“Ooh. Idea.” Iridium smiled wickedly—a smile Jet remembered all too well from the Academy. “Make sure to also tell them that Hypnotic had attacked the Squadron when he first escaped from Blackbird.”
Jet frowned at her.
“That’s why the extrahumans had gone crazy,” Iridium said, winking at Jet. “It was Hypnotic’s fault. You see? It’s perfect. The media will eat it up and beg for more.”
And it got Corp off the hook. Jet’s frown increased.
“And now that we’ve captured him,” said Arclight, getting into it, “the Squadron, along with Blackbird Special Forces trained to go after Hypnotic—led by me, of course—is confident that things will return to normal soon.”
Jet sighed, picturing all the press conferences and exclusive interviews that would come out of this. Based on the gleam in Arclight’s eye, he was already there.
“And,” Arclight added, grinning hugely, “all damages to the city and to individuals should be sent to Corp-Co.”
Jet actually smiled at that.
“Ooh,” Iri crowed. “Gordon’s going to love that! Brilliant!”
Jet had no idea who Gordon was, but she nodded anyway. The plan was far from perfect. And it still begged the question of why just about all the extrahumans had, indeed, gone crazy once Corp had stopped brainwashing them—whether they really were damaged goods that Corp had been trying to control.
But for now, it would do.
Interlude
Terry, you see this?”
“Copy. Ugly fuckers, aren’t they?”
Garth makes a face at the handheld. Next to him, Mary Janice covers a frightened giggle. “Well and good,” he says. “What’re we supposed to do, offer them a day trip to a beauty salon?”
The handheld spits out a burst of static. Then: “Any chance they’re an illusion? Some of Hypnotic’s work?”
“Fuck if I know. They look pretty damn real to me.”
“Hang on, Jose’s saying something.” The connection clicks off.
Garth mutters, “Yeah, okay, we’ll just stand here with our dicks in our hand while a bevy of beasties crash down the street …”
“You’ve the soul of a poet,” says Mary Janice, sounding all of sixteen and trying not to scream. She’s staring wide-eyed at the three enormous humanoid creatures. “Holy Jehovah … I think the female one’s wearing pearls. Isn’t that wrong? Monsters shouldn’t wear pearls.”
“Neither should swine.” Garth catches something peripherally, and he turns to see a familiar figure looming in the distance. “Terrific. Here comes Colossal Man.”
“Well,” Mary Janice says, “maybe he’ll, you know, stop the monsters?”
Garth fingers the baseball bat, hanging from its belt holster. “With our luck, he’ll probably join them.” If that happens, he and Mary Janice are rabbiting right quick back to the apartment.
The communicator clicks on. “Listen, those things are flooding Third Street. Rough count is a hundred. Reports are, they go batshit when they come across the Squadron.”
Garth watches Colossal Man stomp his way closer to the monsters in tattered suits. “Define batshit.”
“Attack the Squadron soldier and try to tear his fucking head off.”
That sort of batshit. Good to know. “Is it the powers that gets their backs up? The costumes?”
“Could be their fucking horoscope for all we know. So far, none of those things have attacked our people or civvies. And they only seem to attack cops and soldiers if they’re attacked first.”
“Polite monsters prejudiced against the Squadron,” Garth says. “I think I’ve heard everything now …”
“Until we can figure this out, do not approach. Repeat: do not approach.”
“Yeah,” Garth says, wincing as one of the beasties lets out a teeth-rattling howl. “About that. Our three monsters just spotted Colossal Man.”
A long pause, then Terry replies, “Well, let them do our work for us. Do not approach. I’ll call it in.”
“Might want to call the morgue. May have a faster response time.”
“We take what we can get. Stay in the vicinity until the cops show. Do not reveal yourselves.”
“Copy,” Garth says. He tucks the handheld back into his pocket and watches as the three beasts tackle the giant extrahuman’s legs. The man’s huge hand comes down, swatting at them like mosquitoes. Contact—one monster goes flying, lands hard against some normal’s car, which morphs into an accordion. Well, thinks Garth, that’ll teach the person to park streetside when there are rabids and beasties and gangs overflowing the streets.
