“Howard?” asked Thorne, looking at Dr. McCabe.
The geneticist shook his head. “I can’t be the one to make a decision about this. I’m just here in an advisory capacity. I’m just a scientist, not a politician or a soldier.”
“All the more reason your opinion matters,” said Thorne.
“I say we remain cautious. Have a back-up plan in case things don’t work out the way we expect. Maybe even bring our concerns to the President.” McCabe sighed. “That’s all I’ve really got.”
“It’ll do,” said Thorne. “You’ve all had a long day. Get some rest and we’ll talk about this later.”
EPILOGUE
Anita barely had a moment to settle into her room when a knock came at her door. She answered it and saw Zenith standing in the corridor. “May I come in?” She nodded and walked over to the bed, sitting on it. Zenith stepped inside, closing the door behind him. He glanced around the room and saw very little. Each room was not all that dissimilar from a small hotel room, with a single bed, a desk, and a bathroom. Anita had a laptop computer on her desk and an open suitcase rested on the floor, which she had apparently been living out of since arriving.
“You haven’t really made this room a home, I see.”
“Don’t plan on staying here long-term. After our initial period, I plan to go home, come in when needed,” she said. “What’s this about?”
“You mentioned you wanted some information on the Red Fist, and so I processed your request,” he said.
“What did you find?”
“Nothing,” said Zenith. “No official record exists of any organization known as the Red Fist. It is almost exclusively the domain of Internet conspiracy theorists.”
Anita sighed. “So what did I see?” She looked up at Zenith with worried eyes. “Am I—do you think my powers are making me crazy?”
Zenith sat next to her on the bed. He placed a cold, metal hand over hers and lightly patted it. “I do not believe that. When I say there is no official record, I should note that there were limits to my search. I found myself impeded in a number of instances.”
“What are you saying?”
“I believe you,” said Zenith. “I believe the Red Fist exists, and there are those who are attempting to cover up that fact.”
“Why?”
The robot looked away and shook his head. “That I do not know. But I promise I will continue my search. We will discover the truth. You have my word.”
Anita nodded and in a low voice said, “thank you.”
Zenith just gave a nod. “I should return to my quarters. Have a good night, Anita.”
***
President Curtis Hayworth sat in the White House Situation Room with his top military advisors seated around him, including Joseph Ramsey, the Secretary of Defense. Spread out on the table were documents and photographs of several individuals.
“Here is what we have so far, sir,” said one of the generals. “In addition to Chloe Grant, there’s also the one from Chicago, Callum King. And then we’ve got these six who make up the team Vanguard.”
The photos of the members of Vanguard weren’t as clear as the mugshots of Zephyr and Exemplar, as they were limited to public appearances. The general continued. “So far, we have yet to determine their identities. But we do know a few things. For one, these two,” he pointed to the photos of Zenith and Gunsmith, “do not appear to be specials. Instead, it looks like their abilities derive from technology.”
“We can also assume that due to the high level of technology they possess, they have access to some considerable resources,” said another general. “Sir, we could be looking at a group of specials sponsored by another nation in secret.”
“So it seems,” said Hayworth, considering this and tossing a glance to his Defense Secretary. He and Ramsey had carefully constructed this house of cards and now it was in danger of toppling. His primary concern was plausible deniability, making sure this didn’t reflect back on him. “We’re going to go to the Security Council, let them know the United States unequivocally supports a treaty banning the use of persons of mass destruction for military purposes.”
“What about the registration idea being floated in the House?” asked Ramsey.
“One problem at a time, Joe,” said Hayworth. “We need to arrange some meetings with our foreign counterparts. I need to speak to the other leaders individually and in private."
***
The Analyst sat in the dark, his legs folded underneath him as he rested on a pillow. The room was completely bare except for that pillow. His palms rested on his knees and his eyes were shut as he carefully controlled his breathing. He was naked and the only other thing in the room with him was a cellular phone that rested in front of him.
The phone vibrated on the wooden floor, emitting a high-pitched ringtone. The Analyst opened his eyes and reached for the device, bringing it to his ear. “Yes?”
“It’s happening. The President is moving forward with the treaty and is now arranging meetings with the other world leaders. Everything is proceeding just as you said it would.”
“Thank you. The Master will be very pleased with your progress.” The Analyst ended the call. He entered another number and waited for an answer on the other end. “Sir, it is me. I just received word from our contact in the White House. Hayworth is proceeding with the plan. All the elements of our plan are moving into place.”
The Analyst listened as his master gave him the commands. “Yes sir, I understand. Anita Jordan needs to come over to our side. Absolutely.”
He listened again. “I have already begun looking into a power source. There is a candidate that could prove very useful for our purposes. I will begin making the arrangements.”
Again, silence from the Analyst as his master issued further commands. “I understand completely, sir. Azarov is hard at work, determining what he can. But he wants to examine King personally. I said it was out of the—are you sure? Very well, Azarov will be pleased. We also have another potential candidate, the young Chloe Grant. She could perhaps prove very useful and our ideology is one that may appeal to her revolutionary sensibilities. Shall I begin the procedure of procuring her?”
