by Gini Koch
It dawned on me that Algar had told me that he watched every TV show and movie, read every book. Probably read every magazine, too, and listened to our music. So, he could have used any pop culture reference when telling me what we were about to face. But he’d picked The Mummy. Why?
There was only one reason I could come up with—to give me a clue.
There were different versions of the movie, but I’d really only seen the one starring Brendan Fraser. I’d seen it a lot. The heroine was a librarian, so maybe that indicated everything was once again happening in the library.
But if that was the case, why not use Groundhog Day as the clue? Why specifically choose The Mummy? Sure we were trapped in an underground building in the middle of the desert that contained a lot of valuable stuff along with a lot of people who wanted to kill us. And we had two teams inside. Okay, so The Mummy made sense. But not enough sense. At least, not yet.
“Why The Mummy?” I asked aloud, being sure to keep my voice low. All three of them looked at me blankly. “Really? No one’s seen that movie?”
Gower shrugged. “Why go see a movie about someone in a sarcophagus? I’d rather visit a museum and see the real thing.”
Stared at Gower for a long moment. “I know what level we need to go to next.”
CHAPTER 35
“YOU’RE SURE?” Gower asked, as we approached my least favorite area in any Centaurion Division facility.
“Yes.” I was nervous because I hated this area and was already expecting something to jump out at me. Switched my music to my Action Rock mix and put it on random. Proving that we were really one with the Crüe, “Primal Scream” came on.
“It makes sense,” White agreed. “This is where everything changed for my half brother the last time.”
“Mister White, why do you call him your half brother? I mean, I know he is, but it’s not like you were raised together, clearly, and he’s not exactly brimming over with brotherly love.”
“I say it to remind myself that even though he’s my enemy, he’s still my blood. He’s not a random individual—he’s someone who, if we’d known about him, found him when he was young, might be a very different person today.”
It was never confusing to me, how White had kept the A-Cs on the path of right, why Algar would choose to tell White of his existence, or why our enemies always somehow had White in their sights—he was, quite frankly, the moral ideal, and that meant that he was a target.
Gower, by having worked and learned under White for years and now being the current Pontifex, was also a target. The wisdom of storming the Science Center with two of the most likely Bad Guy Targets Du Jour was in question. However, presumably everyone was a target right now. So, better to storm with two guys who knew what the situation really was than not.
Minor leadership dilemma over, we reached what I thought of as The Chambers O’ Doom but was commonly referred to as the Isolation Area.
The isolation wing was large, in part because we had a lot of empaths, and Jeff wasn’t the only one who would push too far and then basically collapse. Also, while the empaths and imageers both used blocks—mental and medical—to keep from being inundated by the reality of their powers, the onslaught of human emotions was a lot harder to deal with than the information gleaned from an image. An imageer could choose not to touch a picture. An empath couldn’t choose to not feel the people around them.
The Science Center being the size it was meant it housed well over a hundred isolation chambers. The empaths, and sometimes the imageers and others, were put into the chambers to regenerate in a safe place.
According to Jeff, who spent more time than anyone in isolation, the isolation chambers were wonderful safe havens. To me, who usually spent my time in an isolation area on the outside looking in, they looked like a cross between an Iron Maiden and a sarcophagus, with a lot of extra tubes and needles added in just for fun. The Science Center’s isolation area always reminded me of a cross between Frankenstein’s lab and a haunted Egyptian tomb.
“I don’t hear anyone,” Gower said quietly as we listened at the stairwell’s door.
“This level is quite soundproofed,” White said. “Though I hear nothing as well.”
I didn’t either, but I was sure Algar wanted us down here. “Paul, the last time, you held out against the mind control. You and the others who could were locked into isolation chambers. What are the odds that’s happened again?”
“I’d think high,” White said.
“But that was a last resort,” Gower said. “And he was keeping us in there to use us. I don’t know that we should count on our people being safely locked away.”
