Shades of Gray

by Jackie Kessler; Caitlin Kittredge

  He doesn’t stick around for the official collar. But when he gets back to the apartment, Terry and the others throw an impromptu party. And when they get the news that finally, finally, some of the Latents are coming through and making their way to New Chicago to help, then Garth allows himself to get good and drunk.

  No, they have no idea what they’re doing. But hell, doing something is worlds better than doing nothing.

  CHAPTER 48

  JET

  Hypnotic’s power is more insidious than the other Mentalists’. Or perhaps it is not the ability but the skill behind it. Other Mentalists are grade-schoolers with scissors; he is a surgeon—focused, precise, and, at times, surprisingly creative. Aaron and I both are certain his is the power we need to mimic if we’re ever to get the Squadron under control.

  —From the journal of Martin Moore, entry #57

  Two big differences from when Jet had approached Hypnotic’s hideout a few days earlier: one, this time there were about a hundred people standing outside of the abandoned building, staring blankly, unmoving. And two: Jet was waiting until she and the others were in place before going in, no matter how worried she was about Iridium.

  Jet and Frostbite touched down simultaneously. As she absorbed the Shadow floater, he walked up to the nearest civilian and waved a hand in front of the woman’s eyes. No reaction. He snapped his fingers, but still nothing.

  “No one’s home,” he said.

  “Look at them all.” Jet stared at a group of entranced normals, some in business suits, some in more relaxed garb, a few in workout clothing. “They couldn’t have all just been walking here when they fell under his power.”

  “Think Hypnotic summoned them?”

  “Maybe. Snared them with his mental mojo, then directed them here.”

  “To do what? Be lawn gnomes?”

  Looking at a young girl, frozen hand in hand with a woman in a professional unisuit, Jet sighed. “Hostages.”

  “We can get EMTs here to clear them out.”

  “And what if his Mental wave or however his power works broadcasts again and they get snared also? More hostages.” She navigated her way through the living statues, but once she was within three meters of the door, the zombies lurched forward.

  Jet halted, her arms out, ready to call up a graymatter shield. But there was no need; as soon as she stopped heading toward the entrance, the normals stood still, their arms loose at their sides, their eyes white.

  “Creepy,” said Frostbite. “A living motion detector.”

  “Better than trip wires.”

  “Not really. I can make an ice bridge over trip wires.”

  “So make an ice bridge onto the roof,” a man’s voice called out from above. “See if they secretly have ice picks up their sleeves.”

  Jet looked up to frown at Taser, seated on his hover. Steele rode behind him, her arms loosely draped around his waist.

  “About time,” Jet said.

  “Hey, I’m impressed you actually waited, honey. Usually it’s the guy who shoots off too fast, but you superdames are more cocksure than a locker room full of wrestlers. By the way, I love the new look. It’s sexy.”

  And damn it all to Darkness if Jet didn’t feel her cheeks heat.

  “Are you going to banter all day,” Steele said sharply, “or are you going to park this thing so we can help?”

  “Oh look, a spot.” Taser gunned the engine before he parked the hover directly across the street from Hypnotic’s lair.

  Frostbite shook his head as Steele and Taser walked over to him and Jet. “You worried the meter maid’s gonna ticket you?”

  “I don’t fancy zombies scratching my paint job.”

  Jet tuned them out as she tapped Ops on her earpiece and let Meteorite know that the four of them were gathered and would be entering the building. “I’ll keep the channel open so you can hear what’s happening. From what I’ve seen, his power is based on both sight and proximity. You’ll be safe.”

  “Good luck,” Meteorite replied, her voice stripped of her usual snark.

  “Thanks.” She turned to face the others. “Frostbite, you can clear us a path to the door. Once we’re inside, keep your eyes covered. He likes to use light to capture your attention. We’ll go in, get Iridium and the others, and get out.”

  “We have to take him out,” Steele said gruffly, staring past the bespelled citizens, her gaze boring a hole through the door.

  “We don’t want a repeat of the Manhattan Siege,” Frostbite said. “I’m with Jet. In and out. Rescue our own, regroup.”

