Shades of Gray

by Jackie Kessler; Caitlin Kittredge

  This is the last of them,” Protean shouted. With a grunt, he tossed four unconscious mutants onto the ground.

  “Careful,” Jet said. “Don’t hurt them.”

  “Them? Christo, I think I wrenched my back …”

  “Take a pill,” Iridium said, dusting off her hands. “Not like you’ve got sewer-mutant stink in your hover or anything …”

  Between the Squadron, the Blackbird group, and Taser leading the Runners, they’d scoured New Chicago, tranq-gunning every serum-warped person they could find. Those who flew had taken to the skies, raining down sleep like a gentle god. Not including Nevermore, who’d cackled every time another mutant went down. “Like shooting babies,” she’d crowed. Jet had sincerely hoped the girl was exaggerating.

  The rest had grabbed hovers and land cars, patrolling the streets and air in search of the oversized, overmuscled creatures.

  They’d even taken down a handful of Squadron rabids, which was quite the nice bonus. Jet winced over how much Taser would be charging for those extra bags and tags, but then she decided it wasn’t her problem. It was Corp’s.

  The thought made her smile. She still couldn’t say anything negative about Corp-Co without her brain catching fire, couldn’t even really think anything negative. But she could picture the administrative nightmare Corp’s Executive Committee would have explaining all the charges from the Squadron to the chairman. Stan Kane might even have a heart attack, the poor man. Well, luckily, Corp offered an excellent medical plan.

  Now Jet and the Blackbirders were outside of the Illinois State Prison, in front of the reinforced and electrified gates (which would have done nothing against anyone who could fly), waiting on the Containment crew to load up their newest arrivals. Frostbite and Steele had headed back to HQ, stuffed in the back of a Runner’s van—the blue-haired Water power had been swaying on his feet from exhaustion, and Steele had said she needed to have words with Firebug. Alone.

  Jet thought that boded ill for Kai.

  Taser, too, had taken off, saying he had other jobs on his docket for the day, but he’d be in touch, with his bill. He’d blown Iri a kiss, which had pissed off Jet immensely. And then he’d turned to her and done the same. Which had also pissed her off.

  Why did the man have to have such amazing lips?

  Once the other Squadron members had left, Jet contacted Meteorite, confirming that Ops had called everything into ISP and had kept Commissioner Wagner in the loop. Meteorite had laughed, promising Jet that she knew how to do her job.

  “You really need to unwind,” she’d told Jet. “Maybe borrow Taser for a few hours.”

  Light, the woman was incorrigible. It didn’t help that part of Jet had thought that was a terrific idea. She tapped off her comlink, then put on the white-noise setting. She knew it wouldn’t do much to keep the Shadow voices at bay, but every little bit would help.

  Light, please don’t let me go crazy too soon.

  “Getting twitchy?” Iri asked her. She must have noticed Jet tapping her ear.

  “Just sick of listening to white noise.”

  “Yeah, waterfalls are boring. Maybe try some classic rock.”

  Jet grinned. “You remember the talent show from First Year?”

  “Oh Jehovah,” Iri groaned, laughing. “When Dawnlighter got onstage and sang that song … what was it?”

  “‘Stairway to Heaven.’”

  “Hah! Right! Took me days of cranking Led Zeppelin to get her wailing out of my ears.”

  They shared a laugh, and it felt so very right. Then Iri beeped. Or, more accurately, the handheld she pulled out of a pocket beeped. She grimaced as she scanned the message, then she groaned. “Oh goody. Gordon’s got a bug up his ass.”

  “What’s our illustrious leader want now?” asked her father.

  “Us. Now. My place.”

  “Well then. Let’s not keep the bloke waiting, shall we?” He turned to Jet and smiled. “I trust I’ll be seeing you again.”

  “I’m sure.” She just didn’t know whether it would be in a Containment cell at Blackbird or not.

  She watched Arclight, Lionheart, Kindle, and Nevermore herd into two hovers. Their strongman, Protean, waved shyly before he got into the vehicle.

  He was sort of nice. For a villain.

  Iri loitered. “What’re you doing after this?”

  “Heading back to HQ. Splurging on a hot shower. Why?”

  Iridium smiled as she watched her father and the other Blackbirds zoom away. “I was thinking of getting some Mexican. Tacos, maybe. And a big, fat margarita.”

  Jet laughed softly. “That sounds divine.”

  Iri glanced at her, the smile still in place. “Want to join me?”

  They shared a look, and finally Jet smiled. “Love to.”