“True enough. Though it was hard as hell to get you guys out because Gladys changed all the security codes. Which she’s probably done again.”
“We’ll deal with it as we have to,” White said.
“I have a question,” Adriana said before we could do anything else. “Why haven’t we been intercepted yet?”
“How do you mean?”
“No one has come to stop us. If the facility is under siege, where are its guardians? Are the only guards the ones we saw at the top level? That seems remarkably . . . trusting, and I doubt these enemies are trusting. And where is our other team?”
“Maybe our other team has already handled everything else?” Gower asked. He didn’t sound like he thought that was a real possibility, but the hope was definitely there.
Considered this as “Bite the Bullet” by Motörhead came onto my personal sound system. It wasn’t the same listening to them at low volume, but I did kind of have to be able to hear what my team was saying. “Or the bad guys know we’re here and know we’re coming, and are lying in wait, not making any sound.”
“You’re really sure this is the place for a standoff?” Gower asked.
“I’m really sure that Ronaldo almost won last time, in this area, and that Jeff beat the crap out of him, in this area.”
“And you made your first decision as Pontifex in this area,” White added softly. “I’m with my partner—we should be prepared for attack the moment we go through the door.”
“Let’s weapon up, gang. And remember,” I added as everyone pulled out guns, “the majority of the targets are going to be our own people being mind controlled. We have no idea who’s under control or not right now, and Ronaldo Al Dejahl is a strong enough imageer that he can change to look like anyone he wants to. We can’t shoot to kill, even if we want to.”
“We’ll shoot to wound then,” Adriana said calmly. “If needed.”
“Let’s prepare for the worst and hope for the best,” White said. He nodded to Gower, who grabbed Adriana’s hand while White grabbed mine.
“Ready, ladies?” White asked.
“As we’ll ever be, Mister White. Let’s go see what bizarre form of Mexican Standoff we’re dealing with this time.”
With that, White opened the door.
CHAPTER 36
I WAS AMAZED we hadn’t heard anything. Because there was a hell of a fight going on, albeit farther into the floor. Apparently Isolation had the best soundproofing of any A-C facility, including the Embassy. I’d never be willing to have sex here, regardless, but it was good to know.
The fight, in fact, was going on exactly where Ronaldo and White and then Ronaldo and Jeff had fought before. Meaning this spot had been chosen on purpose. And also meaning that we were expected to come inside. Decided to table what this might mean in terms of Mahin or not for later.
The fight was going on at hyperspeed, but thanks to being enhanced, I could see it. Adriana couldn’t, and neither could any of the other humans in here. Though most of them looked down if not completely out.
Spotted all the flyboys, all looking decidedly worse for wear. Same with Tim and Kevin. All of them were down and looked unconscious. As I looked for him, Reader came flying backward through the air, slammed against a wall, and joined the rest of the humans in unconsciousness. Chose to believe they were all unc
onscious at least. Gower growled. Couldn’t blame him.
Jeff’s team was still up and active. Tito and Rahmi were attacking together, while Chuckie and Rhee were teamed up, the princesses shouting instructions to their respective humans. It was remarkably effective, and, of course, both Chuckie and Tito had fought A-Cs and others with hyperspeed before. Of course, so had the other guys. They were taking on a lot of Field agents, and most of Security, based on body size. It wasn’t an even fight.
“I’m going to help Charles and Princess Rhee,” White said to Gower. “You take our good doctor and Princess Rahmi. Missus Martini, I’m sure you’ll be going to assist your husband. Adriana, my dear, stay here at the door and don’t let anyone through.”
With that he and Gower took off. “I thought the Pontifex was not supposed to get involved in these kinds of brawls,” Adriana said.
“They’re not, but you can’t really blame them.” There were a lot of random Field agents. They chose to pay attention to us. “So much for you merely guarding the door.”
“Do you truly want me at the door or helping?”
“Actually, you might want to go through it and stay on the other side.”
