It was a woman. John’s enhanced vision resolved her features while they were still half a mile away. A beautiful Asian woman with long platinum-blonde hair. He recognized her instantly.
“Hey,” Christine said. “Isn’t that...?”
Dawn Windstorm.
A Legionnaire.
Dawn Zhang, missing and presumed dead during the cataclysmic Genocide War. A weather witch, mostly a wind controller of middling power, 2.4 in the Parahuman Ability Scale, not considered powerful enough to join the Legion’s Weather Management Program. And yet, there she was, controlling unimaginable amounts of energy and defying a dozen weather masters with ease.
Dawn Windstorm looked at John and smiled. Her voice came through the Legion’s comm system: she had the same cochlear implants they all did. She’d probably been monitoring their transmissions all along.
“I didn’t think you’d make it this far, Ulti-matey and Uber-friends,” she said. “Doesn’t matter. You can’t stop me. It’s time to avenge Larry. Where’s that bitch Olivia? I want to watch her die.”
Protocol was to never waste time in futile dialog and instead take her out, hard and fast, but this was one of their own. He had to try to talk her down.
“Dawn, stand down right now!” he shouted in his command voice.
She laughed at him.
“Take her,” he said.
Dawn struck first.
Something flew from between her outstretched arms, darting towards them, a crackling mass of ice, electricity and solidified air moving at escape velocity. Dark Justice released the force bubble and created a half-sphere of solid force, big enough to cover all three of them. John had no choice but to hunker down behind it, surprised by the surge of anger and humiliation he felt in the brief instant before irresistible force met immovable object.
The world was swallowed by the ensuing conflagration.
John had been at ground zero for no less than six multi-kiloton nuclear explosions, the last one a little over a year ago. This was just about as bad.
The next thing he knew, he was looking down on the world from the edge of the stratosphere. The hurricane was still visible, but its outline was disorganized, weaker; it was beginning to dissipate. Dawn must have spent too much energy in that apocalyptic missile to keep the cyclone going.
Time to put an end to it.
“Freedom Squad One. Move in and engage.”
It took but a few seconds to travel the eight miles or so and rejoin the battle. Brass Man’s missiles and plasma beams were being held at bay by a shield of hardened air around the rogue Legionnaire, who was countering with more lightning bolts that would eventually pierce his armor and finish him off. Dark Justice was nowhere to be seen. The rest of Freedom Squad One was closing in fast.
Artemis – Olivia O’Brian – got there first.
It was personal. Olivia had told John that she regretted not making peace with Dawn before her death. Now there was no peace to make, no quarter to offer. It was fire against wind and lightning, as both women unleashed everything they had against each other.
Olivia was one of the strongest people John knew, but she was outmatched by the traitor’s raw power. Dawn’s winds obliterated the streams of fire headed towards her, and she hammered Artemis with a barrage of lightning bolts. There was no way she would survive longer than a second or two.
She didn’t have to.
This time John didn’t try to talk. Dawn had become too powerful, too unpredictable. Olivia’s life was on the line, and countless others besides. In this world, there was only one way to deal with the likes of Dawn Windstorm.
He flew past her at supersonic speeds and cut loose with a punch that contained far more power than could be generated by mere mass and velocity. Dawn’s air shield collapsed under the impact. His fist shattered her skull like a pistol bullet striking a fine crystal goblet.
The headless body fell gracelessly towards the sea. John swooped after it and took the lifeless form in his arms. He remembered the day he’d handed the girl her Legionnaire commission, just three years ago. She’d been radiantly happy, and proud.
It all felt terribly futile.
Freedom Island, Caribbean Sea, July 14, 2014
“Two!” General Xu shouted and slammed a holographic fist on a holographic table. “Two Type Four Neolympians in ten days! Intolerable! Unacceptable!”
“Throwing a tantrum isn’t going to help,” Fox Ghost said.
“Indeed,” Adam said. “The General is correct, however. We are facing a growing crisis.”
