Sam’s voice, now, filling her with warmth, with love: We’ve got these powers for a reason.
Sam.
Tears slipped down her cheeks as she waited for a priest to come and absolve her of all her sins. To tell her that it was okay that Sam was dead.
“Those dead, who believed in him, shall be raised and live, and those living who believe, shall never perish. Death will only be a change to a better existence.”
Maybe it’s better, she thought bitterly, but I still want him back.
… those living who believe …
Her lip curled into a snarl. Tell me, how will chanting Our Fathers and performing penance make Sam come back?
How could Jehovah be so cruel?
Night again, his voice cold and yet soothing: If you want Samson’s death to have any meaning at all, you’ll let his dedication to helping others be your beacon. Your guiding light in the dark.
My guiding light.
Light.
Her heart leapt, and her mouth opened wide—in surprise, in delight. Her shoulder still ached, but it was a minor pain, easily overlooked in the face of an epiphany.
Light she could understand. Light was her personal savior, the thing that banished the darkness.
Forget Jehovah and his heart of stone. Forget Christo the Son. Forget Heaven and Hell, and all those things that demanded people believe in unconditionally, even with no proof that they existed at all.
Light was real.
Darkness was real.
It was all the religion that she needed.
Letting out a laugh, Jet climbed to her feet just as the screen slid open.
“I’m sorry for the wait, my child,” the hidden priest said.
“It’s okay,” Jet replied, feeling lighter than air. “I’ve already found what I was looking for.”
And in a weird way, she had Lancer to thank for it.
CHAPTER 45
IRIDIUM
Mentally gifted extrahuman students should consider a Therapy internship to hone their skills.
Promotional booklet published by the Executive Committee
Normally, Iridium would be glad for the interruption, but her stomach sank when the Containment team shuffled into their Applied Extrahuman History class.
One by one, the students stopped moving their styluses across their datascreens, staring at the silent faces under the riot shields.
Beside Iridium, Frostbite’s breath hitched.
He and Chen had made up in the week since Hornblower’s scene in the common room. Nobody had started looking at them strangely, or sending hate messages, and no proctors had so much as turned a hair. Derek and Chen were partners. It was natural for them to be together.
“Is something the matter?” said Charisma, their instructor.
The Containment worker at the head of the column pushed past her and they filed through the classroom, massing around Red Lotus.
“Derek Gregory,” said the Containment worker in a flat tone. “He in this class?”
Frostbite laid his stylus aside, his fingers shaking so that it slipped off the podium and rolled away. “Yeah. I’m Derek Gregory.”
The Containment worker tightened his grip on his stun blaster. “You need to come with us, son.”
“He’s not going anywhere,” Iridium spoke up, holding her arm out between Frostbite and the team.
The Containment worker frowned at her. “Stay out of this, girl. There are some very serious allegations leveled at Mr. Gregory. We need to get to the bottom of them.”
Iridium stuck her chin out. “What allegations?”
“That’s between Mr. Gregory and the Superintendent, miss.” He lowered his voice. “Get out of the way before I stun you.”
“Get out of mine before I blind you,” Iridium hissed. “You’re not taking him.”
The Containment worker jerked his head at one of his companions, who reached out and yanked Iridium’s right arm behind her in a submission hold. She struggled, but unless she wanted to break her arm, she wasn’t going anywhere.
“See here!” Charisma snapped, leaning on her cane and starting forward. “You can’t just come into my classroom and manhandle my charges.”
“Stay out of this,” snarled the Containment worker. “You have no idea what this boy has been accused of.”
Iridium glared at Hornblower, who was watching the scene unfold with a slack-jawed equanimity.
Frostbite must have had the same thought, because he rounded on Hornblower. “You are so fucking dead, Tyler. I’m going to freeze your tiny little prick off and feed it to you!”
“Me?” Hornblower squeaked. “I didn’t report you! You think I’m stupid?”
The Containment team traded looks. “I guess we weren’t wrong,” the leader said.
