My thanks to my dynamic duo of beta-readers, Kate Sherrod and Taylor B Wright, and to my international league of super-friends who I can rely on for support, encouragement, and the occasional saving of the Earth from diabolical masterminds: Lizzie Barrett, Lauren Beukes, Joelle Charbonneau, Paul Cornell, Kim Curran, Dale Halvorsen, Nick Harkaway, Tom Hunter, Laura Lam, Mur Lafferty, Matthew McBride, Lou Morgan, Tom Pollock, Adrian Tchiakovsky, Chuck Wendig and Jen Williams. Special thanks also to Mark "The Cowl" Nelson, Emma Vieceli, and the superhero known only as Your Imaginary Pal over at the Comic Book Resources forum.
Thanks as always to the Angry Robots themselves, Marc Gascoigne and Lee Harris and the rest, and to the remarkable Will Staehle. I'm a lucky boy, and I sure know it. And thanks to Stacia Decker, my exceptionally kick-ass agent, for being exceptionally kick-ass.
Finally, to Sandra, my wife, who puts up with late nights and lost weekends and still continues to provide all the love, encouragement and support her writer husband needs. That is what I call superheroic. I love you.
DELETED SCENES
#1: TONY AND THE ATM
Author's note: Some parts of Seven Wonders were written as a series of vignettes, as I wanted to explore all the different things Tony might do as his superpowers developed. This deleted scene originally took place after the police raid on Tony and Jeannie's apartment and the pair fee. It was supposed to be the frst time Tony killed anyone, fuelling his journey to the dark side. However, after shuffing the book's timeline a little, it made more sense for Tony to take the police out in the apartment, so this sequence became superfuous. The Smallville reference is a nod to the second episode of season three, Phoenix, in which Clark smashes ATMs to steal thousands of dollars while under the infuence of red kryptonite.
Tony eyed the machine with vague uncertainty. Being in a less-travelled back street behind the Moore-Reppion shopping plaza, the ATM was an older model, scuffed but functional, a half-hearted attempt at graffti scrawled across the sliding panel that hid the keypad. Tony hadn't seen a machine this old for a long time. He looked around, but at four in the morning there was nobody around except Jeannie.
Jeannie took a couple of steps backwards, unconsciously checking around her like Tony did, just in case. She rolled her hands together, motioning towards the cash machine.
"Go on!"
Tony frowned. "I don't know about this."
"Tony," Jeannie hissed. Tony didn't fnd her quite so attractive when she was like this. "We need cash. You think being a superhero comes cheap?"
"Um…" Tony turned to stare at the machine. She was right. His job was history. So was the apartment. They needed fundage, but… stealing? Didn't that kinda go against the whole superhero thing?
"Old machines like this don't hold much cash," said Jeannie. "The bank'll just write it off."
Tony shuffed. Jeannie sighed.
"And when you're a member of the Seven Wonders and money is no object, you can make it up with a charitable donation, okay?"
Tony nodded, trying to convince himself. She was right, right? A little cash would go a long way. The ends justifed the means, right? If he could clean the city up and remove the Cowl, nobody would begrudge him a few readies.
He glanced at Jeannie. "Like in Smallville?"
"Just like in Smallville."
Tony balled his right hand into a fst. Still uncertain, he raised it to his face and inspected his knuckles. He ran the fngers of his other hand over bones, almost testing them to make sure they were as solid as he remembered. Actually, they were nothing like he remembered. They looked the same and felt the same but he knew that somehow, miraculously, they were as hard as diamond. Even the skin, warm, pale, stretched over the knuckles on a bed of subcutaneous fat – even that soft, pliable surface was completely impenetrable. Tony frowned again, then took a step back himself.
"Stand back."
"Standing."