“No, I will stay to help you. The coming fight looks quite unfair.”
“Can you actually see to help?”
“Grandmother has been working with me on the skill. And I believe the medicine Doctor Hernandez created to help humans handle hyperspeed has a side effect of helping the eyes ‘see faster.’ So somewhat.”
“It’ll have to do.” We were out of time—the random A-Cs had reached us.
Rage tended to be my friend. I didn’t have a lot of “flight” in my makeup. I seemed to always be on the side of “fight” for that particular reflex option. As I’d been learning every day since giving birth to my daughter, rage was vital, because rage meant I was in full command of all the A-C bells and whistles I’d inherited.
Rage was easy to achieve right now for some reason. The Crüe’s “White Trash Circus” came on again. Worked for me—it had a good beat to fight to. And I was going to fight.
Shoved the Glock into the back of my pants, kept my purse over my head, had a weird idea, and put the baseball mitt on. Would have preferred a bat, but improvisation was my middle name.
The agents were on us. And I started spinning, fast.
I wasn’t doing this move merely to get dizzy. I was using the mitt as an extension of my arm, so that I could keep the agents just a little farther away. It had the advantage of being quite old, and therefore not exactly supple.
Leather, if not kept up as it ages, tends to get hard. This mitt wasn’t up to solid wood standards, but it had been left in a pipe for twenty-plus years. It was pretty hard, made to feel harder by the speed I was going.
It was also effective, at least if the grunts of pain I was hearing from the men I was hitting were any indication.
The only downside was that I wasn’t tall enough to hit most of their heads. Had to solve that problem, and quickly.
Found a shorter A-C of the group attacking me and stopped spinning. Jumped on his back instead. He started trying to get me off and, happy day, decided that spinning around was a great plan.
Rage being what it was, I was actually stronger than the guy who I was using as a stepladder. So I was able to get onto his shoulders and lock my legs around his back. As long as he didn’t watch MMA and therefore realize that if he just fell forward I’d be screwed, we were good.
Apparently he wasn’t a fights enthusiast, because he just kept on spinning to try to shake me off. This was great, because while we were going slower than I had been, I was now higher than the guys I was fighting.
Adriana saw what I was doing. I knew this because as I slammed the mitt into the head of the nearest A-C, she used a low kick to knock him off his feet. In fact, she was using the Iron Broom Sweep, where she stayed low, had her leg out, and spun around in a 360 as she swept the legs of the A-Cs near us. This was an impressive technique. Which meant I had to knock more heads in order to keep up. Worked for me.
She was slower, of course, but that gave me more time to hit agents, slam their heads together, and so forth. My unwilling partner was actually a great help. He kept on trying to hit me and I kept on slamming his arms away from me, meaning he ended up hitting someone else around us.
We flailed around like this for what felt like a long time, but which I knew to be less than three minutes, because “White Trash Circus” was still going when the last A-C around us hit the ground.
While Adriana slammed heads into the floor to ensure the agents were out and stayed out, I dealt with the guy whose shoulders I was riding. Decided the easiest way was to just hit him until he stopped being ornery.
Slammed the mitt into his face a few times while I tightened my thighs around his neck and head. This was working, but not fast enough. Decided to go for the impressive option. But it would require tag-teaming. “Adriana, need that Iron Broom move again!”
Leaned forward, looked him in the eyes, albeit upside down, grabbed his arms and kept them off my thighs, then flipped myself backward as hard as I could, while pushing against his back with my feet and lower legs and pulling his arms back.
Adriana, meanwhile, both heard and answered the call. She swept his legs as I went back. I let go with my legs and hands and did a backflip. I landed on my feet and my purse didn’t hit me in the face, so I was definitely counting this one as deserving of at least a 9.0 for Olympic Trials. He landed flat on his back. His head slammed into the floor, but Adriana did another slam on him anyway.
“I approve of the double-tap.”
“Good.” Adriana got to her feet. “I hear women fighting.”
