“Glad to see you are awake,” the man said. His voice was gruff and had a hint of an accent. Russian or Eastern European, maybe.
“Are you an Orthodox priest?” Christine asked. Not ‘Where am I?’ or ‘Who are you?’ That’s how she rolled, and she had learned to accept herself.
“Yes, I am,” he replied, unfazed by the question. “I am Father Aleksander. You are in the Church of Saint Theodosius in New York City.”
“New York? I was in Ann Arbor last night! That’s in Michigan, by the way, and it’s like a bazillion hour drive from here. Did they fly me here? I was in a hospital, am I okay? Why am I in church? I was raised Presbyterian, by the way, not Orthodox, but in any case why any church? And…“ Christine forced herself to stop talking. “Sorry. I get away from myself sometimes.”
Father Aleksander smiled. “That is quite all right. I wish I could be more helpful, but I don’t have all the answers to those questions. I will tell you what I can, and a friend of mine will tell you more. Would you like to have something to eat or drink while we talk?”
“Now that you mention it, I’m starving. And can I keep these slippers? They’re really comfy.”
The Freedom Legion
Atlantic Headquarters, March 13, 2013
Olivia O’Brien traded the burnished metal armor of Artemis for business-casual attire. Her office had a changing room with a closet whose space was filled by a combination of colorful costumes and austere business suits. That in a nutshell defined life in the Legion: a combination of circus performing, being a firefighter or soldier, and working as an executive at a large corporation. She came out of the changing room and smiled towards her assistant. “Let’s get started, shall we?”
Cecilia Ramirez was supposed to be a normal human, but her attention to detail, skill in maneuvering through bureaucratic mazes, and uncanny ability to gather and remember information from a myriad of sources bordered on the superhuman. She had been Olivia’s executive assistant for eight years, and she was invaluable as an aide – and as a friend. The petite Bolivian-American woman glanced at her E-tablet before starting. “The meeting with BC Multimedia to discuss next year’s new licensing projects has been confirmed for 2 to 3 p.m. They mostly want to talk about a new lineup for the Legion Unlimited MMO.”
Once upon a time, Buck Comics had been a small New York company best known for its Action Tales comic book series. In 1938 that comic book started to chronicle (and embellish rather radically) Ultimate’s adventures, and the rest was history. Now BC Multimedia owned multiple movie studios, publishing houses and software companies, and it lavishly marketed everything related to the Freedom Legion. The relationship had been mutually beneficial for the most part; licensing fees funded a significant percentage of the Legion’s budget. Most of the licensing process was left to the many civilian managers working for the organization, but BC’s people always wanted some face time with actual Legion members.
Olivia checked the appointment on her tablet’s calendar. “An hour sounds good, and don’t let me go over it, please.” BC’s people tended to ramble on if left unchecked. Better to give them a tight deadline. She enjoyed talking to them for the most part – even after becoming a large corporation, BC’s management was still dominated by actual fans of the Legion – but she only had a limited amount of time to give them. She reminded herself to change into her costume for that meeting, just to make them happy.
“Of course. Your presence has been requested a 3:30 pm at the Gymnasium. General sparring with the advanced students. .”
“Good, I could use the workout.” Even better, she could keep the costume for the sparring session.
The sparring session would be both an outlet to release some pent-up energy and an opportunity to watch some potential Legionnaires. There were several promising new students she wanted to see in action before considering their candidacy to the Legion. In addition to serving as the Legion’s headquarters on the Western Hemisphere, the island also hosted the Freedom Institute. The Institute was the premiere Neolympian training school, where young parahumans from all around the world could learn to control and refine their abilities, as well as study the ethics and responsibilities involved in being one of those select few. Most students blessedly took their lessons to heart and became useful and productive members of society. A large percentage of them ended up becoming full-time or reserve members of the Legion.