Tony aimed for the center of the machine, throwing his fst forward with as much force as he could muster. He had no idea of the internal schematics of an ATM, but assumed that the money would be inside some kind of safe. He half-remembered stories of crooks ripping machines out of bank walls with tow trucks, then spending a month trying to cut the intact machine open with blowtorches in an abandoned farmhouse somewhere in the country. ATMs were tough to crack. On the face of it they were easy targets, so they had to be.
Tony's train of thought was only broken when he realized he'd punched through the machine's front as far as his elbow. The tiny green computer monitor (hell, this really was an old machine) popped with a sharp bang and a fash, and somewhere inside the severed electronics sparked, lighting Tony and Jeannie up briefy with fickering blue light. Tony swore and looked around, but they were still alone in the street. He extricated his arm from the hole and tried to decide what to do next. Jeannie peered into the machine's dark innards.
"Cash?"
"Not sure…" Tony reached in again. "Can't feel anything."
Jeannie tapped her foot. "Pull it out. Let's get a better look."
Tony reached into the hole with both hands and tugged. Part of the plastic façade of the machine few off. He tried again and gripped something more substantial, and lifted. The heavy frame of the machine squealed in protest as the ATM was pulled from the wall, shattering the brick on either side. Tony dropped the machine onto its back on the pavement and leaned over it. He pushed at the sides of the hole he'd made in its front, splitting the workings of the machine like papier-mâché. A black metal box lay at the center, with a variety of slots and metal attachments surrounding it.
"Bingo," said Jeannie. Tony saw her grin caught by the dim streetlights. He couldn't stop himself from smiling either. How much money did an ATM hold? If this machine was a less-used one, and one of a virtually antique design, did that mean it was full, or did they only load it with enough cash to meet demand?
Tony realized it didn't matter. Cracking the machine had been easy. Too easy. And the city was full of them. They were going to go home with pockets of cash after just a couple of hours work. Wherever home was now of course. Jeannie seemed to know where she was going, at least.
Tony allowed himself a smile. It would be okay, once he'd saved the city. Cash would rain down on his head.
"Open it, come on!"
Tony felt around the edges of the black container and, not entirely sure what he should do, pulled a few wires and a couple of support brackets out to separate the safe from the machine itself. It slid without much diffculty from the heart of the ATM, but when he set it down on the pavement the thud was audible – the thing was heavy, and he hadn't even noticed.
He turned it over and found the door at the back. That looked like the easiest option, but when he yanked the handle but the heavy steel snapped in his hand. He swore, and resorted to something more primitive, punching the door until it caved enough to give him an edge to get his fngertips on. Then he pulled, bending the door around its locking mechanism which rattled but remained otherwise intact. Eventually, he managed to pull enough of the inch-thick metal down to see the stacked cartridges inside.
The cash.
He tore a little more of the door open and reached through the gap until he could get a grip on one of the cartridges. He yanked, and the thin metal box shot out of the safe, Tony tumbling onto his back. The cartridge hit him in the face, and he swore again; blinking in surprise, he looked at the box sitting in his lap. He smiled, and ripped the thin lid off.
Cash. Twenties, stacked high. He laughed and fngered a wedge of bills, leaving dark indelible marks.
"What the fuck?"
Jeannie moved closer to get a better look.
"Shit!"
"What?"
Jeannie looked down her own front. She was splattered with thick blue ink. The ink covered the interior of the safe. Tony's front was almost entirely covered, and it was splashed up on his face. His hands were completely blue, leaving stains on the ATM cartridge and the bills inside.
"What the fuck is this… is this ink?" He wiped his hands on his shirt, but it made no difference, only spreading the security dye further. Jeannie saw the pavement shine in the streetlight. The pavers around the crushed ATM were slick with it.
"Some kind of security thing, marks the bills," she said. "Fuck, I didn't think."
Tony laughed, but it had a nasty, ragged edge. "You didn't think? Well, great. Now what?"
"Any bills clean?"
Tony dropped to his knees and fipped the cartridge upside down. Green paper spilled out, those that were not already smeared in the ink landing in the spreading ooze on the ground.
