Team Omega

by Christopher G. Nuttall

  “Counting all of the support staff, there’s only ninety-seven of us,” Lane pointed out, sharply. And that was misleading, for only thirty-six were trained SOF soldiers. Team Omega did share the Marine philosophy that every man was a rifleman first, but none of the supporting staff matched the operators. How could they, when they were technical and intelligence experts rather than soldiers? “We need allies, and we have to be damn careful about where we look for them.”

  Jackson couldn't disagree. In many ways, Hope’s invasion had been relatively bloodless, certainly the cheapest invasion and occupation in recorded history. But that meant that most of the military had survived, and they weren't inclined to accept defeat so casually. Weapons and equipment had been removed from military bases and hidden, while large numbers of soldiers, sailors and airmen had gone underground, intent on carrying on the fight. There were even reports passed through the internet of brief engagements between insurgents and the Saviours, although none of them had been very specific. Jackson suspected that didn't bode well. Outside of specialist teams with special weaponry, it was very hard to take out a high-level superhuman.

  The Vice President was still out there somewhere, but he was clearly cut off from the military network that would have allowed him to coordinate a response. As long as he remained free, it was a victory—of sorts—but he was also helpless to do anything about the chaos. There were even more nightmarish possibilities being discussed online, including the suggestion that Russia or China would take the opportunity to nuke the United States back to the Stone Age—or that the United States would use its submarines to fire on its own cities. No wonder so many people wanted to flee the urban areas; they feared the worst. Even during the War of 1812, when Washington had been burned by the British, the country had never been so completely humiliated and broken. There was a great deal of anger out on the streets.

  Lane tapped once on the door. It was opened by a man Jackson didn't recognise, a tall, bland man who looked as if he could fade into the background easily. There was a brief pause as they exchanged recognition codes, and then he led them upstairs into the small apartment. Inside, there was an older man Jackson vaguely recognised, a dark-skinned girl sitting to the rear, as if she was afraid of them—and Polly Hayworth, the former CIA agent who had transferred to Team Omega. Lane recognised the older man at once and held out his hand; the strange man shook it carefully.

  Jackson prodded his memory and a very old name finally surfaced. Fireman himself. He must have said something, because the next thing he knew, the man was shaking his hand.

  “Call me Michael,” he said, shaking Jackson’s hand with a care that belied his hidden strength. Everyone knew that Fireman was Level 5, even though the rating system hadn't been worked out until after he had retired from the superhero life. “I always feel vaguely silly when someone calls me Fireman.”

  “A good attitude to have,” the other man agreed. “Matt Tracker, SDI Covert Team. And I assume you already know Polly.”

  “We’ve met,” Lane said, dryly. Polly smiled at him. “Is this room secure?”

  It was the dark-skinned girl who answered. “It should be secure against everything apart from telepathic probes,” she said. “Unfortunately, building a Mind Static Device capable of blanketing more than a few millimetres is technically impossible, at least with the current level of tech. It doesn't make them useless, but it does limit how they can be used.”

  “So Hope can't hear us plotting,” Lane said. “We’ll just have to hope that he isn't having his telepath follow us mentally.”

  “Telepaths aren’t gods,” Polly pointed out. “Unless the Redeemer had good reason to suspect us—and came reasonably close to us—she couldn’t pick up on us unless we got very unlucky.”

  Jackson found the whole discussion uncomfortable. They’d been given basic training on shielding their minds against telepathic probes—or at least knowing when their minds had been read—but the training cadre had warned them that a powerful telepath could eventually hammer their minds into submission, no matter how hard they resisted. On the other hand, telepaths rarely enjoyed other powers; someone who could hold out for a few minutes would have an excellent chance to knock out or kill the telepath before their minds broke under the strain. And it was quite possible that they would suffer brain damage and die before any useful information could be extracted from their minds.

  Michael Lee—Fireman—opened the discussion. “I—we—have spoken to several other superhumans and convinced them to join us,” he said. “However, assembling a force capable of matching Hope’s in raw power might be difficult. It is possible that MI-13, the Tricolours, or the G-14 will assist, but right now everyone is shit-scared of Hope.”

  “And besides, if we have a brawl in the streets outside the White House, we’ll bring most of Washington down in the crossfire,” Tracker pointed out. Jackson couldn't tell what powers he had, but if he’d been in the covert team he had to be formidable. “Ideally, we want to have the battle somewhere away from the civilians.”

  “Perhaps we should move towards the Congo,” Polly said. “Force Hope to chase us there...”

  “He might refuse to take the bait,” Lee said. He hesitated. “We could transport a tactical nuke into the White House...”

  “Might be tricky,” Tracker said. “That telepathic bitch will have her nets out, sweeping for any intrusion into the White House and the surrounding area. They’ll know the moment we appear—they might even know what we’re carrying. The only person we had who could have circumvented the telepathic net is currently a prisoner in the Congo.”