A smile spread across his face as he listened to his master’s words. “I understand, sir. Thank you, sir. Leave everything to me. My Khagan’s wish is my sacred duty.”
The Analyst ended the call and stood from the pillow. He stepped closer to the wall, looking at the image that had been painted on it, the image he stared at and meditated on every day for several hours. The bottom of the mural depicted bodies and rubble—the ashes of civilization. And rising from the center was a hand, clenched into a powerful fist.
A Red Fist.
#4 - POWER SURGE
CHAPTER 1
About an hour’s drive outside of Las Vegas was the location of Proximo Labs, dedicated to research and development, particularly in the area of renewable forms of energy. Dr. Miriam Rowe waited at the front entrance of the facility, adjusting her black-rimmed glasses and then checking that her long red hair was held firmly in its bun.
A black limousine slowed down as it approached the road’s cul-de-sac, pulling to a stop at the front entrance. The back door opened and a man with silver hair and a thin mustache stepped from the vehicle. Miriam smiled at him as he approached and she offered her hand.
“Mr. Palmer, I presume.”
The man smiled and his metallic eyes seemed to twinkle. He was not Stuart Palmer, but Miriam had no way of knowing that. “Yes, and you must be Dr. Rowe.”
“I am. Welcome to Proximo Labs.” She gestured to the glass doors to the facility’s lobby behind her. “Shall we?”
Palmer nodded. “After you.”
They stepped into the lobby, furnished with leather couches and a reception desk facing the doors. Flanking either side of the reception desk were metal doors that could only be opened with the proper security clearance. Miriam pressed her thumb to the pad on one of the doors and it
slid open with a hiss.
“As you can see, we take security quite seriously.”
Palmer gave a nod of satisfaction. “That’s smart. Can’t be too careful. Especially given the work you do here.”
“Work that we will be able to continue should your organization decide to provide us with the funding we need.”
“Let’s see your progress.”
Miriam led the way down a sterile corridor. As Palmer walked past each of the rooms, he peered in through the narrow windows and saw researchers working on various projects. At the end of the corridor was an elevator.
“Special Projects,” said Miriam. “Authorization: Rowe, Miriam.”
“Vocal authorization confirmed,” came the robotic response from the elevator.
“Tell me more about the work you’ve been doing,” said Palmer.
“It all began with Dr. Terrence Gibson. He was working on a new kind of fusion reactor and there was an accident.”
“And where is Dr. Gibson now?”
The elevator stopped and the doors opened. Palmer stepped from the elevator and looked around the massive room, deep below the ground. Research technicians were buried in their work and cables ran all across the walls and ceiling. In the center of the room stood a large, cylindrical chamber with glass walls. Past the glass was a bright blue light.
Palmer moved from the elevator down the staircase to the floor of the facility. Miriam placed a hand on his shoulder and he turned to see she had donned safety goggles and handed him a pair. Palmer pulled them on and stared at the bright light in the tube.
Miriam went past him and approached a technician who sat at a console. She looked at the energy readings that appeared on his screen. “Charlie, am I reading this right?”
Charlie nodded. “Yeah, he’s been absorbing a huge amount of energy.”
“‘He’?” asked Palmer.
“Lower the input, Charlie,” said Miriam.
Charlie did as she said, entering a few commands on his keyboard. The light dimmed and though it was still bright, the vague outline of a man could now be seen in the chamber.
“That’s Gibson,” said Miriam. “The theory is that the reactor had some reaction with Gibson, transforming him into this. What we’re looking at here is a man who can act as a human conduit.”
“We’ve exposed him to different types of energy and he seems capable of absorbing anything we throw at him,” said Charlie. “But what’s really interesting is he can then release that power as a unique form of energy we’ve never seen before.”
“If we can figure out how his abilities work, perhaps even replicate them, then we may have a source of unlimited clean energy on our hands,” said Miriam.
“So I see…” said Palmer.
***
Terrence Gibson gasped for breath inside the tube. When Charlie lowered the input he finally had a chance to get his bearings. He looked down at his body. His skin was luminescent, giving off a blue light. Other than that, he was completely naked. The hair that once lined his arms, chest and legs was now completely gone, burned away by his transformation.
For weeks he’d been locked in here, ever since the accident. Charlie, that little sycophant, blindly did whatever that witch Miriam told him to do. Gibson had been bombarded constantly by different forms of energy, and it basically passed through him. But little by little, he’d found he could exercise some degree of control over it. More than that, the energy had begun empowering him—he’d been stockpiling it.
Gibson placed his hands on the glass, concentrating. He focused the energy building inside him, directing it towards his palms. Auras appeared around each hand, glowing along with his eyes. The glass softened, and alarms in the facility went off.
“What’s going on?” Gibson heard Miriam ask.
“I-I don’t know,” said Charlie. “He’s doing something.”
The glass changed color, becoming a bright orange-yellow. The spots where Gibson’s hands were liquefied and his hands passed through. The holes grew larger until the hole was big enough for Gibson to step through.