Thinking about the Institute reminded Olivia of the press conference that morning and the accusations Fowler had leveled towards the legion. ‘Sensitivity training’ indeed! She didn’t know what kind of game that little bastard Fowler was playing. The comment about Linda leaving John had been particularly malicious. Yes, there had been a brief separation, but Linda Lamar had never been afraid of her husband. If anything Ultimate – John – had been the one in fear, always worried about keeping his wife safe. The accusation had been deliberately provocative. It was almost as if Fowler had wanted Ultimate to attack him.
What worried Olivia was that during Fowler’s diatribe she had actually thought John was going to react violently. She had known her friend long enough to read his body language and to see the minute tension in his shoulders and face that indicated he was about to do something. If she hadn’t intervened and shut Fowler up, she didn’t know what might have happened. A man who had spent the better part of a century learning to control his powers and his temper couldn’t be so easily provoked, could he? When you added that morning’s incident to all the strangeness of the previous month, it was clear that something was very wrong.
Olivia realized Cecilia was waiting for her to stop woolgathering – her assistant was quite adept at sensing what was going through Olivia’s mind. “Sorry,” Olivia said. “I’m a bit worried about the incident with Ultimate this morning.”
“Yes, the whole thing smells like a skunk to me,” Cecilia said; she’d clearly been giving the matter some thought as well. “I took the liberty of doing some research on the skunk in question, as a matter of fact. Fowler’s blog was just picked by GNN, in a fairly lucrative deal for Fowler.”
“That explains what the man was doing on the island. It might even explain the slant of the questions,” Olivia said ruefully. The Global News Network and its founder Thaddeus Twist were not fans of Neolympians in general and the Freedom Legion in particular. Twist’s media empire never missed an opportunity to point out the real, potential and imaginary problems the world’s population of parahumans represented. Twist was an otherwise principled and progressive person, but his obsession with the evil Neos did or could do was a constant annoyance, not least because the man’s paranoia was not wholly unfounded. “Fowler has become part of the vast anti-Neo conspiracy, then,” Olivia said.
Cecilia’s eyes twinkled with amusement. ‘Vast Neo Conspiracy’ had become a common catchphrase among certain circles. The fact that some Neos did engage in all manner of Byzantine plots did not help, of course. “Aren’t conspiracies supposed to be secret?” her assistant replied. “Twist doesn’t really try to hide his misgivings about parahumanity.”
“No, he doesn’t. The sad thing is, I agree with many of his concerns,” Olivia admitted. “That’s one of the reasons we established the Freedom Institute, to help people with powers become responsible citizens.”
“You don’t have to convince me, Olivia,” Cecilia said with a smile before continuing in a more serious tone. “It was fortunate that Fowler picked on Ultimate instead of one of our more… volatile members. I shudder to think how Berserker would have reacted if provoked in that manner.”
“Yes,” Olivia said blandly. Cecilia didn’t know Ultimate very well. Olivia, on the other hand, knew how angry her friend and mentor had been. It worried her a great deal.
She had known John Clarke for her entire adult life. The first time she saw him she had been plain Olivia O’Brien, high school senior from Baltimore, in the long-gone year 1963. Her parents had taken her to attend the March on Washington that celebrated the passa
ge of the Civil Rights Act earlier that year. As the child of a mixed couple, Olivia knew the racial issues dividing the country all too well. Even on the train to D.C. she had seen the ugly stares her parents attracted everywhere they went. That day she hadn’t been particularly upset by the sidelong looks, however. For one, she and her parents were not alone; she had never seen so many people of color together on a train before. More importantly, she felt like part of history in the making.
Reverend King had given his immortal speech that day. Janus also had been there, in his colorful Navy blue and gold costume, his half-mask doing little to conceal his race. His own speech had been cool and dispassionate, and Olivia had forgotten most of what he said, but she and the crowd around her had cheered him wildly nonetheless. Everybody knew Janus had quietly convinced several Southern leaders to change some long-standing policies in their localities. Rumor was some of the more radical white supremacists had disappeared without a trace at around the same time. Olivia didn’t think Janus would stoop to that kind of direct action, but she wasn’t sure. She cheered him enthusiastically nonetheless. Janus had been the first black superhero, the man who had won the war in the Pacific and who had forced the likes of MacArthur and Halsey to dance to his tune by the sheer force of his personality as much as by his raw power. His speech lacked Reverend King’s stirring power, but his presence at the march had meant a great deal.
