Super World

by Lawrence Ambrose

  "You said he had some people with him?" Jamie asked. "I'm guessing they would be some of the inmates who broke out of the prison. At least one of them had strong telekinetic powers, from what I saw on TV."

  "Right," said Zach. "And they may have surrounded themselves with lots of armed men. Maybe he had President Morgan call in the National Guard or even an Army unit."

  "Damn it," the Deputy Director hissed. "Just give me a minute. I need to figure out who to call first."

  "I can think of someone you might want to call," said Zach. "Someone good at rescuing people."

  Mellon paused, tracing Zach's pointed glance at Jamie with an expression of equal parts slowly dawning comprehension and hard resistance.

  "I think I'll try Major General Tim Blocker first," he said. "As Commander of the Military District of Washington and Joint Force Headquarters, he might be the more logical choice."

  Chapter 12

  BUT LOGIC WAS A funny thing. They'd soon learned that not only had General Blocker already received orders to surround Capitol Hill with an impenetrable ring of forces, but that he'd also been ordered to send elements of the Military Police Battalion, 12th Aviation Battalion, and the Air Force's 11th Wing to Reagan National to eliminate "by any and all means necessary" the threat represented by the "augmented domestic terrorist," Jamie Shepherd.

  It would've been funny, Jamie thought, if thousands of police and troops weren't coming to kill her and the fate of the nation hung in the balance.

  Thomas Mayes had responded with remarkable speed and thoroughness, Zach thought, as Jamie deposited him at a nearby hotel. The young couple's expressions as they set down in the rear parking lot of the Addison Inn were priceless, but Zach couldn't work up much amusement. Jamie's powers might be extraordinary, but they hadn't come with an operating manual. Under duress, there was no telling how well she'd control them or how many people might pay a horrendous price if she unleashed her full power. She'd created diamonds with her bare hands. If she went all-out, who knew what might happen? Hell, she might create a black hole and suck the whole planet into Never-Never Land.

  "Just hang out here," she said. "I'll be back when I can."

  "Do you have any idea what you're going to do?" he asked.

  "I think I'm just going to go in fast and grab President Morgan. I don't want to get into a fight with his people or anyone else. Just get in there and out as quickly as I can with him."

  "And then convince him he serves us and not his group of special interests?"

  Jamie returned his dry smile. "Let's not get carried away. I'm going to try to free him of Mayes' mind-control, not make him into a saint."

  "I hope that works – that Mayes' commands aren't permanent."

  "I guess we'll find out."

  "Well..." Zach cautiously smoothed a strand of blond hair from her cheek. "Go save the world, Superwoman."

  She touched his hand ever so lightly with the tips of her fingers. He smiled and withdrew his hand.

  Jamie lifted off and proceeded across town toward the Capitol Building at a sedate pace. She didn't have far to go, and she could use the time to consider strategies that would prevent or minimize collateral damage. Thomas Mayes and his friends probably wouldn't be worrying much about that. She had to assume the person or persons who'd blown aside police cars at the prison was here. She had no idea what would happen if she battled someone with powers similar to hers, but if they were anywhere near equal the person without a conscience would have a big advantage.

  The famous center of U.S. democracy rolled into view beneath her, surrounded by hundreds of troops, police, and military and police vehicles. Crowds of people gathered along the fringes of the secured area. Several news crews roamed the perimeter, video cameras pointed toward the Capitol complex and at the helicopters circling the area.

  Jamie circled above them, acknowledging the embarrassing truth that she wasn't sure where the Senate and House of Representatives met. She was pretty sure it was in the wings, but which wing would they be using today?

  As she descended, a helicopter broke formation and veered toward her. Damn. She'd been spotted. Without thinking, she rocketed upward. The helicopters and the buildings themselves shrunk into tiny squares. The speed of her ascent had heated her clothing. Careful. She was wearing her best business "power suit" – black pants and vest and coral blouse. It would be a shame to incinerate it. So many lessons of physics to learn with these new abilities, but she couldn't afford a lot of errors in her trials today. One slip-up might not only leave her naked, but could kill the President and possibly everyone in the buildings below.

