Black and White

by Jackie Kessler

  Jet pulled herself to her feet, her gaze riveted on the earpiece. Her head was a mess, and her comlink was broken.

  And Corp and Everyman …

  A warning buzz in her head. Biting her lip, Jet thought, I! Serve! Corp! She even smiled.

  And the buzzing faded.

  She sank down onto her bed, her eyes wide. By all that was Light, they’d gotten into her mind. Somehow, they’d brainwashed her. Corp or Everyman or both.

  She saw Martin Moore, grinning. Pictured him in the crisp white lab coat that all the doctors in the Mental wing sported, saying: “Who do you think did this to you in the first place?”

  And Frostbite, stunned and yet smug, asking her: “How long’ve they had you on a leash?”

  Longer than she’d ever guessed.

  On the floor, her comlink seemed to wink.

  Her eyes narrowed, and she clenched her fist so hard that her nails gouged the sensitive flesh of her palm. Someone had a lot of explaining to do. Blackness seeped out between her fingers, covered her hand in Shadow until she shook it away. A lot of explaining.

  And she wouldn’t take no for an answer.

  First, a shower. Get clean. Scrub away the remnants of what was starting to feel like a mental rape.

  She dashed into her bathroom, ignoring Terry’s outburst. No time for any of that. She showered in record time, was toweling herself dry as she raced back into her bedroom. Terry didn’t try to stop her, at least.

  She dressed quickly—undergarments, skinsuit—and wrapped her hair into two thick coils and pinned them back. She strode down the hall and to the front of the living room, headed straight for the low table by the front door. She grabbed her boots and yanked them on, then clipped on her belt. Her hands slid into her leather gauntlets. Oh, it felt good to be back in uniform. Ready to take action.

  Jet smiled grimly as she snatched her cape and cowl from the hook by the door. Oh yes, she thought, fastening the cloak so that it rested comfortably over her shoulders. She was ready for action. And answers. She wouldn’t stop until she got answers.

  Almost ready—except her optiframes were missing.

  “Terry,” she called out, “where—”

  The lights cut out.

  Even though it was about eleven in the morning, the living room was pitch black, as if it were storming outside and the sun couldn’t break through the pollution layer … or as if someone had reinforced the shades.

  Her breath caught in her throat for a moment, then she pushed the reaction away. No time to be afraid. Get the lights on before the voices start to whisper.

  But duty first: Get the civilian out of danger. “Terry,” Jet called out, tugging her hood to cover her head. “Are you all right?”

  “Terry’s not here, darlin’,” a man’s voice replied—cocky, almost a verbal swagger. She’d heard that voice before, and fury swirled through her, slashed through her fear of the dark. “I gave her the afternoon off.”

  The voice was coming from the bedroom.

  Distract him. Get the lights on.

  “You shouldn’t have, she’s paid through tomorrow,” Jet said, circling into the kitchen and pressing the lightpad—to no avail. She moved back into the living room, tried the front door—hissed as something shocked her, right through her leather gauntlets.

  “Sounds like you’re having some electrical issues.” His voice was closer now—moving down the hall.

  Aiming her hand toward the hallway entrance, Jet said, “Where’s your mistress?”

  “Who?” Still closer.

  “Iridium,” she said, lining up a shot. “You know. Tall. Mouthy. Tends to wear white.” Come on, say something else, just one more thing …

  “My mistress, huh? Now that’s cute.”

  Jet let fly a blast of Shadow. It crashed into something, but she didn’t hear a grunt or a cry, so she assumed she missed. Damn it to Darkness, I need light.

  From behind her: laughter. “Iridium couldn’t be here. She’s a little tied up.”

  She whirled and unleashed another Shadowbolt, and she heard something crash and tinkle.

  “Hope you have insurance for that,” the man said, somewhere to her left. By the front door. “And by the way, I borrowed your goggles. They’re real cute. Spruce up my outfit something fierce.”

  Jet stalked right and back, sought room to maneuver. Her legs banged against the sofa. “What do you want?”

  “An all-expense-paid trip to Europe would be nice.” From her right now; damn, the man moved silently. “Maybe a cup of world peace. Oh, and one order of Jet. To go.”

  But at least he was a blabbermouth. She hurled a blackball at him.

