New Olympus Saga (Book 3): Apocalypse Dance

by Carella, C. J.

  That didn’t sound good at all. Left to her own devices, Kestrel would find ways to amuse herself, ways that would invariably lead to trouble. “Give her my best,” I told Condor.

  “Will do. Anything else on your mind? I figure you didn’t drop by just to be social.”

  “Well, I’ve got to do the news shows all day and night, so I figured I could do them in person instead of via vid-comm. And I wanted to see if you’d made any progress tracking down Mr. Night or Daedalus Smith.” The Legion was on the case, but Condor had his own contacts, including Lady Shi.

  “Smith has fallen off the face of the Earth. Given his resources, his ‘Go to Hell’ plan must have been even fancier than mine. He won’t be found unless he does something stupid.”

  “And Mr. Night?”

  “There’s been a couple of rumored sightings, but they could be bullshit. Lady Shi’s been hopping all over the world, looking for him. As it turns out, she’s something of a psychic hound on top of her other abilities. One thing is sure: we’re not the only ones looking for him. The Iron Tsar is, too: there is a contract out for Mr. Night, and for Medved, sponsored by the Dominion and valid all over the world; fifty million dollars, by the way.”

  “Nice. Not that anybody’s going to live to collect a bounty on a guy who went mano a mano with Janus and walked away.”

  “There is that. Although if you get lucky, you might end up being set for life.”

  “I’ll have to check the bylaws, but I don’t think the Legion allows us peons to collect bounties from foreign powers. That’s fine; I just got my own official action figure and Bobblehead Doll, and the first advance check was five times bigger than my monthly Legion stipend. Money’s not a problem anymore. Anyway, keep looking. I’ll be doing the same from my end. And when we find him, we make sure he won’t walk away.” Mr. Night was one perp I wasn’t going to even try to arrest, Legion bylaws or not.

  “I hope Lady Shi gets the chance to skin him alive. She’s really got a hard-on for him.”

  “How is that going, by the way?” After beating up, imprisoning and considering torturing Lady Shi, Condor and Kestrel had ended up sort of dating her, the kind of stuff that normally only happens on the letters section of BDSM magazines.

  Condor actually blushed. “Do you really want to know, Face?”

  “Not the gory details. Just whether or not you think she will try to kill you as soon as she has her revenge.”

  “Not sure. We’re not really holding hands and exchanging gift baskets with her. It’s just sex.” Something about the way he said the words made me suspect it wasn’t just sex for him, not anymore. Along the way, she’d become a human being for him, and that could only end in tears.

  “Just watch your back, and don’t ever let her tie up both of you at the same time. I don’t think she believes in safe words.”

  “Neither do we, but I get your point.”

  I mentally shook my head, but didn’t push the issue.

  “And how is Christine?” Condor asked me, pointedly changing the subject.

  “She’s good. Doing some testifying in court today, then probably hanging out with Uncle Creepy after that. She’s also doing the Top Ten List on Letterman tonight, too, via remote.”

  “Neat. What’s the list?”

  “Top Ten Ways to Become a Legionnaire.”

  “That should be a hoot.”

  “She wouldn’t show me the full list, but I’m sure it’ll be funny. I’ll get to watch the skit from the guests’ room, then I guess I’ll have to try and say something amusing about it.”

  “Don’t try to be funny, Face. Just let Dave do his thing, and keep a straight no-face. And only do impressions if he asks you to.”

  “I know. Other than Letterman, I’m just doing boring news shows. I got all my talking points downloaded into my comm implant; I’m going to try and bore them to death, so hopefully they’ll leave me alone after that.”

  “That’s not going to help your comic book sales.”

  I shrugged. Face-Off #1 had made its glorious debut that month, and sold an underwhelming quarter of a million copies. I had a guaranteed twelve-issue run, but my royalties from the comic weren’t going to make me rich. People might buy my Bobblehead, but didn’t want to read about me. I’d looked at the galleys, and the story had been ninety percent bullshit, too. “About the only thing that’s going to help my comic book sales is a few pages of full frontal nudity featuring Hyperia.”