  The helicopter passed through where she was and then resumed circling the complex. Had they radioed in a warning? Not much she could do about that now. But she thought it was possible, using sheer speed, to avoid their detection next time.

  Jamie picked a spot on the south wing, and waited for what she estimated was the largest gap in helicopter coverage of that area before plummeting down at a speed that would make a peregrine falcon dizzy. The top of the building passed in a flash, and she put on the brakes – stopping so suddenly that she could've sworn her organs would burst free of her body and continue downward. But she felt no ill effects – nothing more than if she'd halted in mid-walk. No time to wonder about the extreme g-forces involved. She had to get inside the building before someone spotted her.

  Jamie flew forward, ignoring the warning cries in her mind as she smashed through a second story window into a crowded room. Men and women gasped, raising their arms and ducking against the shower of glass. Jamie pulled back the cloud of glass even as it formed, forcing it to the floor. The people peeked cautiously out from under their arms.

  "Sorry," she said. "The main entrances are blocked."

  "Who are you?" a man asked.

  "I'm..." Had they heard about her? Did they know she was on President Morgan's "enemy combatant" list? "A visitor. Um, could I ask who you are...and what you're doing?"

  "I'm Congressman Gordon Phillips. We're working on drafting emergency legislation..." His eyes narrowed. "You're an augmented person, aren't you? You just flew in through the window."

  "I think she's the terrorist the President's been warning us about," a young woman spoke up earnestly. "Jane, I think – "

  "Jamie."

  "Yes."

  The young woman was backing toward the door. Several others were following her lead. Jamie willed the door stationary. The woman grabbed the handle but the door didn't budge.

  "Please just relax," said Jamie. "I'm no terrorist. I'm not here to hurt anyone. I'm actually trying to save you."

  "Save us?" The Congressman's face wrinkled in disbelief and the first hints of fear. "From what?"

  "Yourselves." They edged away as she moved into the room. "What is this emergency legislation you're working on?"

  No one spoke. Defiance was edging out fear in their faces. Jamie sighed. Mind-reading or voice command powers would be nice right now.

  "Look, I just want to know what's going on."

  "So you can stop it," Congressman Phillips stated coldly.

  "Yes. Because you – none of you, including the President – is acting of their own free will. The man who's making this happen is an 'augmented person' with the power to verbally compel people. He's hijacked the President and the Congress, including you, Representative Phillips, for his own ends. I'm not sure what those ends are, but he has no right."

  "The President warned us about you," said Phillips. "And we were told you were evil and not to heed anything you say."

  "By Thomas Mayes?" They stared at her defiantly. "Tall, African-American?"

  "We're drafting a major welfare bill," said the young woman, setting her jaw against the barrage of stern glances. "Including a federal minimum wage of $25 and a guaranteed income for all black Americans."

  "A minimum wage of twenty-five dollars? And a guaranteed income only for blacks? Does that seem right to you?"

  "It's for the good o
f the country," stated Congressman Phillips. "Even if we don't fully understand it. Lord Thomas Mayes knows best."

  "Lord? Are you kidding me?"

  "That is the correct way to refer to him," a young man spoke up in a haughty voice. "He has wisdom that is beyond our understanding."

  "Why would you believe that? Just because he told you so?"

  That spawned an exchange of confused glances.

  "It doesn't make any sense, logically, does it? That President Morgan would call an emergency session to pass minimum wage legislation or income guarantees?"

  "Also free college for Black Americans," said the young woman, her doubtful expression suggesting she was coming around.

  "Wouldn't that violate existing discrimination laws?"

  "Those are being amended also," said the Congressman.

  "Where is Thomas Mayes now?"

  "Lord Thomas Mayes," the young man corrected her.

  "Look, I'm trying to avoid a violent confrontation that could hurt people. The more help you guys give me the better my chances are of avoiding bloodshed."