  “You missed,” he whispered in her ear.

  She elbowed him in the gut, but he grabbed her left arm, twisted it behind her back until her shoulder threatened to pop. Snarling, she slammed her head back—got his chest, which was heavily padded.

  “Uh-uh, darlin’. I saw that move before.” He forced her arm back to the breaking point, and with his other hand he tore her cowl away from her head, yanked the cloak free.

  The voices reared up, gibbering, demanding. hit him hit him HIT HIM HARD

  No!

  She was panicking now, but not because of the man pinning her arm behind her back. In the darkness, the shadows around her seemed to gather together, rise up and form something, something with teeth, something hungry …

  HIT HIM HURT HIM HURT HIM KILL HIM MAKE HIM SCREAM

  “Shut up!” She couldn’t think, couldn’t block out the voices and fight Iridium’s lackey. Writhing in his grip, she stomped down on his foot. He didn’t even grunt. “Get away!”

  MAKE HIM SCREAM MAKE HIM SUFFER MAKE HIM SHADOW SQUEEZE HIM SQUEEZE HIM TIGHT

  On the small amount of exposed skin of her neck: a pinch, then a rush of pressure. He whispered, “You’re supposed to be on bed rest, Joan.”

  He released her, and the darkness slipped to the left. Jet staggered drunkenly, struggled to keep the world from spinning away. But the shadows reached for her, clawed for her. Dragged her down. No, she thought dimly, shielding her face from the blackness with its teeth. No …

  Over the giggles of the Shadow voices, she heard the man say, “Nighty night.”

  She was out before she hit the floor.

  CHAPTER 54

  JET

  I look at what Corp is unleashing on the world, and I know that the world will tremble and fall if no one stands against them.

  Arclight, in an interview with Underground magazine

  The Academy main pavilion was filled with the sounds of grunts, of blasts, of bodies hitting bodies. Not to mention whoops and shouts, and more than a little scolding and outright belligerence. If not for the harsh wind stealing the smells, the place would have reeked of sweat, and ozone, and dirt. Paired heroes trained under the watchful eyes of their instructors, with the exception of the Fifth Years; they worked unsupervised.

  Which bothered Jet immensely. How would she know if she was going too slow, or if her form was off, or any host of things, if no one was watching? Palming her hair out of her eyes, she said, “Once more.”

  “Enough already.” Iri’s breath misted with the late February chill. “We’ve done it ten times. We’ve got it down cold.”

  Jet rubbed her hands to keep them warm. Maybe her Squadron skinsuit should have gloves—no, gauntlets, like Night’s. They’d protect her skin and keep her warm. “I just want to be sure.”

  “Well, I’m sure. We’re done.” To prove her point, Iri yanked the comlink from her ear and tucked it into one of her belt pouches. “Christo, I hate that thing.”

  “But the field test is tomorrow,” Jet said. “We have to make sure it’s perfect.”

  “It is. If we keep doing it, we’re going to get tired, and that means getting sloppy. And then … boom.” Iri popped a strobe in her hands.

  Jet’s goggles irised to shield her from the sudden burst of light. “Hey! Quit it!”

  “We’re done,”
Iri said. “And that means it’s time to relax. Come on, Squad House is on in fifteen minutes.”

  “Fine, maybe I’ll spar with one of the others, or offer to ref the Fourth Years, or—”

  Iri hooked an arm around Jet’s shoulders. “You, girl, are going to relax if it kills you. We’re popping popcorn and watching Squad House. I’m betting Girl Power goes all slutty on Screamer.”

  Jet groaned, but she allowed Iri to steer her back into the Academy. She was constantly proving to Iridium that they were really friends again, after making up during Fourth Year. So for Jet, that meant hanging out and, among other things, watching Squad House, even though she’d rather pluck out her eyeballs.

  Jet wasn’t about to risk their friendship again. Not for the Academy, or Corp.

  Or Night.

  He was too busy for her, anyway. Between the close of Fifth Year and all that entailed and some proctor project he’d been working on, her mentor had been horribly scarce as of late. And he was curt to her when they did see each other. Rude … and distracted. The one time she’d seen his face before he’d adjusted his cowl, his eyes had a wild sheen—almost feverish. Whatever had captured his attention, it had nothing to do with Jet.