  “Yeah; that would help anyone’s sales. What’s she like, by the way? Hyperia?”

  “Actually, she’s good people. Somebody I’d like to hang out with, but she gives off a vibe Christine doesn’t like; I think Ali might be attracted to me.”

  “Look at you, name-dropping and claiming Hyperia’s hot for you.”

  “Hey, Christine’s the one who’s acting jealous around her. I don’t care. I’ll admit, Ali’s the kind of woman I’d like to see if I was single; she’s tough, and she doesn’t take shit from anybody. But I’m not single, so it’s irrelevant.”

  “So nice of you. And boring. If you played your cards right, you’d end up in a little ménage with the three of you.”

  “Yeah, no.” I wasn’t sure I liked how Condor was being more like himself around me.

  “Boring.”

  “At this point, boring is what I’m hoping for. I’ve had enough excitement to last me a lifetime.”

  * * *

  “You have been accused of murdering dozens of people during your years as a vigilante. How do you respond to those allegations?”

  Jennie Hernandez – she made sure to roll that ‘r’ like a champ – wanted desperately to be the next Barbara Walters, Latino version. The ABC newswoman had decided to go off-script early on and play hardball. I probably should have walked out of the interview, but that would look bad, so I stayed.

  “There have been no charges filed or indictments made against me, let alone any convictions,” I said in a mild tone. “I think the facts answer those allegations well enough.” Translation: nobody had linked any of a hundred and thirty-odd deaths and disappearances to me, and it was going to stay that way. So bite me.

  “You do admit to being a vigilante, in violation of the Parahuman Registration Act,” she said, pressing her attack, probably hoping I’d say something stupid on live TV. Why couldn’t I get to do the Top Ten List instead of this bullshit? Come to think of it, Letterman was very likely going to be a prick during my segment on The Late Show, in revenge for my Regis stunt the previous month. It was going to be a long fucking day.

  “Again, those activities never led to arrests or convictions, and the amnesty agreement dealt with them,” I said in my flattest, most boring tone of voice, and cocked my head slightly to one side. Ms. Hernandez wasn’t enjoying the sight of my featureless head; I could tell from the way her eyes kept sliding off it to focus on a point slightly to my left. I guessed all the makeup they’d slathered on hadn’t made me any prettier. “I think that makes such questions irrelevant, don’t you think?”

  “I think the American public deserves to know if the newest Legionnaire is a criminal,” she all but barked at me.

  “Definitely.”

  “You agree?”

  “The American public deserves to know whether or not the newest Legionnaire is a criminal,” I said sweetly. “I believe that is a better way to put it, grammatically speaking.”

  “Is that supposed to be a slur against Hispanics?”

  “Absolutamente no, senora Hernandez. As a person of Latino extraction myself, I am very sensitive to bigoted statements. Statements like a assuming a person of color like myself is a criminal, for example.”

  She didn’t like that at all. Nobody had ever dared accuse Ms. Herrnandez of being a bigot. “You haven’t answered the question.”

  “I don’t believe you asked me a question,” I replied.

  “Are you a criminal?”

  “No. And I find the question offensive and bigoted, to be honest. Y
eah, I grew up on the streets. I believe you grew up in an upper class neighborhood and went to private school. You might want to check your privilege, senorita.”

  Her face was flushed with anger now. I’m sure her next words would have done her a disservice, as in, made her sound like a total idiot, but she didn’t get to say them.

  The lights in the studio went out. Someone shrieked, probably Ms. Hernandez herself.

  The Lurker’s laugh echoed through the room.

  Uh, oh. Also, what the fuck.

  I was on the move even as someone – a male, probably a sound tech or cameraman – screamed horribly for a second before going silent just as suddenly. I had only one guess who the uninvited guest was, and if I was right, the roomful of humans in the studio were as exposed and helpless as so many puppies swimming in a piranha-filled pool. I rushed towards the sound and the Evil Lurker collided with me.

