Super World Two

by Lawrence Ambrose

  "Yes," said Jamie. "Kim-Ly says they have no immediate plans to attack me or us, but I'm sure they're not thrilled with me 'turning' people. They probably know about the people I've given the virus so far. Or can guess. Tildie made quite a splash when she flew cross-country from Portland to surprise me."

  "You mentioned the Air Force? So what happened? They sent fighter jets to intercept her?"

  "You guessed it." Jamie smiled. "If she'd told me she was coming, I would've recommended she fly higher – which apparently, she's capable of. I haven't heard anything, but I'm guessing they've figured out it was her. She said they stopped bothering her as she crossed into North Dakota. Maybe because she rescued one of the pilots."

  "I sense quite a story there."

  "Seems like there's quite a story everywhere these days."

  They smiled into each other's faces. A single tear slipped out of Jamie's right eye.

  "I'm so happy you're back," she said, stroking his arm. "We should tell Kylee."

  "It's only 5 in the morning, honey. Maybe we shouldn't interrupt her sleep." He reached for her, a mischievous grin appearing. "Assuming we can be quiet enough."

  THE INDIVIDUAL testing completed, Dr. Elena Lane and her crew of scientists rounded up the twenty-six men and women who had received Jamie and Kylee's alien nanoviruses. The commander of the group was understood to be Dr. Jacob Kushner from the start – he'd recently been promoted to President Tomlinson's Chief Advisor, after all – but the formal announcement of his command had only come down from the Tomlinson Administration after the preliminary tests had been completed, and, by some coincidence, Dr. Kushner's powers were regarded as among the top five in terms of overall deadliness and strength.

  The relative strengths of the people in the test program was on Kushner's mind as they assembled in the testing area. He speculated that had his abilities proven to be comparatively minimal someone else might've been granted command. Perhaps Major Fred Harrington, a ramrod straight Space Command Special Forces commander in his early forties, who was likely the most physically fit and gung-ho individual on the team. A natural military leader if there ever was one. And not lacking in intelligence with an IQ of 134. He was in the top four. As was Monica Leonard, a CIA intelligence analyst, and Doug Janowski, a DARPA physicist.

  From the few details that Jamie Shepherd had supplied, there seemed to be no necessary connection between physical prowess and how the nanovirus manifested itself, and there own experience appeared to confirm that. The special team in charge of selecting candidates, headed by Jacob himself, placed a small emphasis on military, physically fit types, but with the exception of Fred Harrington, none of them ranked near the top in terms of special gifts. Their list of candidates was limited by national security concerns – everyone needed to have a top security clearance – and opponents of the Tomlinson Admin were off-limits. The selected were all thoroughgoing teamplayers. The only other factor Jacob and his people had emphasized was intelligence. However the superpowers played out, at least the candidates would have high IQs. And by happy coincidence, Jacob owned the highest score.

  Now they were all seated at desks, examining or skimming the copious data on each of the "infected" individuals, and Kushner imagined everyone was wondering the same thing: How do I measure up? That was a surprisingly difficult theoretical and practical question, he thought. Theoretically, who would win between, say, someone with his personal deadliest power – matter dematerialization – versus, say, Fred Harrington, whose most noteworthy power was heat projection? Or between Doug Janowski, who possessed the strongest telekinetics, and Monica Leonard, who appeared capable of scrambling a person's brains?

  The answer was like solving a paper-rock-scissors problem cubed. Would Doug Janowski smash Monica telekinetically before Monica fried his brains? Would Fred Harrington burn Jacob to a crisp before Jacob reduced him to subatomic rubble?

  The practical problem – the only solution to the theoretic one – was testing out their comparative strengths in a real-life situation. But how could they do that without risking everyone's lives? No one had an answer. Kushner strongly suspected that in a fight it would come down to reflexes, or simply to who struck first. It might also come down to how one fought under pressure – or to battle training or experience. Harrington would have a huge edge there.

  Jamie Shepherd also had real-life battle experience. If they ever had a conflict, that might be the difference between her defeating them or them defeating her. And of course there was the vexing wild card of the people she herself had infected with the super nanovirus.

