“Okay, sure, but that only happened after he died, or at least after his physical body was destroyed in a big-ass explosion,” Christine said.
“It took more than that. The explosion was merely the physical expression of the destructive interaction between two utterly incompatible forces.”
“Something like a matter-antimatter reaction, right?”
“Only superficially. Both matter and antimatter are part and parcel of our reality, although antimatter’s presence may be indicative of Outside interference during the inflationary process that followed the Big Bang. I haven’t had time to construct a workable hypotheses, however, so this is merely conjecture.”
“It sounds awesome, and when this is all over I’d love to get together with a chalkboard and lots of coffee and really spend some skull-sweat working on it, but let’s focus on the whole Mark thingy, okay?”
“Let’s,” Adam said, smiling despite himself. He did need to spend more time with his daughter-sister-niece. Not only was she his intellectual peer, her unconventional way of looking at things would make her an invaluable collaborator. Just thinking about the papers they could write together… Later. “You have shown the capability to analyze and manipulate the energy patterns that make up the Mind-Soul Construct. In theory, you could detect and remove the infected portions of Mark’s consciousness. Doing so will put you at risk of contamination, however.”
“Which would bring us back to the third alternate universe I’ve visited, namely, Earth Shitty,” Christine grumbled, referring to the world whose fate she desperately wished to avoid. “The one where I become Dark Christine by trying to save Mark.”
“Momentous events tend to have a great deal of inertia,” Adam said. “Changing them isn’t going to be easy.”
‘Momentous momentum, eh? Yeah, I’d thought that being forewarned would help me avoid that disaster. Shows how little I knew.”
“So, in the end, you have to ask yourself, is one life worth risking all of humanity? You could end up destroying billions of lives just to save your friend.”
“When you put it that way, that makes me sound pretty irresponsible, doesn’t it? Hey, everybody, watch Christine destroy the world because she couldn’t let her boyfriend go. Ex-boyfriend, I thought. I mean, I thought he was dead. I waited a whole four months and change before hooking up with John. Does that make me a bad person? I kinda think it does. I should have waited a year. Maybe two. Now even if I rescue Mark, somebody is going to be hurt. At least one of us. What do I do, Uncle Adam?”
Adam blinked. “Uh…”
“Never mind. I know that’s not your thing. Neither of your halves really had a lot of relationships, did you?”
He shook his head. Doc Slaughter had led a nearly-monastic existence. He’d lost his virginity at twenty-five, during a bout of mutual seduction involving a Soviet spy. In the ensuing century, he’d had a handful of brief dalliances with women, most of them mortal humans, the one exception being a fairly intense month with Chastity Baal in 1977, which had ended badly. Damon’s love life had been little better; he’d had an informal arrangement with one of his human agents for several years until her untimely death; besides that, the only other relationship that had lasted more than a few days had been with Patricia Dark, Christine’s mother, and that hadn’t been much of a relationship at all.
“Well, you didn’t miss much,” Christine said. “Relationships are messy, they hurt, and they’re not worth the bother.” She shook her head. “Who am I kidding? They are worth the bother, I think. I don’t know. Maybe they are. I haven’t exactly had any happy endings so far.”
“Life is not about endings,” Adam found himself saying. “Movies and books can have happy endings. Life only ends one way. Even for us.”
“Wow, gloomy much? No, you’re right. I’m sorry. I’m just babbling because I don’t know what to do, and nobody can tell me what to do.”
“Well, the Council will certainly tell you not to try to access Mark Martinez’s soul,” Adam said. “The risk is too great.”
“I don’t know if I’ll be able help myself, if I get the chance,” she admitted. “Which means we need a fail-safe, in case I do something stupid. How about this? Can we put our big brains together and come up with something that will stop me from becoming Armageddon Girl?”
“Yes,” Adam said without hesitation. “We could link an Outsider energy detector to a destructive device, so that if you are contaminated it will kill you..”
“Well, there you go! I can carry a miniature antimatter bomb inside my head, and if I go all Breaking Bad it’ll make me go puff like a magic dragon.”
“It’d be simple enough to use one of the booby-trapped cochlear implants Daedalus Smith built as a prototype.”
“Yeppers. Except with a much bigger charge. I’m pretty hard to kill nowadays. Something set to go off under my shields and aura. It’s the only way to make sure I don’t become the Destroyer of Worlds for real.”
“I’m sure we can come up with a suitably lethal explosive,” Adam said. The eagerness with which Christine was discussing her own death disturbed him somewhat.
“I know, I sound downright deranged,” Christine said, sensing his emotions. “But I’ve met myself after I went bad, and I’d rather die than become that bitch.”
Adam understood now. He had too many bad memories of the Lurker’s life as the Outsiders’ taint slowly eroded his sanity. And he’d confronted that twisted version of himself, and found himself wanting. Those nightmares would likely haunt him to the end of his life. He would do his best to prevent Christine’s nightmares from coming true. “We won’t let that happen,” he said firmly. “I still hope you won’t risk your life like that.”
“As long as it’s just my life, I’m cool with that. Mark would risk his life… No, he would give up his life for me. He did give up his life for me. I can’t do any less.”
