.
Norio waves apologetically and leans closer.
“Do you know how my father died?” he asks.
“Yes,” says Aman. “And I thought you’d refused to work with supers after that.”
“I had,” says Norio. “But a man can change. Sometimes a man has to, when the whole world is at stake.”
He moves another chair closer, but Tia stops him with a poke of her rifle.
“Sorry, sorry, I’m just overexcited,” says Norio, raising his visibly shaking hands and placing them, palms down, on the table. “This is just too big for me. I have this plan. It’s all clear in my head, but now that I’m actually here, my tongue is tied in knots. I cannot believe I’m about to embark on this glorious adventure with Aman Sen. The Aman Sen.”
Aman grins. “Relax. I’m much less impressive in person,” he says.
“Not at all,” says Norio. “You’re exactly what I expected. Azusa?”
“Yes,” she says.
And then, in one incredibly swift motion, Norio lunges forward, snake-like, and jabs two fingers into Aman’s throat.
As Aman falls, unconscious, Norio rises, turns, and snatches the rifle from the Tia standing open-mouthed nearest him. Behind him, Azusa dives to the floor. Aman drops heavily and stays down.
Rowena screams.
The two other Tias in the room point their rifles, yelling, but Norio already has his gun pointed at Aman’s head.
“Stay calm,” he says.
“What the hell are you doing?” roars Tia.
“Drop your weapons,” says Norio.
The Tias glare at him, but obey.
Azusa springs to her feet and stares at Norio, unable to conceal her complete bafflement.
“Norio. Listen,” says Tia. “I know you hate supers, but Aman’s the best of them all. He’s Jai’s greatest enemy too. He’s the last person you could have anything against.”
“Get the guns, Azusa,” says Norio. “Rowena, I’m glad you stayed. You’re coming with us. We’re definitely going to need a doctor.”
“Stop this. Stop it now,” says Tia. “We can make things right. We can work together.”
“I don’t think that’s going to work out,” says Norio. “Because, you know, this whole ‘your world is ending’ thing you’ve been hearing about? That’s me, I’m afraid.”
“You’re supposed to be one of the good guys.”
“I’m really not,” says Norio. “Sorry.”
He fires, three times. The Tias turn to dust.
Rowena screams again.
“I hope you know what you’re doing,” says Azusa.
“Are you with me or not?” asks Norio.
“I am with you… Master,” says Azusa. “Always.”
CHAPTER FIVE
“So tell me again,” says Uzma, shouting to be heard above the drone of the hoverjet as it flies speedily over the rotting heart of Prague, “why are we here?”
Ellis makes an expansive gesture. Uzma follows his hand as it moves across the landscape of central Prague; from the smoking ruins of the castle, where ancient gargoyles grimace in the embrace of fast-moving flames, across the sprouting termite hills that used to be the beautiful Mala Strana, over the Charles Bridge, where twin rows of statues stare blankly at petrified tourists and blue-clad guards as they huddle in groups trying to defend themselves against marauding hordes of insect-men, and onwards to the Old Town, where giant bees fly in incredible loops over the shattered Astronomical Clock. The sky is full of buzzing shapes, grotesque amalgamations of human and insect: hands and pincers, antennae and screaming faces, translucent wings and skin overlain with chitin.
“The future. Brought to you by Utopic,” says Uzma.
“There’s no evidence this is their work,” says Ellis.
“Because you’re scared to look hard enough.”
“If they’re involved, we can be sure it was an accident. There is no reason they should do this deliberately.”
“There never is, is there?” says Uzma. “What do you want us to do about this?”
“It’s the end of the world, right?” Ellis is famous for his composure, but the strain is beginning to show. “Prague was completely normal two hours ago. What do I want you to do? Do what superheroes do, Uzma. What else is there?”
Uzma gives the signal, and the Unit makes its move.
That Guy disappears.
Wingman leads the charge, large black feathers sprouting on his arms and back as he leaps off the hoverjet into the air, shooting in every direction from his plasma wrist-blasters. The hoverjet swivels and heads south, on the eastern bank of the Vltava River, towards the New Town.
