by Scott Mathy
Tapping the green “accept” button, he could hear chewing on the other end of the line. “Hello?” he asked, unsure of who the crunching noises belonged to.
A woman’s voice answered, “You’re Ellis’s contact?” Her accent was thick, but Dwight couldn’t place it.
“Yeah, I’m the one. You’re my telepath?” he asked, suddenly self-conscious of the question.
Another loud snap, “That’d be me. And don’t ask me to tell you what you’re thinking; it doesn’t work that way.”
Dwight was confused; he had heard stories of telepaths able to read minds across entire cities. “So you’re not what I’m looking for?”
She seemed insulted, “I can read a mind, take away a thought here, add one there. I’ll scramble your brain if you piss me off. I’m just not going to do it over the phone.”
Dwight had obviously offended her, “Okay, okay. Sorry. I believe you. You sound like you’ll be fine for the job.”
“The Doc said something about nightmares. I’m just letting you know in advance anything I do is temporary – one-hundred-percent reversible.” Ellis had told her about his lie; he was hoping that she would have left that for him.
Coming clean would probably be the only safe approach. After all, this person had been referred to him on the grounds that she could read as well as screw with his mind. Maintaining any kind of deception would be impossible, especially if she was going to do what he had planned for Midas.
A face-to-face was in order, “Look, I’d like to meet in person. Say, Meteor Park in two hours?”
They sat silently for a time, then another crunch, “Sure, gives me time to finish up here.”
Dwight briefly thought of his mental map of the park. He had been there a few times, but it had been a while. The last time was with Linda on one of their patrol-dates, essentially the only way they spent any time together during the last couple of months of their marriage: her working, him mostly just trying to remain close. He thought of the small garden fountain at the southern end of the park, near the Neil Street entrance. “Alright, I’ll meet you by the-”
She cut him off, “I’ll find you. Telepath, remember?”
The idea of being hunted by his thoughts made him uncomfortable, but he had to admit, it was effective.
“If you think about meeting me, I’ll know where to look. My name is Lia, by the way. Think of it, and I’ll see you in two hours.” She hung up before he could say anything else.
Dwight sat for a few minutes, trying to think his way out of his problem. He would have to avoid thinking of work until he knew she was onboard with the plan. Even the activity of controlling his thoughts might give him away. It was mentally exhausting thinking about how to limit his own mind to “safe” subjects.
In the end, he gave up. Either she would be willing to help with the plan, or he would have to deal with her before the word “vigilante” entered his brain. He needed a telepath if he was going to stand a chance against Midas, and this was the only one available. Powers didn’t exactly have a categorized “help wanted” section. Worse though, Wulf wasn’t going to accept Dwight’s resignation until he had been repaid for the Doc’s treatment.
His last call of the afternoon was to his partner, who surprisingly answered his phone on the first ring. The big guy sounded pleased as he spoke, “You got somethin’?”
Dwight felt unsure about reporting the afternoon as a success, “Meet me at StarPoint in an hour and we’ll go over it before we proceed.”
“No. Not at Wulf’s.” Dwight was surprised at Bernard’s response. “The boss doesn’t want to bring down any heat for this one; we have to play it more personal. How ‘bout I come ‘round your place again.”
Dwight grabbed his jacket and made for the door. Wulf’s office would have been an out of the way stop. Without the detour, he could just head straight to the park with time to spare. “That’s fine,” he said, “but I have a meeting first. I’ll call you when we’re set.”
Meteor Park had earned its namesake as the landing point of the first public superhero in New Haven. Captain Meteor had flown out of a cloudy sky one afternoon and permanently changed the world. Stopping an armored car theft in front of the park had been the first of many deeds that cemented him as New Haven’s first guardian. When he died saving the city from a large-scale sub-dimensional invasion, his remains – at least what had been recovered – were interred in the park’s central memorial. The statue, enormous even by New Haven’s standards, was a marvel in itself.