  The alleged alien threat was one thing, but national security required that they learn as soon as possible what Shepherd had spawned.

  TERRY MAYES figured out on his own how he'd been cured. The new Terry, who now combined his former prodigious autistic focus with calm, inspired reason, had no trouble connecting Kylee's strange act of placing a tear-stained finger on one of his eyes. He'd dropped off for just a moment, but had come to in time to see her touch the tears on her eyes and then dab her wet forefinger into his right eye. He'd thought it was some incomprehensible act of tenderness – all acts of tenderness had been largely incomprehensible to him – but now it was obvious: tears were the medium she'd used to transfer the alien supervirus.

  He hadn't planned on sharing that deduction with his brother or grandmother right away. Time was needed to more rigorously assess his options. But his brother had gotten in his face, demanding if he'd had any unusual encounter with the Shepherds – they all knew from Kylee that the supervirus could be transmitted, but that the Shepherds were keeping mum on the method – and Terry had never been able to stand up for himself against the focused rage of his frightening older brother. Thomas had never hit him, never even been rough with him, but Terry had seen him erupt in violence with other people and things, and he sensed that violence always lurked just beneath the surface, ready to explode. Thomas might've spared him because of his disease, but now all bets were off.

  So he told him. And having gone that far, he shared with his best friend, a friend he could now only barely relate to, who had had then mentioned it to his mom.

  Now Karen Clarkson and Thomas Mayes had joined forces and showed up at the Shepherd's doorstep together, an uncomfortable-looking Terry in tow. Kylee was sitting in her father's lap – a place she'd barely left since he'd returned – as Dennis and Cal traded theories on why the rider mower had suddenly died on a side-section of the lawn.

  Tildie and Jamie were sparring in the skies overhead – high enough that Tildie's lightning strikes were only muted, invisible rumbles descending through the cloud cover. Jamie was trying to instill the importance of practicing one's super-abilities, and Tildie had been game at first, but her enthusiasm for target practice on a swift-moving Jamie – and Jamie's limited telekinetic retaliations, designed to toughen her friend for those kinds of strikes – was waning swiftly.

  "Aaackk!" Tildie spat out, after launching twin electrical bolts that Jamie received head-on before responding with a telekinetic smack to Tildie's chest that halted her ability to breathe for a few painful seconds. "Do you even feel pain?"

  "Sure," Jamie called back to her. "Your electrical strikes definitely hurt."

  "But not as much as your telekinetic strikes hurt me," Tildie moped.

  "What do you think will happen when you get into a real fight? People will be hitting you with many different powers from all directions."

  Talk about being a killjoy, Tildie thought. Being a superhero was great as long as people weren't trying to kill you. Shuffling book records at the university was starting to look more and more like a dream job.

  "Looks like we've got company," said Jamie, pointing below. Tildie squinted, seeing nothing but brown and green squares with speckled blue candy frosting.

  The visitors only gave small startled starts when Jamie and Tildie zoomed down and landed before them. Dennis, Kylee, and Cal were walking in from the yard, and Kim-Ly was watc
hing from a front window.

  "Hey," said Jamie. She knew they had something on their minds from Thomas's darkly accusing stare, the grim set of Karen Clarkson's mouth, and Terry's guilty half-frown.

  "Terry told me what your daughter did," said Thomas. "It wasn't no damn miracle like my grandmother keeps babbling and praising God about. She infected him."

  He sounded almost bitter, Jamie thought. Or maybe jealous?

  "We know it was done with good intent, of course," said Karen Clarkson. "But now...well, I think there's no point in secrecy. We should have a choice about whether we want to be altered by nanovirus or not."

  "And speaking for me," Thomas growled, "I sure as hell do. I was somebody on your world. I want to be somebody here, too."

  "And I want..." Karen glanced in the direction of her home, a twitch of muscle in her set jaw. "I want my son to have the chance to be what he was meant to be. Kevin had such a great future before the autism set in. I see the effect the virus has on Terry..." Terry met Jamie's eyes for a moment before looking away. "And I want that for my son. Not some great superpowers. I just want him whole again."