  “I’ll swing by after we’re done getting berated.” She hopped into Boxer’s hover, and the two criminals—former criminals?—took off, leaving Jet alone to wait for Commissioner Wagner to give an official statement, or for the Containment unit to finally haul the mutants off, whichever happened first.

  She stared at the enormous pile of slumbering warped people. There were well over fifty of them lying there, and probably close to a hundred. Anger stirred deep within her, heating her blood. Everyman had a lot to answer for.

  Martin Moore had even more.

  Now that all the Corp files had been downloaded and they had a ton of Runners helping with decryption, Jet fervently hoped there’d be something that incriminated Moore and, better, connected Everyman to—

  A throbbing between her eyes, subtle, promising pain.

  Jet blew out a sigh. Well, the process had begun. She thought of Lynda Kidder, a woman driven to find the truth—a truth that had consigned her to an early grave. There will be justice done, she promised Lynda silently. Your death won’t have been in vain.

  It was twenty minutes before the Containment crew opened the gates and came out of ISP. The team leader, a young man who was huge and bald, had gaped at the pile of mutants for a solid minute before he barked out orders. His crew was organized; it took them less than ten minutes to get all of their new charges inside.

  Wagner arrived just before the last group of mutants were carted away. “Holy Jehovah in a minihover,” he said, eyeballing the creatures. “Those things are even bigger and uglier than I’d been told.”

  “They’re just people,” Jet said tiredly. “Normal civilians, mutated by a serum. The Squadron’s researching a cure.” Translation: Frostbite and the Runners were scouring the decrypted Corp files for any information that would lead to such a cure.

  Wagner frowned at her. “And you know this how?”

  “My source is very believable.” Inspired, she added, “If you’re taking official statements, let it be known that the Squadron invites Everyman to help us find a cure for these human casualties.”

  His gaze hardened. “You’re saying Everyman had something to do with this?”

  “We have no proof that Everyman created a serum to warp humans into those creatures to go and attack extrahumans,” said Jet, the epitome of professionalism. “Or that a man named Martin Moore may have been responsible for Lynda Kidder’s death and the distribution of such a hypothetical serum.”

  He pulled out a digipad and jotted something down. “M-O-R-E?”

  “M-O-O-R-E. Even though we have no proof that Everyman was involved in such a horrific act, the invitation for Everyman to join us in finding a cure for these poor, afflicted humans is sincere.” She even smiled. “I’m certain Frank Wurtham will have a comment at the ready.”

  “Doesn’t he always?” Wagner excused himself to speak briefly to the Containment captain.

  Jet sighed, closed her eyes. Light, she was tired. But finally, after a week of utter insanity, she felt like she could breathe. There was still work to do, of course—far too many of the Squadron were still running around, junked up on their newfound freedom from Corp or maddened from the release of their mental shackles. But it
no longer seemed like cleaning up New Chicago and the Americas was an insurmountable task. A long way to the top, to be sure, but at least the top was in sight.

  She decided that she was going to thoroughly enjoy that margarita.

  Wagner returned, pulling her aside.

  “You should know that the wire’s abuzz with how Hypnotic has been behind the Squadron going nuts,” he said.

  “Word travels fast.”

  “Very. Lee’s doing a press conference in the next couple hours to officially acknowledge the work you and the others have done to try to rein in the chaos.” Wagner smiled grimly. “Word is, he’s going to not only thank you all by name, he’s going to admonish Corp-Co for not keeping him and other government officials in the loop. Because obviously, Hypnotic’s attack on the Squadron had to be on the QT to avoid widespread panic.”

  “Obviously,” Jet said, impressed by how quickly Lee had moved to take advantage of the situation. You have to love election years.

  Wagner looked at her, thoughts flashing behind his eyes, mouth pressed into a thin line. It was the look of a man with something important on his mind.

  Patience was one of those traits the Academy had drilled into Jet. She waited.

  And soon, Wagner told her, very quietly, what he was thinking about.

  Jet had to bite her lip to keep from cheering. Smiling hugely, she told him that she’d let the others know. And then they shook on it.

  CHAPTER 57

  IRIDIUM

  Corp-Co has built its empire on the broken backs of my children. I pity them. They have no idea the storm they’ve started brewing.

  —Matthew Icarus, diary entry dated 2020

  At the warehouse, which Iridium felt like she hadn’t seen in weeks, Gordon waited in precisely the spot she’d left him. Tapping his toe. Looking at his watch.

  “Waiting for a bus?” she said. “Those stop at the corner.”