  “Besides, there would be an unacceptable number of civilian casualties,” Lane said, flatly. “I don’t intend to destroy the United States in order to save it.”

  “I don't think we’re going to get out of this without a great deal of damage,” Tracker said, equally flatly. “Hope isn't going to give up without a fight, not when he’s so...convinced that he’s doing the right thing. But there is a possible weak spot.”

  He outlined, briefly, what he’d seen in the Congo.

  “Mimic’s dead?” Lane said, in some surprise. “I knew him when he was a SEAL.”

  “Yes,” Tracker said, bluntly. “The Redeemer killed him. And given how furtive she was about disposing of his body, I think Hope doesn't know what happened to him.”

  “The Redeemer,” Lane said, slowly. “A powerful mentalist, known to have both telepathic and telekinetic powers...what else do we know about her?”

  “Very little,” Polly admitted. “The SDI opened a file on her when she first made her appearance, but very little hard information was ever recovered. We don't know where she was born, when she sparked and what happened to shape her mind. The first recorded sighting of her was back when Hope started the Saviours, just after he left the SDI.”

  “But she was a telepath,” Lane mused. “She could have come from America and never bothered to register herself.”

  “Or she could have come from Russia, China, or even Iraq,” Polly pointed out. “Unlike Dreamy Girl, cameras don’t see the real her. Those pictures of her taken without her knowledge show a vaguely humanoid blur, and that’s it. What if she’s a deep-cover agent from Russia intent on bringing down the United States? Or China; they’ve been worried that we’re moving ahead of them in the superhuman stakes, now that superhumans are the new nukes. This could be their play to cripple us and give them time to take over.”

  “Except the Chinese are even more dependent upon the world economy than we are,” Lane countered. “The Chinese would have to be insane to try, even if they weren't discovered and we didn't retaliate against China itself. It’s much more likely that she’s a free agent, operating on an agenda of her own.”

  “Which raises a simple question,” Lee said. “What does she want?”

  “Some telepaths have been driven mad by their powers,” the dark-skinned girl said, into the silence. “They couldn't master their powers or erect mental shields
, so they were constantly bombarded by outside thoughts until it drove them mad. Others were corrupted by their powers, using their insights into a person’s thoughts for fun and profit. And the more powerful ones, the ones with the ability to control others...they often give in to temptation.”

  Jackson nodded. Someone who suddenly developed powerful telepathic powers in high school would be unable to resist the temptation to nudge his tormentors into hurting themselves, or to influence the hottest girls in the school to climb into his bed. Why not? Jackson had been a stronger kid than many of the others and high school hadn't been a barrel of laughs for him—how much worse would it have been for those without the strength to stand up for themselves? It wasn't just telepathy that posed a problem, either. In 1995, a tormented nerd had sparked and torn through his tormentors—and then much of the rest of the school. He’d had to be put down by the SDI.

  “Maybe she just wants to play games,” Lee growled. “But we need to take her out as quickly as possible.”

  “That might be tricky,” Tracker said. “You can bet your life that she will have tightened up her telepathic net to prevent other assassins getting close to her, or Hope. Maybe, just maybe, she allowed the first assassin to have her shot at Hope, but I don’t think that we can count on it again.”

  “I thought that you were immune to telepathy,” Lane said. “You certainly entered the Congo without detection.”

  “She knew I was there, she just didn't pick up on my thoughts,” Tracker clarified. “If she senses me entering her telepathic net, she’ll react even if she can’t read my mind. And my shields have never been tested against a truly powerful telepath intent on ripping out my secrets.”

  Jackson leaned forward. “Couldn't we teleport in?”

  “The teleporter we had at the base was set to purge itself and then self-destruct after we jumped out to safety,” Lane said, sourly. “As far as I know, there isn't another one outside Langley or Fort Meade. They cost more than a dozen jet fighters apiece and they’re vulnerable to jamming. Even if we had one, we couldn't rely on it completely.”

  Lee smiled, suddenly. “But I think I know where we can get a teleporter,” he said, with a wink. “Matt and I will follow up on that—if we’re lucky, we can find something that might help.”

  “I can put together a dozen Mind Static Devices from the stores in the safe house,” Polly put in. “The problem is that they may not be entirely reliable. Some people react badly to the devices—we’re not quite sure why.”

  “Maybe they’re telepaths who haven’t sparked yet,” Lane suggested.

  “I react badly to them, too,” Tracker put in. “The SDI used to think that, but all the attempts to force the volunteers to spark failed. Whatever causes superhumans to appear seems to be beyond our understanding.”

  Jackson nodded in agreement.

  “I think that my force can draw Hope out of Washington, and get him somewhere we can use as a killing ground, if necessary,” Lee said, after a moment. “That leaves you”—he nodded to Lane—“with the task of getting into the White House and eliminating the Redeemer. If we’re lucky, that will break whatever control she has over Hope.”