  Only one thing to do. I’d noted where the nearest exterior wall was. Old instinct; wherever you are, always look for a couple ways out. I held onto the Lurker and flew through the wall and away from the ABC studio. They could bill the Legion for the damages.

  We grappled up in the air, and I was able to see him in the afternoon sunlight. The guy looked like an oversized version of the Lurker, at least a foot taller than the crazy fuck I’d met back in March. The black suit and gas mask under a hood were pretty much the same, though. So was the insane laughter. I tried to pull his arms off, but he was strong and tough, not quite in my league but definitely someone who was going to take some work to disassemble. His hands were glowing with the purple-black energy I’d come to know and loathe; even being this close to it made me ache down to my bones, and I knew he would cut through my defensive aura and rearrange my guts it I gave him the chance. I gave him a couple of love taps with my forehead instead, and kneed him in the balls a few times, and that seemed to distract him, though.

  One of the first things they teach you at Freedom Legion School is to move any super-fights away from population centers, to keep body counts and property damage down to a minimum. Even as we struggled I flew us towards water. I hoped the ferries and garbage trawlers navigating below would have the sense to veer off and head for the nearest port. Once we were there, I started working on the Lurker. I kept hold of his wrists, pulled his hands well away from me, and used my head, knees and feet to batter him. Even Ultimate would have felt the blows I was raining on the guy, but he was holding up under the punishment too damn well for my taste.

  I heard him say something, a word I couldn’t understand but which echoed inside my head like a loud gong going off next to my ears. A moment later, some unseen force pulled at me from every direction. It was like being broken on the rack and being run over with a steamroller at the same time. My joints were pulled almost to the breaking point, and in a couple of cases, beyond it. Stuff popped and tore inside of me, and it hurt too much to hold on to the Lurker. It hurt too much to stay aloft.

  The mad laughter echoed in my ears as I dropped to the water below.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Christine Dark

  Freedom Island, Caribbean Sea/New York, New York, May 22, 2013

  “And the Number One Way to Join the Freedom Legion Is: Have pictures of Mayor Saltzman and Princess Coco playing Patty-Cake,” Christine said without bothering to look at the cue card. She didn’t get the joke, but it must be funny somehow. Maybe knowing who Princess Coco was would help; she’d have to Google her or him or whatevs.

  “We probably should do another take,” said the Late Show producer overseeing the taping.

  “Uh, I really have to get going,” Christine said. That had been the sixth take, and as far as she knew at least four of them had been downright perfect. Having a photographic memory was really helpful when it came to not flubbing your lines.

  The producer looked like she was ready to argue, but Christine didn’t give her a chance. She just took her mike off and walked out of the room. Holy crap, TV people were pushy! If you tried to be nice they walked all over you. They were going to have to live with what they had. She checked the time on her wrist-comp. Three-thirty. She’d been cooped up in the recording room for two hours. A quick look at her mailbox showed that she’d gotten three new emails. None of those would be spam; one of the cool things about the Xanaweb was that it was very easy to trace e-mails back to their senders, so spammers were SOL. So were political dissidents in repressive dictatorships, unfortunately, but hey, no spam!

  The first one was a confirmation of her requested time off, starting the next day and lasting for a week, with an option to renew for a month. She’d be spending that vacation time trying to learn the secrets of the Source under the tutelage of Uncle Adam; she had mixed feelings about that. The next one was a quick note from Mark, who was off visiting with Condor; nothing major, just a brief hello and miss ya, a standard Good Boyfriend missive. She punched up a quick reply and sent it.

  The last e-mail was from John Clarke, which could only mean one thing, since they hadn’t been allowed to stay in touch while the trial was going on. She grinned like a loon while she read it; the defense had moved for a dismissal and the judge had gone for it. John was a free man, exonerated on all charges. A quick wrist-comm call later, they’d agreed to meet up and celebrate.