Anima and Jason follow Wingman: the Princess of Power’s green energy field lets her fly, and she whizzes off, back towards the castle, spears of light streaking out before her, barely visible in the bright sunlight. Jason takes a deep breath, and dives off the hoverjet. He does his usual spectacular thing, drawing a sheet of metal off a roof in mid-fall, shaping it into a surfboard, winding his way through roofs and spires as he assembles a cloud of sharp metal around him.
At Uzma’s signal, Wu steps gently off the hoverbird too, her eyes blank and pupil-less, an eerie glow emerging from her skin as she stands in the air above the rooftops of the Old Town, a tiny, ominous figure. Her body convulses into a spirit dance; dark clouds appear swirling in the sky above her, lightning flashing at their edges.
“You should go too, Jai,” says Uzma. “I’ll be fine with Ellis.”
A giant bee-man smashes into the hoverjet’s windscreen at this point, and Uzma screams as the man-bug slides off the glass, leaving an ugly green-red smear behind him.
“Maybe he should stay,” says Ellis. “We don’t want you assassinated in the middle of all this.”
Uzma shakes her head and gestures at Jai, and he steps off the hoverjet too, just as it reaches Wenceslas Square. He has no way to fly, but Jai has fallen from great heights innumerable times over the last decade. He breaks his free-fall by grabbing a passing man-locust, and uses the fluttering monster to steer him towards the National Museum’s steps, where he lands lightly, rips his steed in two, and calmly surveys the hordes of screaming tourists and their insect-man attackers. He cracks his knuckles and gets to work.
Local hero teams have been battling the insect horde since the first monstrous grubs burst through the courtyard of the Kafka Museum in Mala Strana at dawn. Looking around, Uzma sees a few familiar faces – a lot of Europe’s mightiest defenders are here, in very questionable costumes, locked in combat in the air, on the ground, and even in the river. Thanks to them, the insect plague has been contained to a few square kilometres in central Prague; that this is also the most densely populated area in the Czech Republic is unfortunat
e, but the EU teams have set up a perimeter and are blasting any of the monster hybrids that try to go beyond it to quivering, gooey shreds.
The real danger, Ellis tells her, is underground. Apart from the ancient warrens of tunnels that run under the old city, Prague’s metro is excellent, and the insect-men have been going for many rides, laying clusters of eggs along the way. But a team of French underground artist heroes, activists who’ve evaded both supervillains and the French police effortlessly for years in the catacombs of Paris, are on the job, and there have been no reports of major infestations anywhere in greater Prague. And if they manage to contain the infestation, the huge swathes of rude French graffiti that have blossomed mysteriously all over the Prague metro will be a small price to pay.
Uzma flinches again as an exceptionally robust locust-man tries to enter the hoverjet through its sliding door. But Ellis moves faster: he slides it shut, leaving a foot-long stinger twitching and spilling slime over the hoverjet’s interior. Ellis swipes a hand, and the control panel for the hoverjet’s guns appears in front of him. He starts pressing holographic buttons, and stabbing white lights emerge from either side of the hoverjet, fending off more flying intruders.
“What do you call these damned things?” asks Uzma.
Ellis speed-reads a few messages on his phone, shaking his head, before turning to her.
“PragueNet’s calling them ‘Ungeziefers’,” says Ellis. “Though given where it started I think they’ll be called Gregors eventually. Quite funny, really.”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” snaps Uzma.
“It really doesn’t matter,” says Ellis.
It had all started, Ellis tells Uzma, with Roman Novak, a literature professor, who’d been on one of the First Wave flights a few days after Uzma’s own. He’d turned into some kind of giant insect, disappeared into the underground tunnels crisscrossing Prague, and had never been heard of since.
“So Utopic got him,” says Uzma.
“They claim they didn’t,” says Ellis. “But of course they did, at some point over the last eleven years. More importantly, they knew this was coming. All Utopic subsidiary offices in Prague were cleared out last night. Before you ask, yes, this is Utopic’s doing. And again, there’s no evidence.”