“Uh-oh,” says Mary Janice.
Garth hears the bellow before he turns back to see the two remaining creatures savaging Colossal Man’s leg. One gets in a massive blow, and the giant goes down.
Timberrrr!
The crash is still echoing as the two things pound the fallen rabid into pulp.
Garth and Mary Janice exchange a look.
“We have to do something,” she says.
“Yeah.” He pulls the bat from its homemade holster and tests the grip. There are times, he muses, when seeing in the dark means exactly Jack Shite. “You get just as close as you need to get in range. And then CO2 them.”
She bites her lip. “I sort of have to touch them for that.”
“Of course you do.” He closes his eyes and says a brief prayer. “Okay. I’ll smash with the bat, and you grab on when they’re down. Right?”
“Right.”
Garth hears the terror in her voice. “It’s okay, lass. We’ll make a great team.”
She flashes him a tight smile.
Thinking of Julie, he charges forward.
He’s there before he knows it, deftly avoiding scattered piles of wreckage that once might have been cars or trees or street. The bat’s part of his arm, so natural in his hands, and he brings it back as he imagines the windup, the pitch—
A solid THWAK as the wood connects against the monster’s oversized noggin. The creature’s already shaking it off and starting to turn as he swings the bat the other way, feels the impact explode along his arms and shoulders and back.
“Now!” he shouts, not stopping to see if Mary Janice does her part. Blind trust in your partner goes a long way in a fight. His back to the first creature, he shoves the tip of the bat into the second thing’s bulging neck. He sees the string of pearls just as the wood hits home. If not for his momentum, he would have pulled the blow. Physics, happily, overcomes chivalry as his full weight goes into the strike. It doesn’t crush the creature’s throat, but it does make the thing stagger back, rasping for breath. Feeling like a heel, he hits the thing again, a home-run swing that sends the beast to its nyloned knees.
Garth turns back to Mary Janice, who’s holding on to the first creature’s leg in a white-knuckled grip. The beastie itself is slapping at its face, as if trying to shoo away a fly. But the arms are moving slowly, weakly, and now they’re not moving at all. With a groan, the thing rolls up its eyes and crashes to the floor. Mary Janice lets go just in time.
“One more for you,” Garth calls out, his gaze back on the wheezing oversized creature in the tattered yellow unisuit. It’s scrabbling forward, not quite on its feet. “Now would be good!”
“Need … a second … catch … my breath.”
Right. One second, coming up. Garth lunges forward, wielding the bat like a sword as he swipes at the monstrosity. The thing skitters back, just out of the bat’s arc. It’s peering at him with flat, black eyes, and it grins at him, showing off perfectly white teeth framed by a lipsticked mouth. Garth barely notices the creature’s hungry growl; his gaze has fastened on the yellow sunburst patch, at first blending with the remains of the yellow suit the thing was wearing.
Fuck me, he thinks, but I think that’s an Everyman. Everymonster?
It bellows a challenge just before it launches itself at him.
He gets the bat up and knocks the creature back, and that’s when Mary J
anice, bless her, clamps onto the Everything’s massive neck. A minute later, the creature is on the ground, unconscious.
Garth leans against his bat and lets out a shaky laugh. “Not bad for a couple of extrahuman wannabes, eh?”
Sitting on her haunches, breathing heavily, she flicks him a smile.
Colossal Man’s still doing his roadblock imitation across Third. Not like there’s any traffic; most people have gotten the hell out of New Chicago days ago, once the Doctor Hypnotic jailbreak hit the news.
Garth stares at the massive belt around the giant’s waist. He’s moving before he can think twice about it.
“Garth?” Mary Janice calls out, her voice shaky. “What’re you doing?”
He peers into the first of the belt pouches, doesn’t see anything useful. The second, though, reveals a pair of stun-cuffs. Giantsized. Grinning, he pulls them out. “Just securing the situation.”