"Not anymore."
Jeannie stood and looked around. The street was empty, but… was that a car coming? Tony saw her eyes widen in panic; following her gaze, he saw something fashing on the lip of the bank's overhanging frontage. A square alarm box, blue light rendered grey in the yellow streetlight. Flashing, silently.
"Gotta go, lover boy." She grabbed Tony's shirt at the shoulder, a half-hearted attempt to pull him up that was symbolic rather than practical. He got to his feet, slid a little in the pool of thick ink, then righted himself. He held his hands out in front of them like they were injured or contaminated. He looked at the wrecked money machine and the half empty cartridge. There were a few twenty dollar bills stuck to his jeans.
"What about all this?"
"Gotta leave it. No one will touch the bills now. Even if we can clean it off that shit will glow under UV or something, marking it as stolen."
"Well, fuck-a-doodle-doo."
The pair turned, ignoring the wreckage left behind − the rectangular hole in the bank wall much larger than the square machine itself, which lay on the ground, split and bent like an old trash can − and ran for somewhere, anywhere, that was off the main road.
Too late. The car Jeannie had heard earlier pulled up at the corner ahead of them. A police cruiser. Tony saw it frst and swore, too loudly, and pulled Jeannie into the shadows of a narrow alley at the side of the bank.
Also too late. Two offcers leapt from the car, torches on and handguns held at the ready. The offcers approached at a run, then slowed as the searched for the felons, torchlight playing over the dark alley between buildings. One spotlight fell on the wall of bank, and the offcer holding the torch let out a low whistle.
Tony made a break for it, mistimed. The second policeman shouted, the frst spun the fashlight towards the alley, both trained their weapons on the retreating forms of Jeannie and Tony. Tony almost tripped as he shot towards a street across from the alley, slowing their escape. Jeannie didn't wait for him.
The frst cop was now radioing in for help. While he waited for dispatch to squawk through on the radio clipped to his shoulder, he nodded to his partner, who immediately took off in pursuit.
Reaching the other street, Tony saw Jeannie had fnally paused to let him catch up. As he approached, he stopped, confused. He wasn't quite sure this was the right direction. Covered in security ink, he and Jeannie would leave an obvious trail for anyone to follow. Clothes, shoes, everything would need to be ditched. If they could get to the park, maybe the worst of the ink would come off in the fountain, at least enough that they could be confdent they wouldn't track it all through the city.
"Freeze! Get on the ground! On the ground! Now!"
Jeannie turned frst. Tony turned and stumbled as he was dazzled by the fashlight shining into his face. The policeman repeated his order. Tony could just see the man behind the light, legs braced in a shooting stance, fashlight held expertly along the barrel of his gun.
Tony began to raise his arms, but the look from Jeannie gave him cause to stop, just halfway. He glanced down and saw she her arms were still frmly by her sides, fsts clenched.
"What?"
The corner of Jeannie's mouth crawled up into an unpleasant smile. "What are you doing?"
"I'm doing what the nice policeman wants."
The nice policeman took a step further. The fashlight ficked between Jeannie and Tony's faces. He shouted something else, but neither Jeannie or Tony were listening.
"He's just a cop, Tony. You're bulletproof." Jeannie's curled lip made Tony feel uncomfortable. This night wasn't going how he imagined it. Nor was this the most prodigious start to a career fghting crime.
"So," Jeannie continued, "what are you doing?"
Tony thought of his future career again. So, this was a mistake, but he could fx it. He could get them out of this and they could start again. He was strong, bulletproof, a goddamn superhero. What was one cop against him? One policeman with a gun, against a superman?
Tony lowered his arms and smiled. Well, there was no harm in having fun, right? He ficked Jeannie's hair around her forehead, leaving light blue marks from the ink on his fngers. He smiled, and she laughed, and he launched himself at the offcer.