  Polly hesitated, and then spoke. “And if we’re not lucky?”

  “There are...weapons,” Lane said, reluctantly. “Weapons designed for use against powerful superhumans without actually needing to blow up an entire city with a nuke.”

  “A small tactical nuke wouldn't cause that much damage to Washington,” the dark-skinned girl said.

  “But it would obliterate a large chunk of America’s history,” Lee said. “The White House, the House of Representatives, and the Senate...I know we all bitch and moan about the government, and some people we elect into power aren’t fit to be elected as a dogcatcher, but we would be blowing up our own history. That’s the way Hope thinks; smash the old and assume that the new will emerge from nowhere. We have to think about the future.”

  He grinned, suddenly. “Not that it really matters that much. The odds are stacked against us. We may do nothing more than die bravely, leaving Hope and his army to run roughshod over the Earth.”

  “The other powers will go nuclear,” Tracker predicted. “America will be destroyed.”

  “Then we’d better win, hadn’t we?” Lee said. “We dare not lose.”

  Chapter Forty

  “Hardly anything is flying tonight,” Lee muttered, as they coasted over Virginia. “I can't feel anything larger than a bird nearby.”

  Matt nodded, unsurprised. The airline industry had taken a major hit after Hope invaded Washington; air travel just didn't feel safe when superhumans could simply smash through the plane, passengers falling to their deaths. Besides, the police were still trying to prevent a mass exodus from the cities, and most of the airlines had been ordered to keep their aircraft on the ground.

  He clung to Lee as he dropped, finally landing outside a large building isolated from the rest of the country. The SDI had decided to conceal the facility from the rest of the country, if only because it would make a magnet for protesters opposed to the very concept of turning superhumans into police or soldiers. Most people, if they bothered to think about it at all, assumed that training was carried out in New York, where the rest of the SDI was based. They never looked for the other institute—and it was just possible that Hope had missed it, too. After all, it hadn't even been opened until after he’d left the SDI.

  “No sign of trouble,” Lee said, as they dropped towards the ground. “You think the staff and students will have run for it?”

  “I hope not,” Matt said. They landed, allowing him to let go of Lee’s neck and drop to the ground. “Most of them don’t have anywhere to go.”

  He walked up towards the gates and pressed his hand against a sensor embedded in the walls. Like most SDI installations, there were hidden defences placed around the training centre, ones intended to deter supervillains from attacking the next generation of SDI operatives. It was a completely isolated system—Mainframe shouldn't be able to get into the facility’s computers—and it was possible that it wouldn't recognise him. General Kratman had sent him here a couple of times, but he’d needed clearance for both of them. Luck was with him; the gates clicked open, allowing them to walk up towards the building.

  Years ago, back during the first era of superhumans, a New Age researcher had claimed that superhumans were actually Indigo Children, and that she could predict which children would eventually spark into true superhumans. She’d enjoyed a remarkable level of success for a decade, until it had become clear that none of the Indigo Children she had identified had sparked into a superhuman. Indeed, the school she’d founded for the children had charged awesome fees, and left the children with almost no preparation for modern life. Matt had never met her, so he didn't know if she believed the crap she’d peddled or not, but by the time disillusionment was settling in, some of her subordinates had embezzled a vast amount of money from the school’s trust funds. The remainder had been taken by the lawyers, leaving the school empty until the SDI had bought it for a song and—perversely—finally allowed it to serve as a training centre for superhumans.

  The main doors opened, revealing a man who looked alarmingly like a gorilla, right down to a hairy face and bad attitude. Mutants were rare in the SDI, as they could rarely operate in public without being noticed, but the Doorman had worked in the training centre as long as it had operated. He was tough enough to intimidate almost all of the students, yet surprisingly gentle, the closest thing the SDI had to a drill instructor. Behind him, the balding Jennifer Brown—the headmistress of the school—looked worried. What news they’d had from the outside world wouldn't be very good.

  “Fireman,” she exclaimed, as soon as she saw Lee. “Long time, no see!”

  “Jenny,” Lee said, with a brilliant smile of his own. They’d served together in the first incarnation of the SDI, as well as the first super team in existence, before Jennifer’s powers had been badly weakened
by a supervillain pounding his fist into her head multiple times, nearly killing her. “I did invite you to visit me.”

  “And I have responsibilities here,” Jenny said. She looked over at Matt. “I assume that this has something to do with Hope?”

  “I'm afraid so,” Matt said. “What have you told the students?”

  “Can’t hide anything from them,” Jenny said. It was true; her students included three teenagers with superhuman hearing and one with a limited form of touch-telepathy. “I told them that losing New York wouldn't bring down the SDI, and that someone would come to give us orders. They’re scared, Lee. Perhaps a few words from Fireman would help to settle them down.”

  “I can try,” Lee rumbled, “but we need to talk to the Lofting kids first. Where are they now?”