Resistance

by Samit Basu

  “You are stopping Sher?” asks the leader, clearly curious despite himself.

  “I have a plan,” says Norio. “And you’re a part of it. Because you’re going to work for me. You’ll be powerful. More importantly, you’ll be rich.”

  The gang considers this for a while. They turn to their leader.

  “We just take all your money and kill you, no? Then also rich,” he says.

  “This is your chance to bring humans back into the game,” says Norio. “If you miss it, the supers take everything. But you have a choice. Wealth, power, fame on the one hand. Death and destruction on the other.”

  “Big plan, boss. Full masala. Interesting,” says the leader.

  Norio extends his hand. “Do we have a deal?”

  The leader grasps his hand and grins.

  “No,” he says.

  Norio doesn’t know who hit him on the back of the head at this point. Or why he thinks he hears, in the distance, a tiger roaring. But he is knocked out immediately, so there isn’t time to get into any of this.

  * * *

  He’d gone to one of his secret Ginza flats very late that night, after a long private sulk in a large central Tokyo beer hall filled with businessmen drowning their sorrows and diving stocks. He’d not planned to spend any time at home, only to stop to pick up his suitcase and head off to his private airport, but he’d found Azusa waiting for him.

  They’d circled each other in his fancy living room for a few minutes. He’d poured himself another drink; she’d waited demurely next to the glow-fish aquarium, looking unflinchingly at him.

  “You don’t need to hand in your resignation,” he had said finally. “I understand why you betrayed me. There’s nothing else to say.”

  “Don’t go,” she’d said. “You took your shot against the supers, and you failed. There’s no shame in that. You have your honour.”

  “This isn’t about me, or my family,” he’d replied. “Azusa, you’ve known me longer, and better, than anyone else alive. If you don’t see why I must do this, there’s nothing left to say.”

  “Don’t go,” she’d said again. “I understand your hatred of supers, and I will help you fight them. But not now. Now you need to disappear again. They won’t hunt you for long, they have a new crisis coming up every minute. You’ll come back with a bigger plan, a better one. But running off to India to find Kalki is not the answer.”

  “You looked at the lists with me. It’s our best shot.”

  Azusa had sighed. “All the years I’ve known you,” she’d said, “I’ve never seen you as a person who wanted to do anything but take the world forward. To the future. Yes, the world we lived in before supers was wonderful – for you. Yes, I can see how you’d hate being irrelevant, and want to do something about it. But I don’t understand why you want to end it all. Because supers make the world better, Norio. They take it forward. Whether you like them or not.”

  Norio had stared at her. “What do you think I’m going to do with Kalki?” he’d asked.

  “You’re going to ask him to remove superpowers from the world,” she’d said.

  He’d laughed. It had started out fake, and then grown embarrassing, and he’d stopped.

  “You don’t know me at all,” he’d said.

  “And you don’t know what you’re doing,” Azusa had snapped. “You think you’re going to find Kalki from Aman’s list? Sher has him. His army stays on the move. You don’t have the slightest idea where to find him.”

  “I’ll ask around.”

  “You’ll get killed.”

  “Then help me,” he’d said, grasping her shoulders. “Not as an employee, or a teammate. Help me as a friend. Find him for me.”

  “No,” she’d said, and drawn away.

  He’d shrugged, and tossed a bag over his shoulder.

  “Goodbye, then,” he’d said. “I might never see you again.”

  “Goodbye.”

  He’d turned at the door. “I’ve been in love with you for a few years now,” he’d said. “Just thought you should know.”

  He’d never seen her cry before.

  “I’ve always loved you too,” she’d said, wiping away her tears defiantly. “But you don’t. Or you won’t when you find out who I really am.”

  They’d stared at each other across the room for what had seemed like hours.

  “Who are you?” he’d asked, wondering whether or not to look for a weapon.

  “I’m a super.”

  It is a while before Norio can speak. “How long have you known?” he asks finally.

  “Eight years.”

  “What’s your power?”

  “I find people. It’s how I always found you.”

  “And how did you find Aman?”