  She pretended that didn’t hurt. Or that she didn’t worry about him.

  Because everyone knew what happened to Shadow powers. Eventually.

  But here, at the Academy, surely someone would notice if Night started acting … in a way he shouldn’t act.

  Thinking of her father, Jet glanced at Iri—who was grinning broadly, looking for all the world like she’d just won a tremendous victory.

  Maybe Night cutting her off was a good thing. If anything, she and Iri had been closer this year than they were even back in Second Year—before Jet had gotten her earpiece and her confidence. She remembered that day, saw Dawnlighter’s face twisted into a snarl of utter hatred, just before she’d tried to kill Jet.

  “Jet! Wakey wakey.”

  Jet blinked. “Sorry. Lost in thought.”

  “There’s a news flash.”

  “I can’t believe you’re making me watch some extrahuman reality show.”

  “Come on, it’s good for you. Builds character.”

  Well, maybe it wouldn’t be a total waste of time. She could think more about what her postgraduation battlesuit should look like. Maybe take a cue from Night on more than just the gauntlets. He’d like that, wouldn’t he? She could go for the whole intimidation motif. If people were afraid of her, then that fear would do most of the fighting for her.

  The thought made her smile.

  She was still a little thin, and not exactly tall. So she’d need to make up for the lack of physical presence with other things. Add padding to the battlesuit, both for protection and for more of a figure. A hood or a cowl to shroud her face, turn it from something vaguely pretty into something secretive. And a cape, definitely, she thought, picturing how Night’s cloak swirled around his legs. Maybe she’d even add height to her boots—ugh. She should have taken Femme Fatale as an elective to help her learn how to balance in high heels …

  “What’re you groaning about?”

  Jet laughed. “Fashion. Picturing me in heels.”

  “Holy Jehovah, now there’s a sight!” Iri snorted laughter. “Let me guess, you’re considering a halter top and steel bracelets.”

  “Me? Light, no. I don’t want to have to shave my underarms before going into battle.”

  “I’m telling you, heels and a halter top. Maybe a leather bikini to distract men with your womanly charms.”

  “Great,” Jet said. “Code name: Bikini.”

  “Yeah. No battlesuit for you. Just acres of flesh.”

  “Acres? Now I look fat in the bikini?”

  “Or maybe a PVC skinsuit …”

  “Worse than leather,” Jet said primly, biting back her giggles. “Way too stiff. Too restrictive.”

  “So ‘Bondage Girl’ is out. Fine, you’ll go the body-stocking route instead of a unikilt. Between that and the heels, there’d be nothing left to the imagination.”

  “Uh-huh, right. Code name: Spandex.”

  Iri beamed. “Exactly! I love it.”

  “You’re crazy.”

  “Nope, I’m the criminal. You’re the kook.”

  Giggling, they went into the common-room annex and made some popcorn—with Iri grumbling as they waited the three minutes for it to finish nuking; by the third minute of Iri’s impatient pacing, Jet was fervently wishing that Power Plant would stroll in and zap the corn with a touch of her hand. After, they walked into the Fifth Year common room with five minutes to go before the show started. A number of students had already converged, laying claim to the three sofas and scattered chairs, which meant floor room only for Jet and Iri.

  “Hey,” Steele said from the far corner chair, waving. “It’s Yin and Yang!”

  “With popcorn,” Firebug declared. “Our heroes!”

  A bunch of the students said their “heys” to them; the rest ignored them, other than casting a disinterested glance their way. Jet and Iri maneuvered their way to the back corner and grabbed some floor by Steele’s seat, then passed the bowl of popcorn around. Over them, Firebug sat scrunched on the sofa by the chair, and squeezed by her were Windfall, Were, Colossal Lad, and Stealth. Someone nudged Jet’s shoulder with a foot; she didn’t have to look up to know it was Were, already chortling.

  “Hey, Jetster, you hear the one about the Shadow and the Light?”

  Her cheeks heated as she turned to look up at him. Damn it. Yeah, she’d definitely get a cowl for her battlesuit. Something to help her mask her embarrassment.

  “Christo, not that one again,” Windfall groaned. “You going to tell that same stupid joke every time Jet and Iri walk in together?”