  Steele tightened her jaw. “He can’t be allowed to stay free. He’s too dangerous.”

  “He let us go last time,” Taser said. “Doubt we’ll be so fortunate the second time.”

  The large woman stared at the mercenary, her eyes glittering. Then she went metal, her flesh transforming into living steel. “Fine,” she grunted, turning back to the door. “Let’s do this.”

  Jet and Frostbite exchanged a look. He mouthed: I’ve got her back. Jet nodded once.

  “Okay,” Frostbite said. “One ice tunnel coming up.”

  He squatted down, placing one hand on the sidewalk. Ice spread from his fingers, stretching its way toward the front door, sliding under the humans. Once it touched the door, it slowly expanded outward, gently pushing people out of its way as it formed a covered path. None of the zombies reacted. Jet assumed they’d been programmed to block the door to prevent only uninvited guests from entering.

  Jet noticed the sweat beading on Frostbite’s brow, saw the small tremor in his fingers. He’d been out of the field too long; before this week, the most he’d used his power in six years was to make homemade Slushies. The ice path gleamed in the morning light, beautiful and fragile as a rose in winter.

  Come on, Derek the Dork. You can do it. Get us in there to save Callie.

  Frostbite was sweating freely now, his brow furrowed in concentration. The walls of the covered path thickened, and thickened again. More zombies were nudged aside.

  “Just a little more,” Jet said.

  He grunted, perhaps agreeing with her or telling her to fuck off.

  “Jet.”

  She glanced over at Steele. “Yes?”

  “Where’s Firebug?”

  Jet considered lying, something small and harmless, like she’d overdone the croissants and was doubled over on the can. But Jet was a horrible liar; Iridium had always been the one who could smoothly talk her way out of anything.

  Almost anything, Jet thought, sliding a glance at the nearest zombie. Was Callie like that, standing like a child’s doll, waiting to be used? Jet’s lips pressed together tightly as she imagined Iri reduced to a mindless puppet. Was she unconscious? Hurt?

  Worse?

  The sound of Hornblower’s agonized scream reverberated in Jet’s mind, his leg pulled off at the knee.

  “She’s back at headquarters,” Jet replied coldly.

  Confusion in her eyes, Steele asked, “Was she hurt?”

  “No.”

  Comprehension dawned on her metallic face. Her eyes wounded, she turned away from Jet.

  Another minute, then Frostbite was done. He sat down hard on his ass and mopped his blue hair from his eyes with a shaking hand.

  “Nice job,” Taser said, whistling. “You make sculptures for weddings?”

  “Frostbite, stay here to guard our flank,” Jet said crisply. “Steele, you take the door. Let’s go.”

  “Good plan,” Frostbite said, smiling briefly. “Scream if you need me.”

  The three of them walked down the ice path, Steele leading the way, Jet behind her, and Taser bringing up the rear. Peripherally, Jet saw the normals launching themselves at the tunnel, then sliding down the walls to the ground. Some of them beat at the ice with their hands and arms, but Frostbite had done his job well: The tunnel stood, and the three of them made it to the door without having to fight any of the innocents.

  Steele grabbed the door handle and
turned it. When nothing happened, she grunted, took a step back, and then leveled a kick at the door. It slammed open.

  The three heroes entered Hypnotic’s lair … and saw dozens of costumed extrahumans standing like discarded toy soldiers, their eyes blank. Jet’s gaze roamed over them, identifying numerous Squadron soldiers and a handful of known villains.

  There, off to the right: a tall man, radiating confidence to the point of arrogance, even with his eyes blinded by Hypnotic’s power. Arclight.

  And by his side stood his only child, her stance as arrogant as his—her eyes also white on white, lost in Hypnotic’s spell.

  Iridium.

  Jet took a step toward them, Iri’s name on her lips.

  “Why, Joan, how lovely it is to see you again.”

  She spun left, and there he was, still in his prison grays: Doctor Hypnotic, smiling benignly.

  “And look, you brought guests. Children,” he said loudly, “go play.” He snapped his fingers.

  And that was when all the entranced extrahumans attacked.