  Jamie traded looks with Dennis and her daughter. Tildie was nodding to her.

  "We know my brother could've given us the virus," said Thomas. "But on the chance it makes a difference to get it from the original source..." He stared at Jamie.

  "I understand," said Jamie. "You know I came here with the plan of infecting everyone with the super virus. It's not that I'm trying to keep it secret, exactly. I've just been thinking about the implications. For one thing, being super will paint a target on your back. At least until it becomes more common – if it ever does."

  "And there's the question of whether that would be a good thing," said Cal. "Aside from the social problems, with great power comes the opportunity to seriously screw someone or something up. I'm speaking from experience, there."

  "If it's what you want, I'll do it," said Jamie. "I'm not going to cry for everyone" – she offered them a limp smile – "but for you two and Kevin, yes."

  "Or I'll do it," Kylee spoke up.

  "No offense, little lady," said Thomas, "but I think I'll stick with the source – Mother Shepherd here."

  He gave her a large, white grin. Dennis moved closer to her side. Karen Clarkson cleared her throat.

  "Thank you, Jamie," she said. "Then I guess I'll go get my son."

  Jamie met Thomas Mayes' dark-mamba gaze as Dennis stood protectively by her. What might she be unleashing on the world? The Thomas Mayes she'd known had been a deadly force obsessed with power, a felon serving years in prison. This Thomas Mayes was a family man, someone who'd shouldered the responsibility for raising his brother and caring for his grandmother. He ran a small but successful contractor business that specialized in custom basements, according to Dennis. His father had apparently purchased the business from a friend, who postponed retirement long enough to show Thomas the ropes.

  Jamie wondered if Thomas was living a life he'd inherited or had pushed on him. What if he had the power to choose another life, one better in line with his true self?

  "What's wrong with your lawnmower?" Terry broke the silence.

  "I'm not sure," said Dennis. "It just stalled, and with all our superpowers we can't seem to fix it."

  "Why don't I take a look?"

  "Uh..." Dennis shot Jamie a concerned look. Cal winked at her.

  "Go ahead, Dennis, Dad," she said. "I'm betting Terry will be able to help you."

  They walked away – Dennis casting nervous backward glances at them.

  "Funny," Thomas said in a low chuckle that didn't sound amused. "Your husband is afraid to leave you with the black man, even though you're a million times stronger than I am."

  "It is kind of funny, when you think about it."

  "Even you look a little nervous your own super self."

  "It's not because you're Afro-American. Thomas..." Jamie looked into his dark brown eyes and saw the fierce inner light. "It's what you were. And what you could become. What you almost did on my world."

  "I'm glad that at least one of me had some fucking balls."

  "That's what I'm afraid of. The same anger that motivated him burns in you."

  "I could get it from my brother. I don't need you."

  "But I may need you. When you stopped trying to rule my world, you helped save it. Without you, it might not have been saved."

  "Well then, what are you worried about?" His smile was slim. "Since I'm such a noble hero inside and all."

  "Let's not get carried away. I think you are basically a good man. I believe you'll do the right thing in the end, but I'm not sure we can afford to wait that long this time."

  "We on a busy schedule?"

  "Maybe. That's what Kim-Ly is suggesting, anyway."

  Thomas folded his muscular arms across his chest, his face a dark obelisk. No more discussion then, Jamie thought. She blinked hard twice, more with irritation than sadness, but it did the trick. She dabbed the tear with her finger.

  "Open your eyes wide and don't move," she told him. He grew rigid as she touched her finger to a corner of his left eye. She held it there for a couple of seconds until he blinked involuntarily. "That should do it."

  "You're sure?"

  "We'll know soon enough."

  From across the lawn, Dennis turned away with a breath of relief and focused on what Terry Mayes was saying. How ridiculous for him to worry about a mere man posing a threat to his wife.

  "You just had a weak ground, Mr. Shepherd," said Terry. "I fixed it. It will run fine now. I also sharpened your blades, and renewed the belts and the engine."