“No,” Frostbite said, his voice rising. “No, you weren’t wrong. I’m gay. I like men. When I’m in the shower, I think about Keanu Reeves. I kiss men and someday I’ll fuck men and you all can just quit whispering about me, because you’re all absolutely right—I’m a big old queer!” He glared around the room, daring the other students to say something. “There. That’s what you wanted, right?”
Iridium squirmed, tried to break free. “Derek …”
Frostbite ignored her and turned to Chen. “I’m sorry. I know this wasn’t how you wanted it. Please believe me.”
Red Lotus looked at the floor, slowly backing away from Frostbite. “I’m sorry, too, Derek.”
Another Containment officer put his hand on Chen’s shoulder. “You did the right thing, son. We’ll take you up to the Mental wing after your classes let out for the day to begin your treatment.”
Iridium felt the floor drop away from her feet.
All the blood drained from Frostbite’s face. “Chen,” he rasped, “you reported us?”
“I can’t get a sponsorship if I don’t agree to Therapy,” Chen said quietly. “I need to be able to survive in the real world, Derek. How can I be a hero without backers? When everyone is looking at me and whispering?”
“How could you do this?” Frostbite shouted. “I love you!”
The Containment officer held Frostbite back with his baton. “It’ll pass.”
“Fuck you.” He ducked under the man’s arm, running to Chen and grabbing his hands. “This doesn’t matter. We can drop out and go live with my aunt in Hawaii. The Squadron there is friendlier—”
“Yeah,” said Chen coldly. “Because I’m going to have a great damn career protecting surfers from sunburns.”
“Move it,” said the Containment officer, pulling them apart. “You’re going upstairs, Gregory. Now.”
“I don’t need Therapy!” Frostbite yelled, struggling against the Containment team. One of his punches landed on the man’s riot shield and it snapped backward, causing a red spatter to erupt from his nose.
Two more Containment officers shot Derek with their stun blasters, and he collapsed, twitching, to the floor.
“Stop!” Iridium shrieked, summoning a strobe.
An alarm triggered as she accessed her power, and the rest of the students cried out, hands over their ears.
The Containment officer holding Iridium pushed her to the ground next to Derek, who was still feebly fighting against stun-cuffs.
“Tell Chen …” he groaned. “Tell him … I’m so sorry.”
The Containment workers dragged Frostbite up and out, and a flash of blue was the last Iridium saw of him for nearly a year.
CHAPTER 46
JET
You misunderstand. The Academy is not here to hurt its students—it’s here to help them. Unfortunately, sometimes help comes too late, and that is my greatest regret.
Celestina, in an interview given to Channel 1
Jet sighed loudly as Celestina ushered her down the hall to the Girls’ Dormitory. “I still don’t see what was so urgent that you had to pull me out of Public Speaking, ma’am.” Jet still had a long way to go before she was comfortable in front of the vids. E
veryone seemed to think that because of what she’d done at Sam’s funeral, she was a natural. Except that day, she’d been possessed by her grief. Now all that gripped her when she had to speak publicly was stage fright.
She rolled her eyes. Some hero she’d be if she turned green every time a camera shone in her face.
Next to her, Celestina huffed out, “There are some things that are more important than work, Joan.”
“Ma’am,” Jet chided, “you’re supposed to use my designation.”
“And you’re not supposed to correct a proctor. Now move it, Ms. Greene.”
Jet blanched and increased her pace. They walked the rest of the way in silence.
When they stopped in front of her room, Jet threw Celestina a pointed look. “Ma’am?”
“Go inside,” Celestina said, her voice soft as lilacs. “Help her.”
“What? Help …” Jet’s eyes widened. “Iri? Is she in trouble?”
“That’s for her to say.” Celestina motioned toward the door. “Go.”