Grabbed her hand. “You lead, let’s go see.”
We took off and, sure enough, we found some women fighting all right, behind a big set of isolation chambers. Claudia, Lorraine, and Serene were fighting back to back against the rest of Security. Speaking of unfair fights. Sure, the one Adriana and I had just had had been unfair, too, but this one looked worse. The girls were seriously pissed and the Security team looked pretty bad.
Remembered what the fight Jeff and Christopher had been having looked like. They hadn’t been doing nearly so well as the girls. “I think I need to go help Jeff.”
“I’ll stay here.” Adriana pulled some rope out of her backpack. “I have a plan.”
“I’ll let you run it. Hoping you’re conscious and unhurt when I get back.” Zipped off to where I’d seen the guys. Sure enough Jeff and Christopher were fighting one person. A woman. A small woman. If she was five feet tall that would be pushing the boundaries of measurement. And they were losing.
They were losing in part because they weren’t trying to kill this enemy and in fact weren’t really fighting as hard as I’d seen both of them do before. Was pretty sure that was the case for everyone else on Alpha and Airborne who was down and out, as well as those still fighting. These were our people, under mind control, and our side knew it.
As I arrived, this one tiny opponent sent Christopher flying, similar to how someone had done with Reader. Christopher slammed against an isolation chamber door and went down. Then she turned back to Jeff. She was older but still Dazzler gorgeous, with short, black hair. But I could see familial resemblance, more to Lucinda than White, but still, there.
I had a damned good guess who this was, and I also knew one thing, clearly—the gloves had to come off. And there was only one person here who could do that. Me.
She wasn’t my aunt or sister, she wasn’t someone I worked for, and, more to the point, she wasn’t someone I’d ever actually met in person. And I was tired of her intimidating me. That was so last Operation ago. Right now, as she slammed a fist into Jeff that doubled him over, slammed her knee into his head, then tossed him aside and onto the floor, I wasn’t intimidated—I was enraged.
When Jeff didn’t get up, I quickly went from enraged to supernova rage levels. I had one thought, and one
thought only, and it wasn’t how to subdue my opponent without hurting her.
“Hey Gladys, got some news for you.” Took my purse off and tossed it near to Jeff. Hopefully someone would be able to give him an adrenaline shot, because I was betting that he needed it. Kept my earbuds in and iPod on. Tunes were always my friends.
She turned to me. “What’s that? You’re quitting Centurion because you’ve never belonged here in the first place?”
“Nope, something much simpler. Bring it, bitch, ’cause you’re going down.”
CHAPTER 37
AS THE SONG ON MY IPOD CHANGED, I was now certain Algar was controlling my playlist. Because the new song was “Kill Your Idols” by Static-X. A fine song to kick butt to, good, fast, angry beat, helpful lyrics. Put it on repeat.
Gladys did that creepy crack your neck just by tilting your head really hard thing. Was pretty sure she did it to be creepy. Chose to look at is as a challenge, to see if I could crack her neck a whole lot harder.
Unlike most of my opponents over the years, she wasn’t talking. That one insult seemed to have been it. Instead of chat, she launched herself at my legs.
I jumped up and did the splits. She flipped into a forward roll and as I came down and spun around, she tackled me, hitting my stomach with her head.
“Ooof!” I sounded like Mahin. And figured I knew how she’d felt when I was kicking her butt. I went backward, Gladys on top of me, straddling my chest, all the better to do her version of ground and pound. Her version sucked, and by sucked I mean hurt a lot.
Still had the baseball mitt on. It was working great as a defensive tool—I had it in front of my face for protection and absorption of blows.
“Defend your head!” Tito shouted. Ah, my MMA coach was watching on the sidelines. Or, more likely, coaching while he was also kicking butt, which was a standard move for him. For this I was grateful. I’d personally thought the mitt was handling the defensive end, but I put both arms up, bent in front of my face.
