There were two other people in the group. One was a big clean-shaven guy she didn’t recognize. The other was about the same height, but his face was covered by a full head mask with only two eye holes. His aura was…
It was a good thing she’d put her tray down already, or she’d have broken even more good china. She took two steps towards him, then hesitated. “Dad?” It wasn’t Dad, but it was almost Dad, which didn’t make sense, you couldn’t almost be, that was like being almost pregnant or almost alive, wasn’t it? You be’ed or you be’n’t, no question about it. Except that was what her senses were telling her.
The man removed his mask, adding more confusion to the mix. He was taller than her father, like a good seven inches taller, and his hair was red but a shade or two lighter; his eyes were the right color blue, but the face was only a bit like Dad’s. He looked like a brother or a cousin of Damon Trent; the man had the same nose, but his chin was wider, more hero-like, and the cast of his face was more angular, its features sharply defined. His mouth seemed to be the same, however, unable to produce anything more effusive than a wry grin. “Hello, Christine,” he said, and wry grin or not, his happiness in seeing her was real enough.
She hugged him. There would be time enough to figure out what was what, later. For now, it felt like a happy reunion.
* * *
“John was in an induced coma; some of the devices involved were empowered with Outsider energy, which is why his recovery has been so slow,” said the man who called himself Adam Slaughter-Trent. After his brief explanation of who and what he was, Christine had decided to call him Uncle Adam. Uncle Adam loved Christine like family, and was also best friends with John Clarke – that came from the Doc Slaughter side of his ‘family.’ The whole thing was a mess, what with Uncle Adam being the kinda sorta offspring of her Dad and the Golden Age superhero Doc Slaughter, which would sort of made him Christine’s half-brother, but since he had all of Dad’s memories, thinking of him as an uncle felt more appropriate. The whole thing would make for a great paper in Psychology Today, or maybe Parapsychology Today, or perhaps the Insane Clown Posse Journal.
They’d laid John Clarke on a sofa and let him sleep it off while they had coffee and traded stories. A heck of a lot had happened in the last twenty-four hours. Everybody was pretty impressed by the fact Mark and she had managed to fight off the Iron Tsar, Baba ‘Baby’ Yaga and the Iron Guard. Mark was pretty impressed by the fact that notorious arch-villain Hiram Hades had left behind a couple of clone bodies, and Christine was still pretty flabbergasted by the idea that a second clone body had ended up hosting a piece of her Dad’s soul along with Doc Slaughter’s whole soul, and now had been transformed into an amalgam of the two. Even for Earth Alpha, that was some weird stuff.
There was so much she wanted to ask Adam, and he was sane and willing to answer her questions, too. She patted the Codex, stored safely in a belt pouch that was part of her Condor groupie costume. Soon, probably much sooner than she’d like, she would finally get her lessons and prepare to do the big thing so many people expected her to do. A big part of her just wanted to chuck the Codex and forget the whole mess. She knew that wasn’t going to happen, of course.
At the moment, her new relative was in an intense conversation with Chastity Baal, mostly adding all the pieces of the big puzzle that was Daedalus Smith, the Big Bad she’d yet to meet. After the Iron Tsar and Baba Yaga, she really didn’t want to meet any more bad guys. With her luck, though, none of her wishes were going to come true.
She turned toward Mark, who sent a mental wink along with his verbal message before making his way toward her. “Hey,” he said out loud and held her hand.
She squeezed his hand. “God, I can’t believe it’s over. At least some of it.”
“Yeah, not quite over, but more like the end of the beginning, to quote Churchill. Now that your father isn’t batshit crazy anymore…”
“Not my father, really, not anymore,” she broke in. “But I guess he’s close enough.”
“Point. In any case, he should be able to coach you now. You’ll be able to do all the stuff we’d hoped you’d learn from the First, before the little fuck turned out to be a cowardly piece of shit.”
“Yeppers. And then supposedly this will be over for real. I’ve got the feeling things aren’t going to be so simple.”