By the time they hear the sirens, Colossal Man is cuffed.
“So,” Garth says amiably to Mary Janice as they walk away. “Want to go monster hunting?”
CHAPTER 53
NIGHT
The Everyman Society has everything I need: like-minded people and an unlimited supply of potential lab rats.
—From the journal of Martin Moore, entry #260
Night hated being naked.
He sat in the coffee shop in Looptown Mall, drinking black coffee and wishing he were in uniform. But no; for this meeting, he had to be in civvies. He didn’t even wear the comlink; he was officially off duty. It made him feel itchy, but whether that was from being in normal human clothing or from not having the earpiece soothing him, he couldn’t say.
Well, sacrifices were to be expected; Night couldn’t have Corp listening in on this meeting, and the person joining Night would have been offended by the costume. And Night didn’t want to offend him. This meeting was an unexpected surprise—one that Night had decided to turn into an opportunity.
A hero needs a villain, after all.
While he waited, Night called up the latest edict from the Corp-Co Executive Committee—distributed earlier that week—and he reread it via his wristlet screen:
POLICY CHANGE #425-C
Effective this memo, all Squadron branch headquarters throughout the Americas are hereby dismantled. While the Executive Committee encourages Squadron members to mix with their fellow crimefighters when off duty, this interaction should be limited to their individual Sponsored Housing Complexes throughout the Americas or to the sole remaining Squadron Academy, based in New Chicago. Should more than seven extrahumans, on duty or off duty, be found gathering in places other than these Corp-Co-approved sites or other preapproved locations, those Squadron members will have their active duty immediately suspended. If there are any questions about this policy change, contact your local Corp-Co Extrahuman Resources representative.
Night snorted. He wouldn’t miss the headquarters, Christo knew. Always surrounded by other idiots blathering the Duty First party line was enough to make him want to punch out someone’s teeth. But he chafed at being limited in his interactions with other extrahumans. Granted, normals were sheep and fodder, little more.
And yet, now he and his brethren had to devote more than 50 percent of their active duty time to their corporate sponsors. Those sheep had certainly learned how to put on wolves’ clothing, he mused. The triple-header of Angelica’s murder, Blackout’s sentencing, and Luster’s defection all within a two-month period had decimated the Squadron’s reputation and, by proxy, Corp-Co’s stock prices had plummeted. Stockholders had not been amused.
Extrahumans might be small gods compared to their human cousins, but money made even gods slaves.
Bradford must be laughing his ass off.
A man’s voice called out, “Rick?”
Night planted a smile on his face and as he closed the report, he turned to face his brother.
Frank Wurtham looked good. He was a man now, not the obnoxious teen Night remembered. Well, it had been more than ten years since they’d last seen each other; there were bound to be changes.
But Night was counting on certain things to have remained exactly the same. He nodded. “Frank.”
His brother offered a hand, and after a moment, Night took it. They shook, and Night was faintly bemused by both Frank’s hesitation and then by his attempt to outsqueeze his brother’s hand.
Frank eyed Night’s coffee cup. “Need a refill?”
“No.” Night kept his voice level. “Thank you.”
His brother sat, and for a minute or so, the two men said nothing as they looked at each other. Night could almost see individual emotions flitting across Frank’s eyes: worry, fear, excitement, hope. Finally, Frank said, “I’ve been reading about your exploits.”
“‘Exploits’? Do you mean my work?”
“Your costumed adventures, yes.” Frank took a deep breath. “Rick, you didn’t want to hear me out years ago. I’m hoping you will now.”
“Are you referring to the time when you called me a freak of nature? When you told me my kind were dangerous to all humanity, and we should be locked up for the good of the world?” Night smiled thinly. “I know, it’s a shock to think I didn’t want to be insulted by my little brother.”
Frank’s face reddened. At least he had the decency to be embarrassed. “I was a kid. I never should have said those things to you in that way.”
“You mean like a jealous norm?”