Jet swallowed. She and Iridium had been pulling away from each other for the better part of ten months now. It was natural, Jet had told herself on those nights when she’d hear Iri laughing in the common room with Frostbite and Red Lotus; she and Iridium had different worldviews. Jet was focused on her studies, on her career as a hero. Iridium was focused on … well, on Light only knew. Iri didn’t care about the Academy. Iri didn’t take her studies seriously—which truly irked Jet, who had to work for every A; it was grossly unfair that Iridium just seemed to absorb information and process it at lightning speed. They’d remained roommates Fourth Year because they were already paired, and it made the most sense.
But it would have been a stretch to say they were still friends.
There were times that Jet missed Iri so much, it felt like her heart was torn in two. Those were the times when she almost would set aside her texts or would beg off an hour at the gym to go find her and listen to whatever Iri had to say—probably something cynical about the Academy, or the Squadron, or even Corp, as blasphemous as that was.
Those were the times when Jet missed hearing Iri laugh with her, when she missed Iri’s wicked grin.
But those times were few and far between. A fledgling hero had a lot on her plate as it was; friendships were nice, but they simply weren’t a priority. Night had said so last year, and Jet firmly agreed.
So why did Jet suddenly, overwhelmingly, feel ashamed?
“Ms. Greene,” Celestina said, her soft voice rimming with frost, “are you going to stand there all day?”
“No, ma’am,” she said. And then she pressed the palm-pad to her room, and the door slid open.
Iridium was on her bed, lying prone, with the pillow over her head.
The door slid shut behind Jet. It sounded like a coffin slamming home. A glance behind her told her what she’d already known: Celestina had left her alone with her roommate.
She listened to the soothing white noise in her comlink for a moment, then cleared her throat. “Iridium? Are you sleeping?”
Iridium said nothing.
“Well, technically, there’s no way for you to answer that in the affirmative,” Jet said, fighting her sudden bout of nerves by babbling. “So either yes, you’re sleeping, and you don’t hear me talking, or no, you’re awake, but you’re ignoring me.”
“Go ’way,” came from under the pillow.
Well, that answered that question. “My room too.”
“Fine. Leave me alone.”
“Iri?” Jet had never heard this tone before, not from Iridium. She was used to hearing the other girl sounding brash, even arrogant. And there were times when she’d sound coldly professional. Not to mention the times when she’d sound as furious as the Bulldozer with a shard of glass in his foot.
But this was the first time she’d ever heard Iri sounding resigned. Defeated.
“Iri?” she said again, alarmed. Jet strode over to Iridium’s bed, sat on the edge, and put a hand on the girl’s shoulder. She felt it tense under her fingers. “What’s wrong? Is it something with your grades? Your parents? Did they move Arclight to another wing?”
“What do you care?”
Ouch. “Iri, of course I care.”
“Please. You haven’t said shit to me in the better part of a year, not unless it has to do with training, or classes.” Iridium yanked her pillow off of her head and pitched it at Jet, who easily dodged. “So leave me alone. Go throw shadows or something.”
Jet wanted to argue, to tell her that she had to be focused because otherwise she’d fall behind—and that meant she would earn Night’s disapproval. But this wasn’t about her. It was about Iri. “Callie,” she said. “What happened?”
Iridium said nothing, just wrapped her arms around the back of her head and shook with silent rage.
“I know I’ve been … preoccupied,” Jet said softly, “but I’m here now. There’s something wrong. Tell me. Let me help you.”
“Always the hero, aren’t you?”
“No. A friend.”
“You’ve been a shitty friend lately.”
“I know,” Jet said, the truth of the words making her chest feel too tight. “But let me be one to you now. Come on, Iri. Tell me. This isn’t like you. Are you sick?”
“Christo, yes. I’m sick to my stomach.” Jet was about to grab the trash bin for Iri to puke into, but then Iri continued speaking. “It’s this place. It’s rotten. It gets inside of you and festers in you, and there’s nothing we can do but lie here and feel sick.”
Hearing those words about the Academy sent an irrational surge of anger through Jet, but she pushed it aside. “What happened?”
“They took him. Took both of them.”