A hush came over the crowd as Janus finished his speech and people noticed Ultimate flying over the gathering. The silver and red costume was unmistakable. Ultimate’s deeds in the European front had been glorified far more than Janus’ actions in the Pacific; there were rumors that the two Legionnaires were rivals. Would the Invincible Man try to suppress or intimidate the marcher’s gathering? The hero had eschewed politics since the Freedom Legion had become an international organization, but his presence over the gathered crowd seemed ominous.
Ultimate had landed next to Reverend King and shaken his hand, and embraced Janus in a brotherly display of affection. He had remained with King and Janus the rest of the day, saying nothing, respectfully standing behind the speakers of the day, but making clear where his sympathies lay. Plenty of people had bemoaned Ultimate’s appearance, her parents’ included. They had felt it had been a patronizing gesture, and Olivia could see their point. The teenager she had been only saw the world’s greatest hero standing up for what was right, however.
Olivia had never been so proud to be an American.
Things had changed quickly after that day, and not for the better. The Chinese Empire had started a war the next year, only weeks after President Kennedy finalized a major troop withdrawal from the Republic of China with the claim that it was ‘time to glean the dividends of peace.‘ As the US and the UN rushed troops back into Asia, that dumb blonde movie star had gone public with the story of her affair with the President. There were accusations that both the war and the scandal were payback for Kennedy’s support for the Civil Rights Act and its equally controversial counterpart, the Parahuman Registration Act. Southerners and Neolympians had allegedly joined forces to destroy the President.
Amidst the controversy, on a cloudy day in May of 1964, Olivia had been seized by convulsions on her way home from school and had collapsed unconscious. When she awoke she realized she had grown three inches in height and become a superhuman being. Her parents’ support for the Parahuman Registration Act had wavered when it was time for them to send their darling daughter off to a government facility to have her powers tested and recorded, but in the end Olivia herself had decided to do the right thing.
It was there that she had met Ultimate for the second time, or the first if you discounted that glimpse of him floating down from the sky. He had been one of her teachers, a kind and gentle man who had shown her how to control her powers, and more importantly how to accept who and what she was. Over the decades, as their roles changed from teacher and pupil to friends and equals, they had become close. They had stood side by side through battles and wars, weddings and funerals. He had cried on her shoulder the day his wife died. For a while, Olivia had feared grief would do to him what no weapon or parahuman power had, but John had recovered and moved on. Or so she had thought.
Olivia looked at Cecilia. She knew she could trust her friend implicitly, and she needed to tell somebody. She wished she could tell Larry, but confiding in her husband was no longer a possibility. “I first started noticing something wrong with John about a year ago,” she finally said. “It started out with little things. Absent-mindedness. Aloofness and coldness. Memory lapses.” She could not bring herself to mention the time a few weeks ago when he had called her by his dead wife’s name. It had been heart-breaking, embarrassing and disturbing at the same time. “In the last few weeks they’ve gotten a lot worse.”
“You are saying that Ultimate may be having some sort of breakdown.” Cecilia said, looking concerned.
“That’s what I’m afraid of,” Olivia admitted.
‘Neo Psychosis’ was a pop psychology term, a catch-all phrase that covered a multitude of problems. The fact remained that Neolympians had a higher incidence of psychological problems than normal humans. Some were the obvious result of being granted superhuman abilities, of course. The mere realization one had become an immortal being with godlike powers could unhinge many minds. Other problems were more subtle and included a variety of personality disorders: an addiction to dangerous thrills, sociopathic and narcissistic tendencies, or even megalomania. For the better part of a century, Ultimate’s presence had acted as a counterexample, showing the world a compassionate and steady person who retained those qualities despite being one of the most powerful beings on the planet. If he fell, what hope was there for the rest of parahumanity?