  “I can track people after I meet them. It feels like I can smell them, but that can’t be true. Whatever it is, I just know where they are in the world. I tracked you to find Tia in her submarine. Once I met her, I tracked her back to Aman’s island. If we’d ever managed to make a kaiju turn around, I could have found the King.”

  He hadn’t known whether to laugh or cry, so he’d settled for making a noise like a soda bottle opening.

  “I should go,” she’d said.

  “Yes, you should. You should come to India, and save the world with me.”

  She’d shook her head. “Let’s not talk about this any more. If this is really the last time we meet, then I’d like to see you smile before you leave.”

  And he had been smiling, but not because she’d asked. It was because he’d been filled with joy and hope, and he couldn’t remember when he’d last felt that way.

  He’d told her what his plan was. And he’d seen her eyes light up, and fear and excitement blossom in her eyes.

  “Do you think it’s possible?” she’d asked. “Can he really do that?”

  “According to Aman’s files, he can do anything. He grants wishes.”

  “Then yes. It’s the right thing to do. But why didn’t you just tell me this at the beginning?”

  “Have I ever shared any of my plans with you before?”

  She’d smiled, then, and he’d covered the distance between them in a second, and crushed her against him with enough force to set her struggling in a minute or so. But it had been a very good minute.

  “Don’t go now,” she’d said then, and he’d groaned. “This isn’t the time. They’re looking for you now – you picked the two worst supers in the world to be hunted by. If Jai doesn’t find you, Aman will. We’ll lie low for a few weeks. And then we’ll go together. You can’t just rush off like this, alone.”

  “It’s the only way,” he’d said. “It has to be now, Azusa. Because they will find me. And my sources at Utopic tell me they’re going to be very busy over the next few days.”

  But Azusa was as stubborn as he was. She’d always been. She’d refused to go, and when he’d refused to stay, she’d given him the co-ordinates of the twenty-seven Tias that had sprung from Tia Prime after they’d met in her submarine. They were all in Gurgaon, in what the internet told him was formerly the biggest mall in the world. She’d warned him that that didn’t mean that Kalki was anywhere in the vicinity. But even this had been a treasure-trove compared to what he’d known before, and he’d left right then, practically run off, ignoring her arguments, trying and failing to explain to her that there just wasn’t enough time, that he didn’t really want her to go anyway, as he didn’t want to put her life in danger ever again. He’d promised Azusa he’d return and be with her, and sworn that he’d fix the world and then it would be theirs.

  She’d been crying when he left. He’d told himself they were tears of joy, and had decided it was best not to check.

  * * *

  When Norio wakes up again, it is to the now familiar sensation of a rifle barrel prodding him in the stomach. But when he opens his eyes, he doesn’t see a gangster from the stylish mob he’s privately named the Fashion Police. Instead, it’s a young man in khaki fatig
ues. His face and arms are covered in tattoos that look like tiger stripes.

  “Hello hello,” says the man.

  Norio looks around. He’s lying in the back of a large truck, speeding down the highway. Empty fields on either side, what looks like a factory to the east. In the distance, he can see skyscrapers, twinkling and shimmering as they catch the sunset.

  “What’s your name?” asks Norio.

  “Jai.”

  “That’s nice. I have a close friend named Jai. You’re in Sher’s army,” says Norio.

  “Yes, Sher’s army,” says Jai. “You are Japanese.” Perhaps to congratulate Norio on his nationality, he hands him a bottle of water.

  “This is true,” says Norio. He takes a deep swig, tries to summon the energy for an inspiring speech, considers how well his last few inspiring speeches have gone, and gives up.

  “I have come to see Kalki,” he says. “Do you know where he is?”

  “Yes.”

  “Please take me to him,” says Norio. “It’s incredibly important. I need to save the world.”

  “You are not surprised to be here in my truck?” asks Jai.

  “You saved me from that other gang,” says Norio. “You found me just as they were going to kill me. Maybe I’m just lucky. Maybe it’s destiny. Maybe you saved me for a reason. Because Kalki wanted to see me.”