“Why can’t you make that stubborn girl access the Source and stop it from making new Neolympians?” the General pressed on. “She did it once, after all.”
“Despite our best efforts, she remains cut off from the Source,” Adam said with heavy patience. John felt a sudden urge to fly around the world just to slap Xu around until all his teeth flew out. Even that would probably fail to knock any sense into the Councilor.
And John wasn’t even a Councilor anymore. The only reason he was in the room was to deliver a personal report on the battle off Florida’s coast. He no longer had a say in the running of the Legion, not since he’d shown just how humanly fallible he really was.
“Christine will be all right,” Fox Ghost said, turning to John. “She didn’t get too badly hurt, did she?”
“She was knocked unconscious after taking the brunt of Dawn Windstorm’s attack, but she’s recovered fully,” John said. Face-Off had fished her out of the ocean and carried her back in his arms. John had been surprised he hadn’t slung her over his shoulder like a caveman, maybe after urinating on her to mark his property. “She’s fit for duty. I’m surprised she’s not here to give you her personal report.”
“Well, this way it’s easier to talk about her behind her back,” Ali said with a bitter grin. “Like, how can we make her connect to the Source and do as she’s told? Or maybe whether or not we should kill her when she’s done, just to be safe?”
“Nobody’s proposing such measures,” Adam said, but his words seemed to be aimed at General Xu, who might just be considering them.
“Councilors, please,” Tigresa said. “This is not constructive. We need to concentrate on what we can do. Ms. Dark will eventually be able to reestablish contact with the Source. Meanwhile, we need to be better prepared for the next outbreak.” She looked at John. “Thank you for the report. Ultimate.”
Those polite words meant he was dismissed. John didn’t glare, grind his teeth or give any signs of how he felt. Instead, he nodded blandly and left the meeting room.
He could use a drink. Of course, it would take half a liter of eighty-proof to have an effect on him, so one drink just wouldn’t do.
His comm rang while he was on the elevator down. His private number, the one only a handful of people knew.
It was Christine.
His first impulse was to let it go to voice mail, but he didn’t. He answered the call.
“John.”
What do you want? “What can I do for you, Christine?”
“I… I don’t know.” She sounded tentative. Vulnerable.
“Hard to help you if you don’t know what you want.” Being harsh towards her felt good.
“I know. I’m so sorry. I want to talk to you. Alone.”
Something awakened inside him, something that was half anger, but only half.
“I don’t need any more crap from you, Christine.”
“I know. I deserve whatever you say to me, John. Whatever you do to me.”
If he’d been holding an actual receiver, rather than using his implants to take the call, he would have crushed the device in his hands.
“Fine. Let’s talk,” he heard himself say. “Where and when?”
“I got a place in New York.”
This is not a good idea.
“Give me the address. I’ll be there in five.”
New York City, New York, July 14, 2014
“Nice place,” he said when she
let him in. He’d flown in through a window she’d conveniently left open. She was wearing civvies, a loose floral dress and sandals, one of her usual outfits when she wasn’t wearing her Dark Justice costume. The apartment was decorated much like her place back on the Island, mostly tasteful furnishings, except for the annoying pop culture posters on the walls. The way she grinned at him was unusual, though; she hadn’t smiled much in his presence, not since she’d broken his heart.
“I have the money, so why not? It’s for the times when I need to be alone, you know? Sometimes it’s nice to be alone.”
“Swell.” What do you want? He almost snapped out the blunt question. Instead, he waited in silence and let her tell him.
“That was a nasty fight,” she said, saying nothing he didn’t know. She looked… anxious, timid, a lot more like the girl she’d been when he first met her, even though she’d been very impressive even then.
He shrugged. “You handled it just fine. In fact, the last few incidents prove beyond a doubt that you’re the most powerful member of the Legion. Even more so than Cassius.” Who I hope is doing all right, he thought guiltily. He didn’t think half as much about Janus and his quiet struggle against the Outsider Taint as he should.