  They met at the Legion’s Lounge, a big coffee house/bar for Legionnaires only, a classy place where superheroes could hang out in peace. The décor was nicely understated, and there were plenty of booths where people could relax and eat or drink in peace. Even better, the patrons all knew to mind their own business and leave everyone else alone.

  “Congrats!” she said after their server had gotten their order.

  John’s relief was radiating from him in waves of joyful warmth. “I’m glad it’s over,” he said. “And thank you for all your help.”

  “I just told the truth.” It hadn’t been very hard. Even the prosecutor’s cross-examination hadn’t been very rough, just long and boring, nothing like the court shows she occasionally watched on the boob tube.

  “I still appreciate it,” he said with a radiant smile.

  It would be so easy to get lost in the glow of that smile and the emotions underlying it…. Down, girl! “No big. I’m just glad we don’t have to stay away from each other now that the trial is over. And I’m even gladder you’re feeling so much better.”

  “Your empathy is at work, I take it. It still amazes me you can read my emotions through my defenses.”

  “Well, it’s a gift. And a curse, as Mr. Monk would say.”

  “Mr. Who?”

  “That’d be Doctor Who, and a different character altogether,” she babbled, knowing she was making no sense, and unable to stop herself. Next she would start giggling like a smitten schoolgirl. Good going, Dark. “Sorry, I’m sort of high on life right now, between the official induction to the Legion, you getting off, and things being generally good, more or less. There are a few things I’m not looking forward to, but I’m trying hard not to think about them right now.”

  “I understand. Since he wasn’t testifying at the trial, I was able to talk to Adam, and he explained much of what’s going on. It’s going to be a rough few weeks, but I’m sure things will be all right.”

  He even believed what he was saying. Christine wished she could feel so confident. Well, she could at least fake it till she made it, and she should try to enjoy the good times while they lasted. When Mark came back, she’d jump his bones and she’d get over the schoolgirl giddiness she felt around John. “Yeah, things will be okay,” she said. “Like I said, you look a billion times better, now that you’ve shaken off all the Outsider poison.” That was true, but not the whole truth. His aura was still pretty frayed around the edges. It was going to take time to heal all his psychic wounds, time and happiness. She hoped he could find some.

  “It’s been very nice, not to brood about the past and wallow in misery like some overwrought adolescent. For the first time in years, I’m looking f
orward to the future.” He was looking right into her eyes as he spoke, and his feelings came through loud and clear.

  He wanted her.

  Oh, he was too much of a gentleman to make a move on her, since she was already ‘spoken for;’ he was old-fashioned that way. But he wasn’t hiding his feelings, not that he could, and he knew that she knew how he was feeling. Yikes.

  She loved Mark. They’d saved each other’s lives on an almost hourly basis for a good while, and now that they’d enjoyed a few weeks of peace and quiet together, she’d been happy about having him around a lot more often than not.

  But he didn’t get her pulse racing the way looking into John’s eyes did, not quite, not even when they were making love and he made her explode and lose herself in the moment. There was this evil part of her who wondered how John would make her feel, if he was the one for her. She really didn’t believe in the whole ‘One’ thing, not really, but she wondered.

  Christine looked away and sipped some coffee. Guilt and shame washed over her. But her feelings were still there. Mark always made her a little nervous: the anger that seethed inside him scared her, and his casual attitude towards violence would always stand between them. John was more stable, compassionate, safer, and also more attractive physically. It was weird; girls were supposed to be attracted to the bad boys, and Mark came closer to being a bad boy, except he was really sweet and loving towards her, if not towards anybody else.

  Maybe you need to stop thinking of yourself as a girl, and try to look at the world as a woman, her brain suggested. She wasn’t a girl anymore. She’d done things she’d never imagined herself capable of; she’d saved and taken lives; she’d endured terror and agony and made it through without turning into a monster or a basket case. She could make her own decisions.

  Like what? Like telling Mark I need a break to see if I can make things work with John? Talk about a dick move, as Mark would say.