By contrast, the southern fountain was at the lowest level of interest to most people visiting the park. It was a small commemorative garden dedicated to the public safety workers who died in that same invasion. Dwight was fairly sure that few people knew of its existence.
The small obsidian plaque fixed into the concrete of the memorial was etched with a simple dedication: “To those who gave all they could. You are the true heroes.”
Seated on one of the park benches lining the outside circle of the plaza, Dwight was having a mental crisis he was wholly unequipped for. Wrestling with the need to broadcast Lia’s name while at the same time not thinking of his past actions or his present needs was proving impossible. As his thoughts raced through the many possible focal points, the telepath’s name repeated over and over again.
A sudden hand grasping his shoulder snapped his attention back to his environment. He jumped, startled by the unexpected contact. At first, he feared that Linda might have found him. The voice that laughed at his reaction carried the same distinct accent he’d questioned earlier. “You’re just a bundle of nerves, aren’t ya?”
Dwight spun around, fists raised, to see a young woman standing behind the bench he had previously occupied. From her clothing, she could have been some kind of biker. The leather jacket and worn jeans tucked into her combat boots said she was ready for a fight, while the neon blue hair would have been more appropriate in a rave. A multitude of gleaming silver jewelry hung from zipper, clasp, limb, and ear. She was slight, but looked like she could kick his ass if he gave her reason to. Seated on her right temple, just over her dark sunglasses, was a chrome device with a single blinking green light. It appeared to be permanently attached, dug into her skull.
“Heard you thinking.” She thrust out a hand in his direction. “Lia; but you already know that.” The light on her implant turned red.
Dwight extended his new arm to the small, punk-rock psychic and returned the handshake. “Dwight Knolls. You’re the Doc’s telepath?”
“Sure, if that’s what you need.” She came around the bench and sat down, kicking her feet out in front of her. She leaned back, resting her hands behind her head. “If the money is there, I can clear your brain. The lady said something about nightmares.”
Dwight realized she must not be actively reading his mind, or he would have been found out by now. The implant must have been cutting off her powers. “Not exactly; I’ve got something else in mind.”
Instantly, she became defensive. She pulled her legs in and stood up. The light switched back to green. “I swear if this is some kind of – oh, that’s what you mean.”
He cursed internally for giving himself away so soon. Though he didn’t physically feel anything, he knew she was diving into him, pulling the information buried in his mind. “Look, I can explain everything; just give me a second.”
She held up a hand, silencing him. Even if he wanted to talk, he had suddenly forgotten how to form words. Even as he thought of what to say, his vocal cords couldn’t create the sounds. He thought about turning to run from the mental dissection, but even that failed him. His limbs ceased functioning. All he could do was stand there as all of his secrets were read like an open book.
“Interesting, D-man. You have a weird life.” She sat back down. Dwight remained standing, held in place by invisible strings. “I can see why you wanted a telepath. You’re messed up, you know that?”
She finally released him, causing him to abruptl
y drop to his knees in front of her. His head hurt; a deep, throbbing pain as if someone had forcefully tossed his mind for memories and burned the place on the way out. It reminded him of a college hangover, the kind from shortly after the discovery of alcohol but before the discovery of moderation. He held his skull as he climbed to his feet. The psychic smiled at him contentiously, proud of her demonstration.
She remained seated; as much as his thoughts turned to retaliation for the unprovoked attack, she’d proven that she could shut him down before he raised a fist. The light on her device remained green. It must have been a signal that her powers were active. He took a seat against the fountain a few feet from her bench. She had all the power here. His only goal now was not pissing her off.
“Was that really necessary?” his head still throbbed, making sitting a necessity rather than a desire.
She tipped her sunglasses down, revealing her vibrant blue eyes. The color nearly matched that of her outrageous hair. “Sure it was. I have to know what kind of creeps the Doc sets me up with. This is a dangerous city, you know? There are just so many people out there doing bad things to innocent little Powers like me.” The green of her implant stayed constant as she remained on the surface of his thoughts.