  CHAPTER 49

  IRIDIUM

  Out of all of the children I’ve created, the only ones who scare me—really terrify me—are the Mental powers. If they realized their abilities … who knows what they could do?

  —Matthew Icarus, diary entry, undated

  She had saved another hostage, beaten another villain. People were cheering and Bruce was waiting with open arms. Bruce was always there, but lately Iridium had felt alone even when he was with her.

  Even when she was in a crowd of admirers, lining up to see the Hero of New Chicago.

  Iridium knew that she didn’t have any friends besides her husband. Her loving husband. Who’d been talking about kids.

  Iridium put him off, though. She couldn’t tell anyone, least of all her perfect husband, about the voices.

  How they whispered, anytime she was in the dark.

  Dimly, Iridium recalled that she’d had a friend who was afraid of the Dark.

  Then the thought slipped away from her, like it always did. The thoughts about her father, about the Darkness, about friends she’d never known.

  This was what she wanted, underneath everything. The thing she’d never gotten the chance to be with Corp—a hero. A real one.

  Iridium shivered as she stepped away from the crowd. The sun was coming down, but she was freezing. Freezing cold. Her friend had always been cold.

  Jet. Her name was Jet.

  “Jet,” Iridium whispered.

  Bruce cocked his head. “What was that, sweetie?”

  Jet and Bruce. Together. Kissing.

  “You … you slept with her,” Iridium gasped. Once she’d remembered the name, it was like a dam burst inside her skull, thoughts slipping and tumbling over her all at once.

  She was cold. So cold.

  “You had a mask,” Iridium whispered. “You had a mask and a different name.”

  “Sweetie, you’re not making any sense.” Bruce frowned. “What will the press think? What will your father say?”

  Lester behind a mug slate on the front page of every newspaper in New Chicago.

  ARCLIGHT CAPTURED, CITY SAFE

  “My father isn’t real,” Iridium choked. She couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think.

  Bruce’s face was hard, cold, a shell with nothing behind it. The buildings were flimsy, and everything was going dark as the street faded around her …

  “Iri!”

  A hand pulled her to her feet. Small and cold. Not Bruce.

  “Iri, wake up!”

  Her eyes flew open to blackness, blackness that retreated like the sun rising through the cold of space.

  Jet let go of her and cocked her head. “Are you with us?”

  Iridium tried to answer but her teeth were chattering. “What … what …”

  “Hypnotic,” Jet said. “He got you. I had to blanket you in Shadow just to make you stop strobing me. You were screaming something about hostages.”

  “Oh, Christo …” Iridium clapped her hands over her mouth. “Jet, I couldn’t fight it … he made me see what I really wanted …”

  From somewhere, she heard shouting.

  “Later,” Jet said. “We can apologize later. Steele and Taser are getting the others. We have to go.”

  “No,” Iridium said, her eyes wide and shocked. “My dad …”

  “Callie,” Jet said, gripping her shoulder. “Your dad is being rescued.”

  The building shuddered, and a strobe sailed past Jet, splashing burns on the wall behind Iridium’s head.

  Lester stood behind her, strobes ready in both hands. His eyes were white, vacant.

  Enslaved.

  Iridium’s heart fluttered with panic. “My dad is right behind you.”

  CHAPTER 50

  IRIDIUM AND JET

  I never wanted to hurt them. But it was the only way to save the rest of us.

  —Matthew Icarus, internal report filed

  with Executive Committee regarding radical lobotomy

  of Subject 7789, code name “Dreamer”

  Executive Committee gave Therapy stamp of approval. They had to. Kane and the others know what happens when Squadron members reach their “extracritical” points. Now we don’t need to decommission them—just erase the bad, emphasize the good, and force them to obey. Everyone wins. Except the Squadron, I suppose. But they’re only extrahuman.

  —From the journal of Martin Moore, entry #65

  IRIDIUM

  Jet whirled, throwing Shadows. Iridium saw her father dodge, his hands glowing.

  “Go!” Iridium shouted, hurling a strobe at Lester, arcing just over his face. “Get Hypnotic! I’ll take care of Arclight!”