  "What are you going to do?" the young woman asked.

  "I'm going to find President Morgan and take him out of here to a safe place."

  The young woman was blinking as if awakening from a dream. "I know where he is."

  "Where?"

  "Take me with you." She eased closer, away from the others, whose faces had assumed a homicidal glint. "I'll show you."

  "Okay. Thank you."

  They backed out of the room into a noisy hall. Jamie closed the door, and imagined it joining with the walls. It seemed to work, as the people inside began pounding and calling for help. The chattering and shouting throngs in the hallway didn't appear to notice.

  "Where to?" Jamie asked.

  "Right through there." She nodded to the tall, brass-handled doors. "At least last time I saw him."

  They picked their way through the crowd – Jamie with exaggerated care. Even so, a couple of people who bumped into her gave her strange looks. Not of recognition, but of surprise and puzzlement, as if something about the contact didn't feel right. She thought she could imagine what that was. Probably something like bumping into a steel statue when what they saw was a young woman in a business suit.

  They opened the doors to pandemonium. Compared to the mass of people scrambling around the aisles, waving arms, and shouting at each other across the room, the Congressman's room and the hallway were peaceful meditation retreats.

  And at the center of the maelstrom strode the tall, grinning figure of Thomas Mayes. If Jamie hadn't recognized the face, she would've recognized the strut. But where were his companions and President Morgan?

  "There's the President!" The young woman pointed out a familiar craggy face in the center of a group near the Speaker's podium.

  "Do you know who came in with Mayes?"

  "Some huge black guy – looked like a linebacker – a couple of other black men...one skinny and tall, the other shorter and looks like a nerd...and someone I think was a Native American – about your height, overweight, pockmarked face...plus this big white guy who had tattoos on his arms. I think swastikas..."

  Jamie stepped aside as a line of men and women marched out through the doors, determination churning in their faces. She searched the swirling mass of people below. Two men stood out who matched the woman's description: one, a black dude who looked like a boulder rolling through the crowd. Not quite flattening people, but they were moving out of his way fast enough to create that illusion.

  The other man, white and goateed and about the same size, had a similar effect as he wandered the perimeter of the chamber. If anything, people gave him a wider berth.

  "I see the two big guys," said Jamie. "Do you see the others?"

  "The skinny black guy standing back on the stage, I think. And that small black man sitting near the top of the podium."

  "Okay. I see them. You should go. This could become violent."

  The woman nodded and started to retreat. "Please try not to hurt anyone. They believe they're all doing something good."

  "I know. Just a second." Jamie stopped her hand short of the woman's arm. "Do you know how you were able to break free?"

  "Not really. It just didn't make sense to me. I think I was fighting it from the start, and maybe his words never quite took hold."

  "I'm hoping there are more of you."

  "Me, too. I'm Judy, by the way. Judy Garfunkle." She smiled. "No relation."

  "Thank you, Judy."

  "No problem. Good luck."

  Jamie removed a pair of earplugs from her pants pocket and jammed them into her ears as far as she could. The raucous noise in the room retreated but she could still clearly hear people's voices and the bustling of bodies. They would have to do. With any luck, Mayes wouldn't even notice her.

  Jamie worked her way down through the writhing masses, taking her time, trying to appear casual and uninteresting, keeping one eye on Thomas Mayes and his comrades, hoping she wasn't too obvious about that.

  President Morgan was on the move again, heading conveniently in her direction. Her plan had reduced to the simple expedient of telling President Morgan that Congressman Phillips was requesting a conference in his room. With any luck, they'd walk out there without drawing anyone's notice. If the President balked, she couldn't think of anything better than to grab him and fly him out fast enough to avoid any resistance.

  If it came to that, maybe she should strike at Thomas and his four helpers preemptively? If they tried to stop her, that could endanger the President. But what could she do to these men short of killing them? And what if her attack backfired? Hundreds of lives could be at terrible risk.