  “Aw, it’s a good joke.”

  “If you define ‘good’ as making you want to rip your ears off and eat them so you don’t have to hear it again, then sure.”

  Jet hid her smile behind her hand.

  “You’re no fun,” Were grumbled. “Tell him, Stealth.”

  Stealth, silent as ever, shrugged.

  “Yeah, what he said!” Were nodded, satisfied.

  Stealth rolled his eyes.

  “You guys ready for tomorrow?” asked Steele, and Jet pivoted to face her.

  “Oh yeah.” Iri slammed her fist into the open palm of her other hand. “We’re going to blow through the field test. Dazzle them with style. Impress them with elegance.”

  “Bore them with a monologue,” Colossal Lad said.

  Iri elbowed his shin.

  “We’re ready,” Jet said firmly. And they were. Iri had been right, of course. They had their maneuvers down cold. All that was left was to perform for a live audience.

  “Me, I’m so freaking nervous, I should bring a barf bag,” Firebug said.

  “I keep telling you, you’re terrific.” Steele smiled at her partner. “I wouldn’t lie to you.”

  “I know we know our stuff,” Firebug said, “but there’s so much riding on this.” She gulped. “I don’t want to get expelled if we fail.”

  Were said, “You know, if you keep worrying about it, you’re going to mess up.”

  Windfall bopped him on the head. “Shut it, Were! The rest of us don’t get an autopass because our partner got killed. Oh.” He cleared his throat, muttered, “Sorry, Jet.”

  She swallowed the lump in her throat. “It’s okay.”

  “You’re going to be fine,” Steele said, her eyes glinting like her armored flesh did when she powered up. “You’ll see. As long as we go by the book, nothing can go wrong.”

  “Because Jehovah knows,” Iri mumbled, “the bad guys always go by the book.”

  “Not now,” Jet told her.

  “It’s true.” Iri shrugged. “It’s stupid for us to follow expected patterns. Repetition leads to predictability, which leads to ambush.”

  “Repetition leads to getting the moves perfect,” Steele insisted. Jet nodd
ed. Thank the Light, at least Jet wasn’t alone in that belief.

  “Hero Philosophy later, ladies,” Windfall said. “The show’s about to start. Hey, Were, quit wolfing down all the popcorn!”

  They watched the insipid show, and by the end of the hour, Jet wanted to claw her eyes out. But she laughed along with the others, and she followed their group out of the common room when the show ended. The room slowly cleared out.

  She was hanging by the door for almost a full minute when she realized that Iri was inside, talking to someone. Poking her head in, she saw her roommate seated in the far front corner … next to Frostbite. They were the only two left in the room.

  Oh boy. She hadn’t known Derek was inside—hadn’t known that he was out of Therapy. Pasting a smile on her face, she walked in to say hello.

  Frostbite regarded her with cold, haunted eyes. His face was gaunter than she remembered, and his shock of blue hair was buzzed close to his scalp. He was far too thin. “Jet,” he said.

  “How’s it going, Frostbite?”

  “Same old,” he replied. “Mind still works, if that’s what you mean.”

  Uncomfortable, Jet looked at her boots.

  “Anyway, you need anything,” Iri said to him, rising, “you let me know.”

  “I will, Callie. Thanks.”

  Iridium grinned at him, then strode out of the room.

  Jet wanted to follow, but her feet were rooted to the spot. “She missed you,” she said quietly.

  He stared at her with those haunted eyes. “She’ll get over it,” he said. “I can’t hang with her anymore. With anyone anymore.” His voice faded, as if he saw something that Jet couldn’t see.

  “Maybe if we talk to the Superintendent …”

  “You stay out of it,” he growled. “You don’t want any part of this, Jet.” His gaze fixed on hers. “You just stay close to Iri. Make sure you two pass tomorrow. Don’t fuck up.”

  “We won’t.”

  “Good.” He nodded, once. “You know, they kept telling us to make sure you’re okay, to stay close to you. But they’ve got it wrong.”

  “What? Who said that?”

  “Everyone. Instructors. Proctors.” His blue eyes held her dark ones. “Since First Year, it’s been about looking out for Jet, making sure the Shadow power was protected.”