“Point again. No matter what, though, you know I got your back.”
“I know. And no matter what, you know I’m not going to turn my back on you. Which I guess kinda contradicts the whole ‘got your back’ thing, but you know what I mean, right?”
“Excuse me!” Janus said loudly, stilling all the conversations in the room. “I just got word from the Legion’s central command. Nebiru was able to simultaneously remove all the booby-trapped cochlear implants from every Legion member, active and reserve. There’s been several dozen injuries but, thankfully, no fatalities. Hyperia has informed everyone of what was really going on, and she expects the charges against Ultimate will be dropped soon. Furthermore, the two Chinas have agreed to a gradual demobilization of their troops; war is no longer imminent.”
Someone started clapping, and everyone followed suit, even Mark. At least, he clapped for a few seconds before making a face, leaning her back, and kissing her deeply.
If this was a movie, it would be the perfect ending, an It’s A Wonderful Life ending, with telegrams arriving with good news and angels getting their wings. Roll credits, fade to black.
Life isn’t a movie, though.
Hunters and Hunted
Caracas, Venezuela, March 29, 2013
The mansion was on the heights surrounding the valley city below. Daedalus Smith had purchased it many years ago through a dummy corporation, one of the many bolt-holes he’d set up in case things went wrong.
One could say things had gone very wrong.
When he had some spare time, Daedalus would sit down and go over the decision tree that had led to this moment. Errors had led to more errors, turning his scheme into a shambles. He was down to Plan D, which was grossly suboptimal. Even worse, his current roommate was Mr. Night, who might decide at any moment that Daedalus was no longer useful, and could be safely disposed of. Daedalus had a contingency plan for that, but the plan was more of a gamble than anything else, and he hated gambling. He hated the possibility he could lose because of mere chance.
Daedalus lay back on the armchair and used his implants to check on the news while he savored a single-malt Scotch and enjoyed a cigar. Those little pleasures did little to soften the blows. The Legion had managed to remove all of the booby-traps without suffering a single casualty. Ultimate was free and clear, and Daedalus had become the planet’s most wanted man. It’d been a while since a mad scientist of note had made the news, and that’s what he had become, another cackling madman with a hopeless plan to take over the world. He’d become a comic book villain. Pretty disgraceful, when you came down to it.
Nothing he could do about that. He’d been on his way back to Freedom Island when reports of Ultimate’s breakout reached him. Daedalus considered his options and decided that it’d be best to wait and see what happened from a secure location, so he’d had Mr. Night teleport him to Venezuela. Not very long after that, Nebiru had removed all the implants in one fell swoop. Daedalus cursed himself for not pushing the button when he’d had the chance. He’d held on to a vain hope he might still be able to turn things around, and now he was a wanted criminal, without even the consolation of being the man who wiped out the Freedom Legion.
A direct message beamed into his implant saved him from wallowing in self-pity. The e-mail came from his pet psychics in the Delphi Team, hidden safely in a yacht in the middle of the ocean. It was impossible to predict the future when too many Neos became involved, but he had a team of entrails-readers on retainer, working as a gestalt under the supervis
ion of his sleep expert the Dreamer, because they could foresee general trends and occasionally warn him of potential dangers, which had come in handy many times before. The precogs had become overwhelmed with too many possibilities the moment the girl became involved, however; he hadn’t been able to get a decent prediction from them in almost two weeks. They certainly hadn’t warned him of the shit sandwich he’d just been served with. What did they want now?
He read the brief report in a couple of seconds. The Dreamer had been in a panic, but he’d managed to jot down the salient points with typical Kraut efficiency. If the Humanity Foundation’s plot to blow up the Source was successful, everybody on planet Earth – everybody in the freaking solar system – would be dead by next February.
“Fuck me,” Daedalus whispered as he read through the details.