The policeman was just quick enough to see the initial movement, and fred his weapon. By the time the bullet had reached the end of the gun's barrel, Tony's had cupped the muzzle with his palm. The barrel fash lit his hand, and the strong stench of black powder flled the air, far stronger than was usual after a gunshot. The policeman had already squeezed the trigger a second time. The second bullet collided with the frst in Tony's hand, splitting the gun's barrel and backfring the shot into chamber. The gun kicked as the mechanism jammed and the hot combustion gas tore the weapon apart at the seams. The cop screamed in pain as half his hand was blown off, his cry vanishing in a wet choke as Tony reached through the man's chest with his other hand, tearing a hole clean through the torso. The cop looked down in disbelief, an action movie cliché, then his head didn't rise. Tony slid his arm back, almost shaking the cop off.
Shit.
He hadn't meant to do that. He heard Jeannie's boots pounding the pavement as she ran towards him, then felt her hands on his back as she came to stop and looked down at the corpse. The policeman's radio popped a few times as his partner tried to make contact.
"Nice."
"What?" Tony tore his eyes from the body and looked at Jeannie. She was smiling. "Nice? I just killed a guy. Killed a policeman. Holy fucking shit Jeannie, we're in it."
Jeannie punched his shoulder. The gesture was almost playful and Tony felt the world go fuzzy at the edges. What the hell had this night turned into?
"It's nice work, is what it is," said Jeannie. "Congratulations, you're a supervillain."
Running in the distance, more cars. More police. Tony bounced on his heels, eager to run but unsure if that was the right thing to do. He was a cop killer. A cop killer. He was in it.
But… what could they do? He was strong, invulnerable, fast. A superhero.
No. Not a superhero. Jeannie had said it. A supervillain. Something stirred in Tony's chest. Maybe it was the adrenaline, maybe it was the shock, the realization that he had gone too far and that there was no going back.
Tony shook his head and found himself smiling.
A supervillain?
Well…
If he was going to clean up the city, working within the rules, within the law, was a hindrance. You couldn't get anything done, always had to be careful, had to operate within the insect-like boundaries of normal people so nobody got hurt. It was a waste of time. He had power, potential, ability, but couldn't use it.
Unless… unless he actually got to work, turned the city around. Turned the city around to his way. That would solve the problem, wouldn't it? No more corruption, no more superhero games. The city would be his. Jeannie was right. It was the best way.
Tony wobbled on his feet and he rubbed blue stain over his forehead.
And what was a supervillain anyway, except a superhero who actually got stuff done?
He smiled, picked Jeannie up in his arms, and together they few up, out of the range of the police and out of sight of the city. He wasn't worried about the ink, or the dead cop, or the Seven Wonders.
The city didn't have a new superhero. It had a new supervillain.
#2: TH
E START OF SOMETHING BEAUTIFUL
Author's note: This scene is a fashback that was originally placed as the book's epilogue, but it was just a little confusing to jump back so far in time, having just seen Blackbird rescue Tony from the superprison. But it does give a little hint about how deep the Seven Wonders were in it – was Aurora planning to use the MIC-N on the Cowl, or did he have a more sinister purpose? And what hand did he have in the secret origin of Blackbird, anyway? Perhaps we will never know!
The laboratory was ship-shape and Bristol fashion. So said Frank Cane anyway. The aged scientist had been imported from Britain especially for the occasion. Jeannie had only been there a week, but she bet the lab hadn't looked this tidy since it had frst opened. On that occasion they'd had the mayor and some charitable big wig, Geoffrey Conroy, cutting the ribbon. Jeannie had seen the photos. She suspected that Frank Cane had been shipped in for that too. He was at that rarefed level of academia where he didn't actually do any work, he just toured universities and institutes the world over to frown over expensive equipment and drink brandy with deans. Not to mention put his name as the frst author on scientifc papers, even though Jeannie was sure he had no idea who she was or that she was the one not only doing all of the work but writing up the results for publication.
Seven Wonders Page 43