There really wasn’t anything more to say.
Hunters and Hunted
Chicago, Illinois, December 16, 2013
Mr. Night was having a hard time getting in the holiday spirit.
He should have been celebrating the last Christmas this world would ever see. The holidays were usually a great time for someone who enjoyed human suffering the way he did. The oppressive fear everyone felt this season should only have added a little extra flavor to it all. The Genocide was coming, and everybody knew it.
Most human emotions were beyond Mr. Night’s purview. Schadenfreude was not one of them, and under the circumstances he should be savoring it. Instead, he felt frustration and his own version of growing dread.
The final battle was at hand, but victory no longer seemed inevitable.
There had been too many setbacks, too many disasters. One by one, all the carefully-constructed plots he had nurtured had come crashing down, achieving nothing. He’d almost been captured or killed, thanks to the treachery of Lady Shi – she must be made to pay for that – and that had only been the latest mishap. For the first time in ages, Mr. Night had felt overwhelming fear. Terror had gripped him when Christine Dark wrestled him for control of his current vessel. For several seconds, her faceless minion had taken over and managed to rescue the girl from meeting Mr. Night’s masters, a meeting that should have dealt with her once and for all. In the end, he’d managed to regain control and consign the faceless man back to Hell, but the struggle had left him too weak to face the girl, and he’d had to flee yet again.
On their next meeting, there would be no option to escape. One of them would die. Unfortunately, there was a chance that Mr. Night would be the one to meet an untimely end, which would leave him to the tender mercies of his masters, who did not take well to failure of any kind. Death offered no escape from the Survivors.
Reestablishing control over his current body had been an ordeal in itself. He hadn’t been able to properly punish the faceless vigilante for daring to defy him. Even now that he was fully recovered, Mr. Night felt some reluctance to enter the men
tal construct where he had consigned his many victims. To do so would risk another challenge from Face-Off. He found himself loath to take that risk, however slight it might be. Better to let things continue their unnatural course. His version of Hell largely ran itself. The entities that lived to torment those who dwelled there were figments of the inmates’ own fears and nightmares; as it turned out, the human mind could come up with some terrific ways to inflict suffering on themselves. For now, he would let things be.
He decided to be more careful in the material realm as well. His sabotage attempts had borne little fruit and had almost led to his capture or death. It wasn’t worth it, not when the Genocide would bring the power of an entire Source Seed to bear. The best efforts of the inhabitants of this world would never be enough to stop him.
Unless the girl fulfilled her destiny. On the other hand, the most likely outcome if she did so would be the birth of another Genocide, which wouldn’t be such a terrible thing.
Still, it would be best not to take any chances. There was one more thing he could do, one that would ensure this world would be extinguished and removed from the board. He’d concentrate all of his efforts there.
Christine Dark
Freedom Island, Caribbean Sea, December 24, 2013
Merry Effing Christmas to me.
Christine didn’t want to be at the big holiday party, a massive shindig with over a hundred super-peeps who’d been lucky enough not to draw an active duty slot on Christmas Eve, along with their plus-ones, and a bunch of uber-wealthy or otherwise-renowned human guests and their plus-ones. Christine was sure she’d spotted a couple of Kardashians in there, rubbing shoulders with assorted caped crusaders.
She’d much rather stay home, doing the painful mental exercises that were slowly – so very slowly – but surely rebuilding her special sensory powers, or reading a book, or playing World of Warcraft. Big parties had never been her scene, and given the mood she was in, the evening was turning into a mild torture session. Having to smile and make conversation had become excruciating in short order.
It was part of the job, though. The Legion needed to appear full of holiday cheer, for the benefit of the paparazzo and cameramen immortalizing the event from a discreet gallery overlooking the big ballroom in Freedom Hall. The idea was to help improve the morale of the billions of people who’d watch the pictures and video, either live or the next day. Seeing the world’s heroes act as if everything was all right might fool some people into thinking everything was all right, and keep them from rioting or killing themselves or whatnot.
And the Legionnaires deserved a break, even if this particular break was carefully staged and managed. They’d all been working like crazy, Christine included. Once her flying had improved enough, she’d joined the orbital launch crowd, carrying cargo into space four to eight hours a day, every day, in between training sessions (both physical and mental) and going forth and stopping the occasional Neo crime or human riot, both of which were still happening with depressing frequency.
Being too busy to think had been a blessing of sorts. For one, it had kept her away from John. For another, it’d kept her from thinking about Mark, or John, or Mark and John. During the quiet times, the mandatory rest periods, or this little celebration, she got to thinking, and nothing good ever came from it.
John… One of the worst little ironies of her situation was that her empathy had come back just in time to sense how much she’d hurt him. She’d never gotten the chance to bask in the glow of his love for her. That love was now marred by pain and sorrow; basking in it would be like trying to get a suntan inside the Chernobyl reactor when it went bad. On top of that, she could now pick up how battered John’s psyche still was. As it turned out, Daedalus’ plot hadn’t been the only thing wrong with him, and he was beginning to suffer the same old symptoms from before: irritability, bouts of melancholy and anger, and cold detachment when he tried to compensate for those by refusing to feel anything at all. The only thing missing were the fugue states, which she guessed had been Daedalus’ doing.