“Anything wrong, sir?” Mr. Night said. The creepy bastard had been standing at attention while Daedalus checked his mail. The twisted smile on the massive Cossack face remained unchanged, but something in his posture made Daedalus’ hackles rise. “Did you receive some particularly dire news?”
“Nothing I can handle, Night. Why don’t you take a break and do whatever it is you do when you’re on your own? I need some alone time.”
“I would, sir, but I think I know the nature of the bad news you just received. I myself have just had word, so to speak, of some fairly important new developments. Which means it is time for me to introduce you to a new friend of mine, somebody you will recognize, if not remember fondly.”
Daedalus leaped to his feet as somebody materialized in his living room, a tall man in a black suit, cloak, and gas mask. The Lurker. Except he was too tall to be the Lurker, and he was also positively crackling with Outsider energies. Daedalus felt an urge to throw up and crap his pants, but retained his composure. He’d probably die horribly in the next few seconds, but he would do so with some measure of dignity, by golly.
“Allow me to introduce you to Damon Trent,” Mr. Night went on as the masked man by his side cut loose with an all-too-familiar burst of sinister laughter. “He has been dying to meet you.”
“You don’t want to fuck with me, Night,” Daedalus said, backpedaling away from the dreadful duo. He reached for the thin metal bar hanging from a chain around his neck, ripped it loose, and held it in front of him like a weapon. “How about this? You go your way, I go mine, and we stay out each other’s business.”
“I wish it could be so, but I don’t think you can resist the urge to interfere in my business,” Mr. Night said pleasantly. “Seeing as to how my business involves your inevitable demise, along with the rest of humanity. I fear the time has come to dissolve our partnership.”
“Well, when you put it that way, I suppose we can’t part as friends,” Daedalus admitted.
“Glad you understand. If you don’t struggle, we’ll make it quick. Relatively so.”
“That’s nice of you, Night. Which reminds me, I’ve never heard your first name.”
Mr. Night tilted his head, considering Daedalus’ words. “Amusingly enough, I seem to have forgotten it. It has been a very long and eventful time, after all, and irrelevancies tend to go by the wayside. Your continued existence is a case in point.” The two Outsider wights advanced on Daedalus; the time for pleasantries was clearly over.
Daedalus sent out a mental command through his amulet, springing the trap.
All his safe houses had been built with a very special series of patterns inscribed into the walls, floors and ceilings. Over the years, he’d learned a great deal about the forces imbued in Mr. Night. His studies had led to the creation of devices that could steal or disrupt powers, whether they emanated from the Source or the Outside.
Along the way, he’d prepared a little something for the inevitable confrontation with the little creep.
Sigils hidden under carpets and paint came to life. Mr. Night and the new Lurker were transfixed by dozens of twisting energy ribbons made of the purple-black energy from Outside. At least, that was what appeared to be happening, much like lightning strikes appear to be coming down from the skies. However, in the same way lightning actually starts from the ground up, the twisting dark energy was coming from Daedalus’ would-be killers. The sigils in the room were draining them of their power.
“Irrelevant, am I?” Daedalus shouted through the crackling sounds that filled the house. “Did you think I wasn’t ready for you, you simpering cosmic asswipe?”
Mr. Night couldn’t respond. He and his new buddy were convulsing helplessly as the device stole their energy. If his calculations were right, the system he’d built would suck enough power from the little bastard to destroy him.
Problem was, he hadn’t built his trap to handle two of them.
The draining process continued unabated, but the sigils were glowing a little too brightly now, and were heating up. The living room carpet started to smoke in places, and then to burn.
“Shit.” Maybe discretion was the better part of valor. Daedalus rushed out of the house. He managed to get into his Jaguar and speed away as the mountainside mansion burst into flames behind him. It took some fancy driving to maneuver down the twisting road, especially at those speeds, but driving off a cliff was preferable to being anywhere near his soon to be former mansion.
Daedalus managed to put enough distance between him and the hilltop to avoid getting torn to bits by the inevitable explosion. He glanced at his rearview mirror in time to see a mushroom-shaped cloud of fire and smoke rising over his multi-million dollar property. The whole mountain shook, and he almost did a header off the road.