“I guess,” Christine said. She sat down and slumped on the couch, looking forlorn. “I don’t feel all that powerful. I almost died out there.”
Because I couldn’t do all that much to protect you. More guilt. Shame. Frustration.
“Mark and I had a fight,” she went on. “He doesn’t like it, my being more powerful than he is.”
“Figures,” John said, momentarily forgetting how little he liked that fact himself.
“Sit down and I’ll fix you a drink,” she said, getting up. He sat. She made him a Scotch on the rocks. He sipped on it, appreciating its quality. She’d spent a pretty penny on something she didn’t drink.
“What can I do for you, Christine?” he finally said. If you’re here to tell me you want me to take you back, I’ll… Honestly, he had no idea what he would do.
“I don’t know. I wanted to see you. Maybe think about things.”
“You made your choice. You can’t go back and forth.”
“Maybe.” She sat down next to him and put a hand on his arm. “But I miss you, John. I think I frakked up. Went for the bad boy like I was a silly teenager.”
“You are young,” he said. Maybe when she’s a hundred and twenty and you’re two hundred… Ali had said that. Ali. “Look, Christine…”
“Hey, don’t get the wrong idea, big guy. I’m not planning on cheating on my boyfriend. We both need to think about things, okay? Take it slow, work things out, all that happy crappy. You feel me, homey?”
“I suppose so.”
“Here.” She pressed a button on her wrist-comm. “Just sent you my private number. Maybe we can talk once in a while. Catch up. Be friends again.”
Why the hell not? He missed her. Much of the anger he felt was misdirected regret. Maybe…
“Well?”
“All right, Christine. Maybe we can talk. Think about things.”
“Awesome.”
As he stood up, she tried to kiss him, and he grabbed her by the hair, pulling her head back. She made a sound she’d never made before, something between a sigh and a moan, and the sight of her like that, head tilted back, under his control, stirred something in him.
“Sorry,” she said, offering no resistance, his hand still gripping her hair. He let her go.
“I should have never laid hands on you.” He was overcome with shame, but there was something else under it.
“I deserved it,” she said. “Maybe that’s what I needed. To be punished.”
She ran a hand over her hair, still leaning her head back, as if she was offering her throat to him, and he suddenly wanted to encircle her slender neck with his hands, and squeeze. Not a lot, not enough to really hurt her, just enough to show her who was the boss. The mixture of anger and lust was intoxicating.
“Just think about it, John, okay? And call me.”
“I will,” he said, his voice hoarse. “I should go.”
“So soon?” she said with a mischievous grin. “Maybe you’d better. Let’s not rush into things.”
“Yes. Let’s not.”
“Talk to you soon, though.”
“Yes.”
He would call her. And he wouldn’t tell Ali about any of this. Not until he’d thought things through.
After he flew out the window, it took him a while to realize he was grinning like a loon.
He didn’t see the malicious smile Christine had in her face as she turned away from him.
Christine Dark
Freedom Island, Caribbean Sea, July 16, 2014
“Do you want a sandwich? I’m making sandwiches,” Mark said when she walked in.
“A sandwich sounds good.”
“The usual?”
Her usual was turkey and Swiss on rye, with plenty of mayo and rabbit food. “I’ll have whatever you’re having,” she said instead.
“Roast beef and provolone, thousand island dressing, hold the veggies?”
“Sure, why not? Just had another frustrating day. Might as well mix things up a little.”
“Still no luck, uh?” he said as he lay down the ingredients on the kitchen counter and got to work.
“Only bad luck. Spent the whole afternoon with Uncle Adam, and it was nothing but one big ball of epic fail. Getting a lot of pressure from the Legion bosses – the Centurions or Tribunes or whatevs.”
“They prefer Councilor. Sounds more dignified than the Whatevs.”
“Then maybe they should have picked a better title for their outfit than a military term from a culture that thought watching people being eaten by lions was good clean fun.”