  “We have actually been following you since the bar,” says Jai. “We were betting to see how far you’d get. I lost my money.”

  “Please tell me you’ll take me to see Kalki,” says Norio. “I’ve come a long way.”

  “Can’t meet Kalki direct. First see Sher,” says Jai. “Only if Sher say you okay, you safe, you see Kalki.”

  Norio sits up. “Do you like money? Really large amounts of money?” he asks.

  “Yes,” says Jai. “Sher also likes.”

  “That’s good then,” says Norio. “But I’d like to give you something extra.”

  “Extra money? What you want me to do?”

  “Just get me to Sher secretly. Don’t tell Tia I’m here.”

  Jai grins. “All right. Secret. I won’t tell to Tia.”

  Norio breathes in and out deeply and shuts his eyes.

  “Thank you,” he says.

  “Too bad I already know,” says a voice behind him.

  Norio looks around. Two Tias, bodies covered with tiger-stripe tattoos, climb out of the truck’s cab through the broken rear window.

  “I owe you three bullets in the chest,” says one.

  Jai tosses her his rifle with a grin.

  “I’ll apologise profusely later,” says Norio. “But this is beyond you and me. This is about—”

  “Shut up,” says Tia. “You’re not seeing Kalki. Or anyone else. And Aman says hi.”

  She points the rifle at him, and grins.

  “You’re done,” she says.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  “Are you sure about this?” asks Aman. Wherever he is, the network is weak, his voice sounds hollow and far away in Uzma’s earpiece, as if he’s going through a tunnel.

  Uzma adjusts her earpiece nervously. “Can you hear me?” she asks.

  “Yes. You don’t have to shout. Vir?”

  “Clear,” says Vir. “Where are you? I can hear traffic.”

  “Never mind that. Uzma? Have you heard from the kids? Are they in India yet?”

  “No. On their way.”

  “You do realise Tia’s perfectly capable of holding Norio for a week on her own, don’t you?” says Aman.

  “Yes.”

  “And that I think sending Jason and Anima to India is a bad idea?”

  “Well, if you wanted a vote, you should have joined the Unit.”

  Uzma climbs the steps to the Unit headquarters and takes a look around. It’s a clear day, the sky is cloudless, and the Upper Bay is a brighter shade of blue than she’s ever seen in New York. Vir stands beside her, hair blowing about in the steady breeze. He hasn’t been to this Unit building before, but just the approach seems to be stirring up bad memories.

  “Are you sure this is a good idea?” he asks again.

  “No,” says Aman. “But get on with it.”

  * * *

  A few minutes later, in a third-floor armoury, amidst lines of shelves stacked with expensive and deadly super-weapons, Vir stands facing the suit of armour recently vacated by Jai. It stares back at him impassively, black and silver and radiating menace.

  “Go ahead,” says Uzma. “Put it on.”

  Vir does, picking up one plate at a time and slowly attaching it to his body. Fortunately, the armour doesn’t smell of Jai – the Unit’s housekeeping has always been excellent, as superhero housekeeping needs to be. Vir puts on the helmet last, his face troubled, and then floats upwards slowly, extending his arms.

  “It’s heavy,” he says. “Isn’t it supposed to change to fit to my size?”

  “It did for me,” says Aman. “I think you have to be online for it to read your thoughts.”

  “Well, at least he can still fly,” says Uzma.

  “Then fly to your meeting,” says Aman. “You’re late.”

  * * *

  The moment Uzma enters the central chamber on the top floor, she senses something is amiss. Wingman and Wu sit in their usual places, faces carefully blank; That Guy smiles at her nervously from behind a celebrity holo-mag. But Uzma doesn’t even notice them, her attention is fixed on the other occupant of the chamber, who’s sitting in her chair. A tall, thin, handsome man in his forties, dressed in an immaculate suit, reading a document on a tablet. He doesn’t rise or acknowledge her presence as she storms towards him, and it’s only when she stands in front of him and clears her throat loudly that he even looks at her. She seethes as his eyes move past her, and settle on Vir.