A slight tremor shook the building just as she was about to tell Cecilia more about her worries. In the distance, Olivia heard the unmistakable sound of explosions. What was going on?
“What’s that?” Cecilia asked, looking out the window behind Olivia.
Olivia swiveled around on her chair just in time to see fire and smoke erupt from the old Freedom Tower, now turned into a museum. “No!” The sky was full of missiles plunging down on their final trajectories. Pillars of smoke in the distance revealed the source of the explosions she had heard. Instincts honed by decades of combat took over. She was already moving and creating a flaming shield when the first cruise missile hit her office window.
The reinforced glass only served to detonate the high-explosive warhead and provide shrapnel for the fiery explosion. The shockwave washed over her, but she had planted her feet and willed herself not to be moved, and she remained standing. She glanced back. Cecilia had been partially shielded from the explosion and the shrapnel by Olivia’s shield, but the petite woman had still been knocked down and was lying semi-conscious on the office floor.
More missiles were coming in. Olivia felt the building shake noticeably as it was struck somewhere below her, and saw more missiles flying directly at her. She created and flung a flame spear at the speed of thought, and detonated one of the missiles a hundred yards away. The other two struck, one exploding directly on her shield, and the heavy warhead was powerful enough to knock her back and stun her for a couple of seconds. Parts of the ceiling collapsed over her
When she recovered, Olivia found herself half buried under fallen masonry. Her head was ringing, but her shield had blunted most of the damage and her superhuman physique had weathered the rest. She could hear other explosions. The building shook alarmingly beneath her.
Olivia lifted a reinforced metal beam off her and staggered to her feet, shrugging off pieces of concrete and rebar that would have crushed a normal human being. The office was a raging inferno. There was no sign of Cecilia or any of the other dozen people that worked in her office.
“Cecilia!” she yelled, but her voice was lost in the conflagration and the new explosions. This couldn’t be happening! Freedom Island was one of the most highly protected sites on
Earth!
The floor gave way, and Olivia fell as the building collapsed around her.
Chapter Four
Face-Off
New York City, New York, March 13, 2013
I leaned back on the subway car seat and thought deep thoughts.
I was wearing the face of one of my old high school teachers so I wouldn’t scare the tourists. Mr. Grover had been a mean-looking son of a bitch, and his face fit my mood and convinced people around me to respect my space. My usual costume is a leather jacket (with discreet Hyper-Kevlar inserts), jeans and combat boots, so people only recognize me when I go faceless. While wearing a borrowed face I was just another disgruntled New Yorker.
Yeah, I know. I may be one of the top vigilantes in the Big Apple, but I usually take the subway to get where I’m going. I had dumped Giamatti’s car somewhere in the Bronx, just in case the bad guys had a way to track it other than the GPS device I had disabled before driving off with it. By now Giamatti’s Tucker Raptor was probably being stripped for parts at some chop shop, and I was back to using my usual mode of transportation. My other method of travel, jumping from rooftop to rooftop, was fine for short trips but not the best way to get around for anything involving more than a few blocks. When I really needed a car, I would steal it: pimps had the best wheels and they rarely called the cops, so they were my go-to people when I wanted a ride. At the moment, the train suited me fine. It gave me time to think.
This job was getting weirder and weirder. Cassandra had sent me off to check on the girl while she figured out the next step. If Christine was up and about I was supposed to learn as much as possible from her while I waited for Cassandra to get in touch with further instructions. My immediate worry was thinking of ways to keep the ex-hostage from contacting the authorities. While I traveled from the East Village to the Bronx and back, she might well have woken up and demanded to be let go. Father Alex wouldn’t keep her against her will, and neither would I, for that matter. My only hope would be to convince her it was in her best interests to stay under wraps while we figured who had ordered the kidnapping and why. Which was something that Cassandra would usually know by now, but with the astral plane or whatever being fucked up, we were flying blind. I was not happy.
New Olympus Saga (Book 1): Armageddon Girl Page 6