  President Morgan kept moving in her direction, pausing frequently to talk to someone or offer a greeting. Suddenly, sooner than she'd expected, they were face-to-face. He gave her the vague, self-conscious smile people reserve for those they don't know but perhaps should.

  "Mr. President," said Jamie, surprised by the calmness of her voice, "Congressman Phillips is asking to see you."

  "Then why isn't he here?"

  "He, um, wants to speak to you in private, sir."

  "What about?" His eyes narrowed as he looked at her closely for the first time. "And who are you, by the way?"

  "I'm one of his aides, Mr. President. He says he may have uncovered a plot against Thomas Mayes."

  President Morgan blew out an exasperated breath. "All right. Let's go. It's probably just his usual paranoia."

  Jamie noted the studious young black man, one of his Mayes' suspected henchmen, staring at her with sudden interest. She averted her eyes and walked casually with the President toward the doors she'd entered through.

  "Thomas!" a voice carried over the assemblage. "It's her! She's with the President!"

  President Morgan stopped. He and Jamie looked over their shoulders to see the author of the shout – the studious young man on the podium - jabbing a forefinger at them. Thomas Mayes' eyes found her first, soon followed by everyone else's. The big white guy with the goatee and Swastika tattoos grinned at her as if she were a much-anticipated Christmas present.

  Thomas thrust one long finger of accusation at her. "Jamie Shepherd! You are my loyal servant! Cease all efforts against me!"

  Jamie felt the tug of his words – it suddenly seemed eminently sensible to serve this majestic black man – but either the earplugs had diminished his command or her defenses were better, because she was able to shake them off. Thomas noticed her lack of the desired response and leveled his finger at her once again.

  "Brothers and sisters!" he thundered. "Stop that blond bitch!"

  No time for thought. Jamie grabbed President Morgan under the arms and rose with him ten or eleven feet off the ground – well above the hands clutching the air beneath her. She flew toward the doors as fast as she dared, the President grunting curses and struggling in her arms.

  Jamie dived toward the doors, easing aside the four or
five people blocking her path – anticipating a quick jaunt across the hallway and out the window she'd arrived through – when it was as if meat hooks had latched on all over her body, dragging her to a halt. She felt her skin stretching, but there was little pain – just a sense of pulling against an increasing resistance. A glance down and to her right revealed the likely source of the invisible meat hooks: the goateed guy with the big, Swastika-tattooed arms was grinning at her to beat the band. He raised one meaty hand, as if beckoning her, and the pull intensified.

  On instinct, Jamie mentally shoved him. He flew backward, plowing through a row of people. No good. Not much time to revise her strategy before the big Nazi leaped to his feet and raised his arms, eyes half-shut in fierce concentration.

  This time, Jamie pushed down. Hard. The big man dropped to his knees, mouth flopping open. Harder. The floor gave way, and he was gone. She wasn't sure where, but the resistance went with him.

  Several objects struck her back. It took Jamie a moment to realize they were knives – bouncing off her flesh and bouncing on the floor.

  "No!" Thomas cried. "Don't kill the President, Marcus!"

  Jamie pushed the skinny black man up against the podium wall. The thought had scarcely formed when she knew it was too strong – and in the next instant Marcus flattened, his head and face spreading sideways, body bursting within his clothes. Not what she intended, but she couldn't take the thought back.

  She turned to Thomas. One thought and he would share his companion's fate. The tall man stared at her defiantly. He wouldn't be begging for mercy. If I don't kill him, then I have to take him.

  But now something else was happening to her body. The most painful case of indigestion she'd ever felt - as if she'd swallowed a cat that was clawing to get out, talons and fangs ripping away at her stomach. The first real pain she'd felt since the object's effects had taken hold. Her vision clouded and she began sinking. She forced her eyes open, searching the room in desperation...and spotted one man: heavy, pale yellow skin, dark eyes boring into her as he fiddled with something in his hands. The Native American. She squeezed out a harsh thought through her pain, visualizing him knocked down, unconscious – and he flopped backward onto his back, legs and arms twitching.