His brother’s eyes glinted, and for a second the old rage was there, stamped across his features, contorting his face into something ugly. Then his features smoothed, erasing the anger until Frank was left with an earnest expression. “I can see why it would look that way. It wasn’t jealousy, Rick. It never was.” He spread his hands wide, placating. “It was concern.”
“For my well-being? I’m touched.”
“You’re my brother, and I love you. I want what’s best for you.” He paused, as if measuring his words. “Rick, I’m begging you: Stop using those abilities. Leave Corp.”
“Why should I do either of those things?”
Frank took the easy one first. “Corp is nothing more than a megalomaniacal organization that will crush anyone, anything in its path.”
“Just like any other corporation out there,” Night commented.
“Other corporations don’t have an army of freaks to do their bidding.”
And there it was. “‘Freaks’? Some things will never change, little brother.”
Frank flushed again, but he didn’t back down. “It’s the truth. You’re monsters, with abilities no normal human should have.”
“We’re not human. We’re extrahuman.”
“You’re unnatural.” Frank took a deep breath and visibly tried to calm himself. “And you’re being used. Don’t you see that? You’re out there, trying to do good things—yes, I see how you save people’s lives and try to make the world safer, I do see that, Rick—but it’s Corp taking all the credit. Corp is using you.”
Night shrugged. “So?”
His brother gaped at him. “What do you mean, ‘so’? So tell them enough! So walk away from them! Leave Corp, and leave your costume, and live a normal life!”
“I can’t do that.”
Frank’s eyes narrowed. “You mean you won’t. You like being their toy soldier, don’t you? You like throwing your weight around and terrifying normal people. Admit it!”
Night chuckled, thinking, Same old Frank. He said, “And here I thought you were trying to save me.”
“I’d hoped you’d want to be saved! But no, you’re all too happy to do Corp’s bidding, to use that unnatural ability of yours to help Corp squeeze this country so tight that our blood will water the streets!”
Ah. And there was the rant that Night had been waiting for. He leaned in close. “Between you and me, little brother, you’re right. Corp is dangerous.”
Frank’s eyes widened.
“And so are extrahumans.” Night lowere
d his voice. “We live on the edge, use our powers to shove normal people around. We make the police irrelevant. We’re celebrity heroes, and Corp gets fatter from our successes.”
“Yes,” Frank whispered, his eyes fevered. “Jehovah, man, you do see! You do understand!”
“But not enough people do.” This was it; Night had to make it convincing. “You’re just one man, Frank. And one man’s voice gets lost in the din of the mindless masses. But you can’t be alone. There have to be other people, everyday people, who feel the same way you do.”
“Yes,” Frank said, nodding, “I know I’m not the only one …”
“What the people need,” said Night, “is a voice to help them oppose extrahuman control. They need someone to speak for every man.”
The last words echoed, then silence hung between them as Frank considered. Night waited.
“Every man,” Frank Wurtham repeated, looking thoughtful.
“You could be that person, Frank. You could be their voice.”
Frank met his brother’s gaze. “Do this with me, Rick.”
“I can’t. It has to be regular people. Normal people. I’m just a freak, remember?”
His brother looked abashed. “I didn’t mean …”
“You did. And it’s okay. Because you’re right,” Night said. “My place is with the other freaks. But your place is elsewhere. It’s a good fight, Frank. Are you willing to fight? To let out a rallying cry? To be the leader people need?”
“I am,” his brother replied.
They shook hands, and Frank nodded respectfully just before he left.
Night allowed himself a small smile, then finished his coffee. Yes, every hero needs a villain. And with Corp-Co growing ever more powerful in the media and the world, it needed an enemy.
It was Night’s fervent wish that Frank Wurtham would be that enemy.
After all, what else were brothers good for?
One month after the Wurthams met over coffee, a small group of people gathered to talk about the extrahuman threat. The meeting went better than expected, and the following month, they more than doubled their numbers. A month after that, they needed to rent a hall to accommodate everyone.
Shades of Gray Page 30