  “Don’t get killed.” Then Jet was gone, swallowed in Shadow.

  Iridium strobed again, fast and furious, then dove behind the lobby’s abandoned security desk, trusting that between her power and the sounds of battle erupting around them, her father couldn’t pinpoint where she’d gone off to.

  “You can’t beat me, girl.” Lester’s voice was low, snarling, foreign to Iridium’s ears. Crouched as she was behind the ancient desk, she concentrated on keeping herself in as small a ball as possible.

  Her father couldn’t strobe what he couldn’t see.

  At least, she hoped not.

  “Give up, Callie!” Lester shouted. Another strobe rocked her cover. “I don’t want to hurt you. I love you—you know that!”

  “You’re not my father!” Iridium screamed. If he just got close enough, she could knock him out without hurting him. “Let go of him and face me yourself, you pissant coward!”

  She thought she could knock Lester out. Probably. Maybe.

  “You’re fighting the wrong man, Calista.” The strobes were definitely closer. “You should be fighting our common enemy. Who is really the one who caused this?”

  Iridium knew the answer. Corp.

  “Give it up, Hypnotic!” she called. “You’re not any more interested in stopping Corp than you are in taking up ballet!” Keep him talking, that was the trick. Jet said Steele and Taser were getting the others out. She had to keep Lester focused on her to keep the others safe.

  Iridium risked peering around the side of the desk, saw Lester advancing on her with strobes and those cold, dead eyes.

  “You’d leave your own father to rot in jail and the men who put him there walking free?” Another strobe. “I should have had a son. He’d do what was needed.”

  Iridium flinched at that. Lester had always treated her like a tomboy, but she’d never imagined he’d really wanted a son …

  Stop that. Her mind was still cloudy from Hypnotic’s influence. The words spouting out of Lester’s mouth were just lies, designed by the mind-reading madman himself to throw her off-balance.

  “If you wanted a son so bad, I guess you were lying all of those times you said you were proud of me! That you loved me and Mom!” she called, scrambling to the other side.

  “I was.” />
  The quiet in Lester’s tone was what stunned Iridium. He wasn’t ranting any longer. He was standing there, surrounded by a constellation of strobes, his face harder than tilithium. Gone was every trace of her father’s warmth. There was no Lester.

  There was only Arclight.

  JET

  “Hypnotic!” Jet called out.

  He appeared from nowhere, ducking his head in a mocking bow, then disappeared around a corner.

  She followed, leaving the sounds of battle behind her. Her goggles firmly in place over her eyes, she picked up the pace. Up ahead, she heard a door slam.

  “Jet,” Meteorite hissed in her ear. “Don’t be an idiot! You’ve got Iridium. Get out of there!”

  Jet turned her comlink off.

  She navigated another corner and paused to scan ahead. Long, narrow hallway with sickly yellow walls and a thin dark carpet; eight forest-green doors, three on either side and two at the end, facing her.

  “No games, Hal,” she shouted.

  Nothing.

  Fine. The hard way, then.

  She approached the first door on the left, placed her ear to it and listened. A muffled scraping from within. Jet turned the handle, and the door swung wide, revealing a small room filled with roses.

  “Flowers?” she called out. “Are you asking me out, Hal?” No response. “For the record, I don’t like flowers.”

  The next room was filled with dust and nothing else. Cute. “Hal,” she said, her voice low and reasonable. “Come out. Talk to me.”

  The third: mirrors. In each mirror, Doctor Hypnotic stood behind Jet.

  She whirled around, saw nothing.

  From the mirrors: “You want to talk, Joan? Then let’s talk.”

  IRIDIUM

  “I gave up my whole life for you, so you could do something great with yours. And what do you do? You crawl back to Corp in the end.” Arclight’s tone was sharper than a blade.

  Iridium held her head. How she wanted to block him out—but she had to listen, to judge how close he was.

  “I gave you a normal life, a life of privilege, and look how you throw it back in my face.” Arclight advanced, throwing a strobe for every sentence that bored into Iridium like a surgical drill. “Expelled from the Academy.” Flash. “A fugitive.” Flash. “A weakling.”