“Look, I can explain all of this shit.” He was ready to confess the entire thing to her. It had been a mistake to try to set this up. If he was lucky, she’d turn him in for the bounty to someone who would make his death quick and easy. If he wasn’t so fortunate, he’d get to endure years of blackmail, or worse. “I’m just doing my-”
“Job, I know. Mind-reader, remember? Don’t you think if I was going to turn you in, I’d have kept you as a human puppet? I could make you write your confession on your forehead and march into the Guild’s lobby.” She removed her glasses completely, tucking them into her undershirt’s collar. Even if she didn’t have the readily-available ability to see into his thoughts, those fierce eyes could cut right through him.
“So what are we going to do here? You know what I do, and what I want from you.” He just wanted this to be over so he could go nurse his throbbing headache. Lists of nearby liquor stores began populating his mental map.
She stood and walked right up to him, “Like I said, Dwight; you’re interesting.” She held out her hand again, this time a genuine offer of partnership, rather than a courtesy. “I like interesting.”
He returned the motion. It was the first time he had ever been called interesting.
Within the hour, they were back at his apartment. Dwight and Lia joined Ian in the living room while they waited for Bernard to arrive. He entered with the commotion of a hurricane, banging on the door and coming in before any of the occupants could respond.
“’o the fuck is this?!” Bernard shouted, immediately suspicious of the woman sitting in Ian’s spot on the cheap sofa. Ian had taken a place on the floor in front of the coffee table, about two feet from the television screen.
The slim man had gone into a panicked rush of cleaning when Dwight and his guest arrived. The entire display culminated with a mass of old pizza boxes being flung from their third floor balcony to the dumpster below. Lia had assured Ian that the cleaning wasn’t necessary; she knew the state of the apartment from his roommate’s memories. Dwight supposed his roommate really wanted to set a good impression with their first female guest in – well, probably ever. Regardless of his efforts, the common area was still a disaster.
For now, Ian was doing his best ostrich impression. He kept his head down and fixated on another game, hoping he’d be ignored by the hitmen plotting nefarious things in his living room. He was unfortunately becoming used to it; the terror that he might be killed for speaking at the wrong moment was nearly constant these last few weeks, primarily after meeting Rampage. Bernard’s frustration hung in the air around them.
Dwight started to speak for Lia but found himself again unable to. The red light switched colors as she froze him in place. “I’m the one who’s going to make this idiot’s plan actually work. Who the fuck are you?” Two Powers were having a pissing contest behind him, and all Ian could do was keep his attention buried in his game.
There was a tense moment as Bernard sized up the much smaller woman. Then he let out a chuckle, clearly deeming her tough enough to let his ego slide. “Righ’ then. You can call me B. Nice to meet ya.” He threw himself down on the ratty recliner that had previously housed Ian’s discarded food containers.
She lifted her hold on Dwight, who promptly sagged down in his seat as the pressure was released from his muscles. “Whatever you say, Bernard.” She tapped the implant with her finger, a sly smile on her lips.
The corners of the man’s eye twitched, “I bloody ‘ate mentalists. Buncha sneaky gits. Keep outta my ‘ead if you value yours.”
She let the light shift again. “I’ve already seen enough of you. I won’t be going back in there unless it’s to replace your mind with that of an actual pig.”
Dwight laughed a bit at the mental image that conjured. “Alright, enough. We’ve got work to do if we’re going to make this happen.”
They both glared at him, but followed the suggestion. Either of them could have seriously injured him with minimal effort, but he was still the leader of their little murder-squad, and he was going to try for something resembling peaceful cooperation.
Dwight began, “The first thing we need is to get Midas alone, outside of the city, and grounded. If he flies away or calls for help, this thing is over. Any ideas?”
Lia already looked annoyed, “I thought that ‘ideas’ was your entire job. Shouldn’t you have something for this already?”