“Maybe you could run for the Council and propose a name change. Maybe we could become the Freedom Friends. Nice and non-violent.”
“Hey, that’s not bad.”
“Christine?”
“Mark?”
“I’d rather carve eyeholes in my head than be part of a group with the name Friends in it. Just saying.”
She chuckled.
“Okay, okay. Anyways. The Legion Councilors really want me to go back to the Source and stop new Neos from showing up and rearranging the landscape. Or old Neos getting supercharged and losing their minds, like that poor Zhang girl.”
“What was her deal anyway? Anybody know?”
“I got a few thoughts and emotions from her, via my erratic telepathy thingy. And Olivia filled in the rest. Turns out Dawn had been screwing around with Larry Graham.”
“Swift. Olivia’s husband.”
“Exactomundo. Anyway, they broke it off, but then Larry died in the big fight against the Genocide. Dawn saw it happen, and then was almost killed by one of the Outsider thingies in the next round of the big fight.”
“I’m kinda glad I missed all that shit, except for the fact I was in Hell at the time.”
“Yeah. No good choices there. But she was on the verge of death, trying desperately to tap into more power from the Source, just around the time I went into a coma and the blocks around the Source went down. She got super-juiced.”
“And went batshit crazy.”
“Yeah,” she said, her shoulders slumping.
“Not your fault. Have a sandwich.”
She had a sandwich. The roast beef and dressing were a bit too rich for her taste, but she ate it anyway.
“Where’s she been these last four months?”
Christine swallowed a big mouthful of rare beef, feeling like she should grow fangs, before answering.
“She was stranded in space. Looks like her transponder broke, so she was presumed dead, and she did her best to hide from any search parties. She might have destroyed the transponder herself; I don’t know. She spent a lot of time alone in outer space before making it back to Earth. Weeks, maybe months, which didn’t help her mental state. I don’t think she
was here for very long before deciding to destroy Florida.”
“Why Florida?”
“That’s where the hurricanes are, I guess.”
“Batshit crazy.”
“I feel bad for her.”
“I feel bad for the crews of those boats her little hurricane sent to the bottom. Forty-one missing, presumed dead, just because she lost her shit.”
“Yeah, there’s that.” She looked down. “There’s always that.”
She ate the last of the sandwich. It tasted too much like blood; she almost yukked it back up. Only the fact that she totally hated puking made her keep it down.
“Christine…”
“Mark…”
He shrugged. “Never mind.”
“Eff never mind! Spit it out.”
“It’s been over a week. More like ten days.”
“I know.”
“You haven’t been yourself.”
“I know.”
“So tell me.”
“Show you. Telling is too tough.”
“So show me.”
She did.
Earth FUBAR, Day One
The town had been built around a former commercial strip off a highway exit. Two gas stations and a bunch of fast-food joints and a mini-convenience store were surrounded by recently-built homes, mostly little prefabs and an assortment of trailers. It didn’t make sense to pack people so closely together when there was all that farmland around, so it must be a mandatory arrangement. The Bitch Queen apparently wanted her slaves bunched up, maybe so she could issue orders more easily. Or just to make people miserable.
“Welcome back to the town of Haven. That’s your place,” Robb said, pointing at a bleak-looking white-with-green trimmings house on blocks on the edge of town. It wasn’t the worst-looking dwelling in the village, but far from the best. “Your Ma and Pa are in there, but they’re probably sleeping off their drunk. If you want, we can go to my place, and talk.”
She didn’t want to deal with people in the habit of sleeping off their drunk at three in the afternoon. Best to go along with Robb, who at least might be helpful.
Although he might try to do more than talk, Christine thought. I need his help, but I don’t need any crap from him. She’d put up with some mild sexual harassment if she had to, but if it became more than mild, well, she’d had some very good hand to hand teachers. Mark’s lessons had been particularly pointed, not to mention brutal. “Okay, let’s go.”
New Olympus Saga (Book 4): The Ragnarok Alternative Page 6