  "How?" Dennis stared from him to the mower. "All you did was put your hands on it."

  "I could see it all – in my head."

  No one spoke for several moments. Cal dropped down in the seat and turned the key. The engine purred to life.

  "Man," said Cal, "where were you when my old Lincoln died?"

  Chapter 23

  THE MILES PEELED BY, and even as he rolled into Colorado, Jake Culler couldn't stop thinking about her. Not all that surprising since he kept seeing her face in the rearview mirror.

  During the night he spent in Bum Fuck Egypt – aka Eureka, Nevada – Jake started to change back. He sensed he was standing at the gateway back to his true self, but he halted the process. It wasn't hard. It took an act of will to unbecome Jenna Wells just as it had taken to become her, so he just stopped trying. He told himself it was because he wanted to fuck with his ex-best friend – he'd decided for sure to pay him a visit – but somewhere in that "dark soul of the night" – or was it the other way around? – he realized that he wasn't ready to give up Jenna Wells. Maybe it was the female side of him talking, but he liked looking in the mirror and seeing her there. It was as if she was there with him, and he didn't want to give that up.

  He knew it was crazy, but what about having superpowers or parallel worlds or aliens wasn't? Nothing was normal since Jamie Shepherd had waltzed into his life. Speaking of which, he needed to call her – the number she'd left for him – and talk about getting together. He knew she lived in North Dakota, and he was about halfway there.

  But first there was his old pal, Greg, and after that he wasn't sure...maybe a stop in Lafayette, Colorado, if he was feeling masochistic enough.

  He'd called Greg yesterday, just to make sure he was around – he easily might not have been, considering his employer often sent him off to hold hands with some bloodthirsty Middle Eastern autocrat – but as luck would have it, he was around and just as prickly as ever.

  "Hey, shithead," Horner had answered Jake's call. So he'd kept Jake's number on his phone's contacts or recognized the number. That had to mean something, didn't it?

  "Hey –" Jake just about added a matching sobriquet, but decided on a softer approach that would avoid freaking his old friend out too soon. "I'm...Jenna Wells. A friend of Jake's. I'll be passing through Colorado Springs and wondering if we could tal
k."

  "Friend? What kind of friend?"

  "Special friend, I guess. Are you at home?"

  "What do you want to talk about?"

  "It's about, uh, Jake. Something has happened to him."

  After a long pause, Horner asked: "Is he okay?"

  "Fine. Physically. It's something we need to talk about in person."

  "Well, I'm home. Headed out next week, but home, now."

  "Good. I'll call you when I'm in Colorado Springs."

  "All right."

  Greg had sounded atypically somber when he'd hung up. Maybe the asshole is actually worried about me? More likely wondering what Jenna looked like and if he had a shot to get into her pants. Jake smiled an acidic smile that somehow managed to look cute on Jenna's face in the rearview mirror. His old buddy was going to be profoundly disappointed when the woman of his juiciest dreams was totally immune to his so-called charms.

  His smile died as he drove up to Horner's place – a sprawling, single-story ranch-style house on a quarter-acre – the site of their final blowout. They'd both been drinking too much and their little political discussion got out of hand. Jake rubbed his right jaw, still feeling the force of Horner's fist. He guessed Horner had some fist-landing memories of his own.

  No worries about that now, Jake reminded himself as he climbed out of his GTO. Horner's best punch would make about as much of an impression on him as a mosquito bite, not that Jake could see his friend ever hitting a girl. And even a bitch-slap from him would probably remove Horner's head from his shoulders. Jake told himself to keep that in mind, in case things got heated.

  Jake rang the front doorbell. He didn't hear anyone stirring inside, but the snarl of a lawnmower seemed to be coming from his unfenced backyard. Jake walked around the house, and there was his former friend, shoving a mower around a large work shed.

  Horner performed the expected double take when he spotted him, and rushed to turn off his mower and slap a hand across his sweaty face. Jake was a couple hours earlier than what he told him on the phone that morning. That was okay. He kind of enjoyed seeing Horner sweat.