John needed help. She could help heal him, if she chose to stay with him. John still hoped she would choose him after Mark’s situation was resolved, one way or another. If she did, Christine knew she could make him happy, could make him whole again.
She wasn’t sure if he could do the same for her, though. But she’d been such a selfish d-bag so far, maybe she needed to stop thinking about what would make her happy (especially since nothing appeared to do the trick, what with her constant second-guessing herself) and start worrying about doing the right thing, happiness be damned.
Merry Effing Christmas to me.
Her plan was to make an appearance at the stupid party, chat about inconsequential crap for a bit, and get the eff out. As usual, things didn’t go the way she’d planned.
At first, it wasn’t too bad. She walked down the red carpet amidst endless camera flashes, stopping here and there to smile and wave, just like the Legion’s publicists had trained her to do. At least everyone was in costume, except for the one-percenters who’d also been invited to the shindig, so nobody asked her who she was wearing.
Once she was at the party proper, she was able to relax a little bit. She grabbed a glass of champers and took small sips from it, although she could have chugged the whole glass and not gotten even a mild buzz; if she wanted even a mild buzz, she would to have to hit the hard stuff, and hit it hard and fast. She didn’t. Getting drunk in her current mood wouldn’t be a good idea at all.
Christine looked around, searching for a good place to mingle. She’d hoped to run into Janus at the party; she hadn’t had a chance to talk to him for more than a few minutes at a time, and she had a feeling he was avoiding her for some reason, which worried her. He’d been on the receiving end of Mr. Night’s Wild Ride, like she almost had. What if he’d come back with a little extra something, something extra bad? Probably not, everybody was getting checked regularly for signs of Outsider taint, but she wanted to look for herself.
Unfortunately, Janus was nowhere to be seen. She gave up on finding him, and concentrated on socializing.
The whole thing felt like a weird combination of ComicCon and the Oscars. You had the Legion’s finest, wearing their super-latex outfits, mingling with the rich and famous in tuxedos and gorgeous gowns. She spotted the cast of Legion, the official TV show; the actors were hanging out with their real-life counterparts, except for the guy who played Ultimate, some d-bag whose name escaped her and whose only virtue was that he kinda sorta looked like John. The d-bag was drunk as a skunk and playing grab-ass with one of the waitresses. Before Christine could do something about it, she saw Swift walk up to the d-bag and whisper something in his ear; whatever it was convinced the dude to sit down and shut up. Good.
“Actors,” Olivia commented; she’d walked up to Christine while she watched the scene. “Oh, most of them aren’t terrible people, but there’s always a few who let the fame get to their overinflated heads.”
“Yeah, I figure being surrounded by people telling them how wonderful they are must get to them,” Christine said. “At least us supers get yelled at for screwing up all the time.”
“Well, most actors get yelled at plenty often, early in their careers, but when they become stars, everybody treats them with kid gloves.”
Swift – Larry, his name is Larry, use it – joined them. “Okay, Dean should behave himself the rest of the night,” he said with a smile. Christine hadn’t really warmed up to Larry Graham – he wasn’t mean or anything, just a little too full of himself, in her opinion – but this time she smiled back at him.
“What did you say to him?”
“Just told him to keep it down to a dull roar, or he’d be replaced next season. Dean’s not the sharpest crayon on the box, but he knows the people at Buck Multimedia listens very carefully to us.”
“I think Ultimate’s part should be recast anyway,” Olivia said. “There’s been other incidents, and the show is supposed
to uphold our image, not tarnish it.”
“Well, sweetheart, you’re on the PR department. Make some calls. There’s a new kid they’ve been looking at, Tom something or other, who’d be perfect for the role.”
Look at them, making plans for the next TV season, when there’s a good chance none of us is going to be alive come March Sweeps.
Christine dismissed the thought with a slight shake of her head and a big sip of champers. Everybody must be thinking the same gloomy thoughts, but they were trying to keep up a brave front. Running around sobbing was only going to upset people, so they all might as well smile and act as if everything was fine.
Olivia and Larry sensed her mood, and tried their best to cheer her up. Larry regaled her with some funny stories about life in the Legion back in the early days, with Olivia providing editorial commentary. They got her to chuckle and even snort a couple of times – the one about Vice-President Nixon’s visit to Freedom Island was actually pretty hilarious, especially if you weren’t a Nixon fan – and for a little while things weren’t so glum.
Of course, just around the time she’d managed to stop thinking about all the bad stuff, John showed up.
She looked up when he gently cleared his throat behind her and saw him, all tall and manly, about three times better-looking than that Dean d-bag, and with ten times the charisma. He was a bit embarrassed about approaching her, but also determined, and his love for her burned bright, despite being a bit tattered and worn out in places.
“Hi,” he said.
“Hi,” she said, looking him in the eye. He missed her, and she missed him. He needed her. She wanted him. It was Christmas, damn it. They had agreed not to exchange presents, but they could try to enjoy each other’s company.
New Olympus Saga (Book 3): Apocalypse Dance Page 31