“They?”
“Derek and Chen. They’re gone.”
Jet felt the blood drain from her face. “What do you mean, gone?”
“Containment pulled them out of class today. Took them to Therapy.”
“What? Why?”
“Because they’re gay,” Iridium growled. She sat up and shrieked, “They love each other, and this place is going to tear their brains apart because of it!”
Frostbite was gay? And Red Lotus?
Jet could quote the policy that expressly forbade same-sex relationships at the Academy and in the Squadron. Corp wouldn’t dare ostracize its ultraconservative support base by putting a known homosexual onto the front lines; it was bad for business. If Derek and Chen really were gay, then they had taken a huge risk.
For love.
Jet wanted to tell Iridium that the boys had done something that was considered a crime, and they were being reprimanded according to procedure. But …
… but that would be the absolute wrong thing to say. And damn it to Darkness, this was Derek and Chen. Jet liked them. She thought of Dawnlighter, who was still the perfect plastic Academy student. In her mind, she saw an Academy-approved version of Red Lotus, perhaps not as serene as he used to be, but Chen was someone who could adapt. She tried to imagine Frostbite without his perpetual snark, without the evil gleam in his eye.
But she couldn’t. He was who he was.
“Oh, Iri,” she said, “Light, I’m so sorry.”
Iridium stared at Jet with tear-swollen eyes. Iri had cried, Jet thought, stunned. Iri never cried.
“Don’t be sorry,” Iri said. “This place is so fucking sorry already. Come on.” She grabbed Jet’s wrist and pulled her as she got up from bed.
“Where’re we going?”
“To the Mental wing. We’re getting them out of there.”
Jet dug her heels in and pulled back. “Stop. Damn it, Callie, stop! We can’t.”
Iridium spun to face her. “Why not? What they’re going to do to them is wrong! I don’t care that Chen submitted—it was temporary insanity or something. He and Derek had gotten into a fight. He wasn’t in his right mind. We have to get them out before it’s too late!”
“Callie,” Jet said slowly, “li
sten to what you’re saying. We can’t just waltz up to Mental and sneak them out.”
“Why the hell not?”
“Because it’s the Mental ward, Iri! Come on, think! It’s as heavily guarded as Blackbird! We’d never make it five steps before Containment was on us too.”
“Then let’s stage a coup! Get Were and the others to back us up, make them stop this … this travesty!”
“Iri. No one will do that. And you know it.” Jet hated saying the words, even though she knew they were true. “It’s regulation, Callie. They ignored it.”
“It’s a stupid fucking regulation!”
“Maybe. But it’s still how it is.”
Iridium grabbed her desk chair and hurled it at the wall. It bounced off, unbroken. She covered her face with her hands and screamed, “I fucking hate this place!”
Jet wrapped her arms around Iri and hugged her tight, said again and again how sorry she was. Eventually, Iri hugged her back, and cried.
Together, they went to the Superintendent’s office to petition for Frostbite’s and Red Lotus’s release.
The petition was denied.
And life at the Academy rolled on.
CHAPTER 47
JET
I’m very grateful to Jet for doing everything she could to save my little girl. She must make her own father very proud.
Harold Kidder, father of Lynda Kidder, to the press at his daughter’s funeral
And here we are,” the nurse said as Jet’s door slid open. “Home sweet home!”
The RN’s overly bright, overly loud voice made Jet wince in her wheelchair. “Thank you, Jessica.”
“You’re quite welcome.”
Bruce sauntered past, carrying a travel bag and a bundle of mail. “You really didn’t have to come all this way,” he said—and maybe Jet was mistaken, but she thought he sounded put out.
“Of course not.” The nurse sniffed. Loudly. “But I wanted to make sure our favorite hero made it home, safe and sound.”
“She’s safe with me,” Bruce growled.
“Of course she is,” Jessica said, her voice the textbook definition of patronization. “And what do you think you’re doing?” That last was to Jet, who’d started to get up from the wheelchair.
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