  “I’m afraid access to that armour goes through me now,” he says. “It will have to be returned.”

  “Where is Ellis, and who the hell are you?” demands Uzma.

  The man smiles. “You can call me Agent N,” he says. “Think of me as the new Ellis.”

  “Agent N? Seriously? Never heard of him,” whispers Aman. “Give me a second.”

  N hands Uzma his tablet, she tosses it onto the table and subjects him to a withering glare.

  “You should have asked Ellis how things work here,” she snaps. “Get out of my chair. I’ll deal with you after our meeting.”

  “I’m afraid that’s not how this is going to play out,” says N. “I could explain, but it’s probably simpler that you read it for yourself.” He gestures towards the tablet.

  “Don’t bother, I got it” says Aman in her ear. “Independent strategic consultant. New team manager, agent, the works. You hate him, don’t you? It feels like you hate him.”

  “Let’s get started, shall we? Where are Jason and Anima?” asks N.

  “Get. Out,” Says Uzma. N smiles at her, and stays in her seat. Uzma notices the transparent bands of AR plastic that cover his eyes and ears.

  “He’s covered,” says Aman. “You could still beat him up, I suspect.”

  “Jason and Anima. They were supposed to be here,” says N. “They’re not. Why?”

  Uzma takes a deep breath.

  “All right,” she says. “You have my attention. Why are you here?”

  N looks at her and smiles. “The inauguration is in three days. There were performance reviews across the board. Ellis was found wanting.”

  “He did nothing wrong!” yells Uzma.

  “This is true,” says N. “He is an unfortunate scapegoat, Uzma. The real fault lies with you.”

  He stands and looks around the table at the assembled members of the Unit. Uzma turns too, outraged, and notices Wingman smiling.

  “The Unit is now under new management,” says Agent N. “You have been damaging the reputation of the United Nations and using the world’s greatest superhero team for personal errands. I’ve been sent here to ensure this changes.”

  Uzma sits in another cha
ir, too furious to speak.

  “You need to watch your tone, Agent,” says Vir.

  “And you need to leave this room,” says N, unperturbed. “You are always welcome in the building, as a respected former member of the Unit. But you are not a member of this team until your application is approved. I’ll send you the form.”

  Uzma turns to Wingman and Wu. “You people are all right with this?”

  Wingman shrugs. “The Japan debacle was your fault, Uzma,” he says. “There were bound to be consequences.”

  Uzma nods.

  “Vir,” says Aman, “I think you should leave. And I think you should take Uzma with you.”

  Vir stays where he is.

  “I’m afraid removing me is not that easy,” he says.

  N nods. “That’s your decision,” he says. “Though it’s one you might have cause to regret.”

  He waves his hands, and a holo-screen appears over the centre of the table. Another wave, and the screen morphs into a hologram of the globe.

  “Nuclear reactor meltdown in Chechnya four days ago,” says N, and a glowing red cylinder grows out of the map. “Floods in Bangladesh. Earthquake in Iran. Insect hive in Prague. Forest fire in Brazil. Super-induced tsunami in Chile. Super-combustion in the Arctic Circle. Crocodile-man infestation in Kinshasa. Oil spill in the Gulf. And the punch line, the Black Plague. In western China, Uighur country.”

  The Unit watches the holo-globe spin in front of them, red spikes sticking out in every direction. N raises his arms, and the globe stops spinning.

  “Three million casualties in one month,” says N. “Did you even notice?”

  He glares around the room, and the Unit glares back.

  “Uzma?” asks N. “Do you have any excuses?”

  “I don’t owe you any explanations,” says Uzma. “If we’d known any of these were going to happen, we would have stopped them.”

  N shakes his head. “Pathetic,” he says. “The United Nations has let you live like kings. And what have you given the world in return? Three million corpses.”

  “All right, that’s enough,” says Wingman. “Trying to pin the blame on us just makes you look bad, N. Tell us what you want.”

  “It’s not a question of what I want,” says N. “It’s about what is right for the UN. For the world.”