“Shit.” The wards weren’t supposed to overload like that. He would have to double-check the designs. Just his luck that the little creep had found a playmate and manage to overwhelm the trap.
Was Night dead? With his luck, probably not. But at worst the little fucker would be weakened for a while, which would provide Daedalus with enough time to reach another hiding place.
First, though, he had another piece of business to take care of. When the tremors subsided, he found a suitable place off the road and pulled over.
He’d have to take a little break from running and hiding, just so he could save the world.
The Freedom Legion
Catskill Mountains, New York, March 29, 2013
John Clarke kept punching the featureless white walls of his prison, ignoring the agony the impacts sent through him. Neither his body nor the walls were real; his mind was trapped in a mental construct. His struggle was real, however; if he could shatter the walls, his mind would be released. Unfortunately, it was taking time he feared he didn’t have to spare.
“Relax, Johnny; it’s all over.”
The familiar voice brought him around. Daedalus Smith was standing in the middle of the room, wearing his trademark Myrmidon armor, except for the helmet, leaving his smirking face uncovered.
John hurled himself at his tormentor – and sailed harmlessly through him, smashing into the wall behind his target.
“I said, relax. Do you think I’d drop by in any form you could hurt?”
“It was worth a try. Anything, just to get my hands on you.”
“Well, pally, you needn’t bother. Your friends took you out of your cell in what I’m told was a very dramatic breakout right from Freedom Hall. A wholly unnecessary breakout, it turns out, since that bimbo carbon copy of yours, Hyperia the Ultimate Blonde, uncovered enough evidence to exonerate you and went public with it about an hour after your escape. Sometimes even the dumb get lucky.”
“Why haven’t I woken up, then?”
“Your mind, such as it is, got buried very deeply indeed. Even without the mental locks, it’s going to take a bit for you to claw your way out, as it were. It won’t be much longer, but I figured I’d take the opportunity to have a last chat with you.”
John didn’t trust anything the traitor had to say. “Very well, say your piece and get the hell out.”
“So surly; it’s rather unb
ecoming, coming from a role model. Oh, well. You won’t have me to kick around anymore. I made contingency plans in case things blew up in face, which they literally did a couple of times in the last twenty-four hours. You could waste time chasing after me, or you can deal with a more urgent matter.”
Daedalus paused, but John didn’t give him the pleasure of asking him to go on. “All right, I’ll just tell you. My ex-partners in the Humanity Foundation are sailing a freighter carrying a thermonuclear device to the Big Apple. In case that’s too many big words for you, that means it’s a big fucking bomb, John. They’re going to blow New York to save the world from us parahumans. If the attack is successful, Neolympian powers will be disrupted all around the planet. Type Threes like you will likely not survive the power loss; your metabolism depends too much on the Source.”
“If what you say is true, why are you telling me? I’d think getting rid of us would serve your purposes. You’ve always been jealous of me and others like me.”
“Well, yeah. That’s why I helped those wealthy idiots. Unfortunately, something else has come up. You know there are about half a dozen halfway-decent precogs in the whole planet. The Legion has two, but neither of them is all that sharp, although I figure they’ll hear the news eventually, just not in time to do you any good. I’ve got three, and they just let me know that if the Humanity Foundation manages to depower parahumanity, the planet is toast in just under a year. As in, everyone will die if that bomb goes off. Now, losing the planet would not suit me, John. Everything I did, I did to save the world, believe it or not. So I suggest you get cracking and find that bomb. You’ve got maybe thirty hours before they set it off. And no, I don’t know where they’re taking it; they didn’t tell me, the little bastards. Tick-tock.”
John tried to say something in reply, but everything became hazy and indistinct, and when he managed to focus his vision, he was lying on a sofa in fancy parlor.
New Olympus Saga (Book 3): Apocalypse Dance Page 14