Screams erupted inside the room. Gibson couldn’t help but smile at the fear they all had in their eyes when they looked upon him. He saw one of the technicians going for the elevator and his eyes crackled with power. Beams flew from his eyes, striking the technician through the back and causing him to fall to the ground, dead. Another technician ran for the security phone and Gibson extended his hand, a burst of energy firing from his palm and vaporizing the man.
Gibson brought his legs together, rising above the ground and hovering up to the lab’s high ceilings. He stared down at the people trembling in a panic, but his gaze focused on Miriam.
“You thought it’d be so simple, didn’t you, Miriam? Thought you could treat me like trash, then use me as your personal little lab rat.”
Gibson lowered himself so he was within arm’s reach of Miriam. He grabbed her, wrapping his bio-luminescent fingers around her throat, and pulled her so her face was inches from his.
“And to think, this could all have been avoided if only you weren’t such an ice queen,” he hissed.
Miriam tried to maintain her composure, even in his grip, but her eyes betrayed the fear that she felt. And Gibson could see it, too.
“Don’t worry, Miriam. I won’t kill you,” he said, then added with a smile, “Not until I’ve determined that you’ve sufficiently suffered for humiliating me.”
“D-Dr. Gibson!”
He spun his head and saw Charlie standing to the side, his hands held out in a gesture of capitulation. “Please don’t hurt Dr. Rowe.”
Gibson scoffed. “Oh Charlie, Terry Gibson’s dead. This bitch saw to that!” He threw her at Charlie, the two of them tumbling as they hit the ground. Gibson’s eyes crackled with the raw power burning within him. “Call me Lucent.”
***
As soon as Gibson burned through the glass, Palmer took cover. He slid under one of the consoles, hiding down there and watching while Gibson took out his rage. But the man who had convinced Miriam he was Stuart Palmer saw in Gibson an opportunity. Assuming, of course, he could manage to get out of here alive.
Palmer took his cell phone from his jacket pocket and dialed. When he heard a voice on the other end, he whispered his response. “I’m at Proximo Labs and there’s a situation. We’ve got a rogue special, one that will be very beneficial for our cause. But first he has to be taken down. Get them here now.”
He paused and listened for the response. The person on the other end was stone-walling him. “I don’t care if it compromises your position. You know who we work for and you know what will happen if you cease to be useful. Doesn’t matter what you have to tell them to get them here, but we need them.”
There was a brief pause and then the voice on the other end came back, speaking with a degree of fear. When Palmer heard the response, he smiled.
“That’s better. Now hurry. Proximo is a very useful resource for us, but not if this bastard destroys it.”
***
The Atlas sat deep in the Adirondacks, named after its former classification—an Atlas F ICBM missile silo. Now decommissioned, it had since been converted into the base of operations for the team of specials called Vanguard.
The missile bay doors rose, but what emerged wasn’t an ICBM. Instead it was a state-of-the-art aircraft, christened the Icarus. The VTOL thrusters activated, raising the plane into the air. The doors shut once the craft cleared them and when the Icarus rose high enough above the mountains, the rear thrusters engaged and the plane shot off into the horizon.
Inside the cockpit, Zenith sat at the controls, his computerized brain analyzing far more data than any pilot was capable of. The android turned to his right, where the team’s leader, Gunsmith, sat in the co-pilot’s seat.
“Course locked on, we will arrive in Nevada in short order.”
“Good. Let’s brief the others.” Gunsmith spun his chair around and unhooked the seat’s criss-crossing
harness. He stepped around a partition that separated the cockpit from the cabin. Zenith followed him to the area where the members of the team sat strapped in the seats facing him.
“We finally gonna find out what this is all about?” asked Wraith.
“Sorry about the rush, but we didn’t have much time for a briefing. Seems time’s of the essence on this mission,” said Gunsmith. “Colonel Thorne’s standing by, he’ll tell us what it is we’re walking into. Zenith?”
Zenith gave a nod and issued a quick wireless command that activated the monitor on the partition. Both Gunsmith and Zenith stepped to the side and the face of Colonel Leonard Thorne, broadcasting from within Atlas, appeared on the screen.
“Team. Apologies for pushing you into action without a proper briefing. We’ve been informed that there’s a situation at Proximo Labs. It’s a research facility specializing in alternate forms of energy. From what we’ve been told, there’s apparently a special terrorizing the staff. Once we got word, I thought it best to dispatch you immediately to try and contain the situation.”
“You mean this special is going on a rampage right this second?” asked Paragon. “How’d you find out so quick? Did someone manage to get to a phone?”
“That’s the extent of what I know,” said Thorne.
“What kind of special are we facing?” asked Gunsmith.
“All I know is that it’s apparently a powerful one,” said Thorne.
Wraith huffed. “This is all sorts of vague, Thorne.”
“I know, and I wish I could tell you more.”
“We’ll find out for ourselves soon enough. We just have to be ready for anything,” said Gunsmith. “Standard operating procedure: Zenith, Paragon and Sharkskin are our heavy hitters, so they’ll distract the special. Wraith, Shift and I will work on getting the lab staff to safety, try and contain any fallout.”
Vanguard: Seasons 1-3: A Superhero Adventure Page 21