She was right, as much as he didn’t want to admit it; without any powers to bring to the table, his only real contribution was the planning stage. The one time he really got involved in the action side of things had landed him in a coma with a missing arm; he was not about to repeat that accident. If Killstreak had nearly killed him, Midas would be able to tear him in half with his little finger. The man had stopped an out-of-control train with his own body. He had pulled asteroids off course using his bare hands. There wasn’t much, including the depths of the ocean and the vacuum of outer space, he couldn’t survive. And now Dwight, a man with no abilities to speak of, had to think of a way to kill him. Left with this revelation, he asked the other man sitting on the floor.
“Ian. Ideas: go,” he commanded, much to the disappointment of the other two people in the room.
Ian turned around, terrified by the mention of his own name. “Midas…speed, strength, toughness, flight, heat vision, perfect hair. I don’t know, Dwight; supposedly, he’s got an allergy to a type of rock that isn’t found on this planet.”
“Can we get our hands on some?” Dwight could guess the answer even as he asked the question.
Ian raised an eyebrow, “Why would he leave any of it here? Anyway, it’s not lethal to him. It’s a ‘runny nose’ allergy, not an ‘anaphylactic shock’ kind. Even if it wasn’t from across the galaxy, he removed all of it years ago and hurled it into the sun. The guy isn’t an idiot, Dwight.”
“I disagree. There isn’t a single Power I’ve met yet that isn’t completely dependent on their abilities.” Bernard and Lia were staring daggers at Dwight as the words left his mouth. “Present company excluded.” He cleared his throat, then continued, “If we take away his powers, he’ll go down like any other person. We don’t need some super mineral, just a little mental suggestion.”
Bernard looked skeptical, “Yer gonna convince ‘im not to kill you first ‘en?”
“We’re going to make him just like everyone else: powerless and scared. Lia’s going to put a little fear in Mr. Big Shot, and we’ll see how he does.”
“’at’s fucked up, D; really fucked up.” Bernard seemed suddenly aware of his partner’s capabilities, given the right motivation.
Dwight felt proud of his partner’s conclusion. “But first, we need to get him alone. Ian, can you think of anything we could use a
gainst him?”
Ian ran through his encyclopedic knowledge of the empowered world, “Midas doesn’t really patrol anymore; he’s a spokesman. Lives in the penthouse of the Guild’s Tower. The last time he actually fought someone was when he got called out by Apoch the Unstoppable.”
Dwight recalled watching the news clips of that fight. Seeing Midas snap the neck of an alien god bent on turning humanity into chemical slurry had put the retired Cape back in the spotlight for a few months. The actual fight had been something to see: together, they leveled two skyscrapers and about three blocks of cars during rush hour. If he remembered correctly, a few hundred people got caught in the crossfire.
Ian continued, “After that, he became a celebrity more than a crime-fighter. He nearly got kicked out of the Guild for some scandal with an old-world princess or something. I think there was a tape. He buried all the evidence pretty fast. That’s not the first time those rumors have come up.”
Of course a Power would be able to use all their skills to cover up their little accidents, especially if he had a fetish for filming things. Dwight could only guess what other movies Midas might have made. This was going to take a hell of a bluff, but it might work. At worst, it would let him get a cheap laugh or two before he was beaten to death.
Lia looked worried; the light on her head was active. “You’re a sick man, Dwight. But I think that’ll do.”
“I thought you said I was interesting?” he asked, a smile forming at the corners of his mouth.
“Can’t it be both?”
Eleven
They rented an RV with a satnav from a dealership outside of New Haven and drove to the most remote section of the state park. It took most of the day to get there. Ian spent the trip wiring his computers into the satellite relay. Dwight figured that for Midas, the flight would only be about five minutes. On the exposed plateau, there would be little chance for an escape if things went bad. He wished there was another option, but this was the best spot they could find to broadcast their message.