  “On the contrary,” Gordon said. “After your display in Looptown, I find I’ll be staying here for quite some time.”

  “What are you on about?” Lester said.

  Gordon produced a sheaf of old-fashioned paper files, passed them out to each of the rabids, including Iridium. “Your records are hereby expunged, and Corp has instructed me to offer its gratitude and support. You are all heroes again. As long as you work for us.”

  “Excuse me?” Nevermore said. “We’re not still in your pocket. We did what you said.”

  “Right,” Kindle agreed. “We even helped the heroes clean up Hypnotic’s and Everyman’s mess.”

  “If you have compunctions about returning to the fold …” Gordon patted his tie. “Remember who it is holding the keys to your cage.”

  “I’d sooner be six feet in the ground than working for Corp again,” Kindle spat. He tore his file in half and threw the pieces at Gordon’s feet. “Lock me up again, if you will. I’m nobody’s dog.”

  Gordon’s mouth crimped. “That’s unfortunate.” He drew his plasgun and pulled the trigger.

  Kindle dropped, a leaking hole in the front of his jumpsuit. Protean cried out, dropping to the ground to try to stop the bleeding.

  “It’s not as simple as reincarceration,” Gordon said. “You all now know far too much about Corp’s … shall we say, private face. You work for us. Or you are a corpse. I hope that’s sufficiently clear.”

  “I’ll speak out,” Iridium said. Her eyes darted from Kindle, with Protean cradling his head in enormous hands, back to Gordon. “I’ll tell everyone exactly what Corp has been doing since the disaster. Recruiting felons, letting that nutcase Moore run loose. Brainwashing heroes. I’ll tell the whole world what goes on behind that shiny corporate face and they’ll believe me.” She folded her arms. “After all, you made me a hero.”

  “Even you aren’t that stupid,” Gordon sneered. “Take the deal, Iridium.”

  Iridium started for him, her only thought to make him stop smirking at her, when she felt a hand on her wrist.

  “Callie, that’s enough.” Lester looked Gordon in the eye. “You heard the man. Our records are clean as of this moment.” His gaze slid left. “Lionheart. If you please.”

  Gordon had time to say “What?” before Lionheart streaked through the space left by Kindle and took him down. Lionheart’s jaws closed around Gordon’s neck, but there was no garish spray of blood. Very little leaked onto the warehouse floor.

  With little sound and no fanfare, Gordon died. Lionheart sat on his haunches and licked his chops.

  “But …” Iridium looked at her father. Just looked at him, trying to see some trace of the man she knew. But there was none.

  This wasn’t the same thing as suggesting they kill Doctor Hypnotic to save New Chicago. This had been an execution.

  “We could have done what I wanted,” she said. “We could have gone public and gotten rid of all of Corp, not just him.”

  Lester rubbed between his eyes. The lines on his face and the gray in his hair were very prominent, stark signs that Arclight was no longer the unstoppable villain he’d once been.

  “Callie, I’ve learned some things since you were a girl. The most important: there will always be a Corp.”

  “Dad …” Callie started, but the sight of Gordon’s blood spreading down like a halo around his head stole her voice. She glanced at the others, but Nevermore, Protean, and Lionheart simply looked between the body and Iridium, waiting to see what the outcome of the father/daughter battle would be.

  “You know it’s true,” Lester said. “I tried to destroy Corp, and look what we wrought. Things are the worst that they’ve ever been. Yes, we’re free.” He gestured at the warehouse. “But this is the price. Destruction and loss and chaos. A world of anarchy. And Corp still exists.”

  Iridium rubbed her forehead. “So you’re giving up, Dad? You’re saying you’d live under Corp’s thumb after what they did to you?”

  “I’m an old man, Callie.” Lester took his pardon from the folder and carefully made it into a small square, tucking it into his boot. “And I’m very tired.”

  “I guess you’re not the hero Gordon thought you were,” Iridium whispered.

  “Far from it,” Lester said. “I’m only extrahuman, Callie. As are we all, heroes and villains alike. The day will come when you must choose between heroics and your life. And I am choosing to end it.”

  “Where will you go?” Iridium asked him. She felt a sudden, panicky emptiness inside her. Absent or present, Lester had always been her rock, her guidance system for right and wrong.

  “Switzerland, probably. Your mother set up accounts there before she was arrested that Corp never found. Europe is lovely. It’s been far too long since I traveled.” He looked at Nevermore, Lionheart, and Protean. “You lot are welcome, of course. Couldn’t have done it without you.”

  “Count me in, Pops,” Nevermore said immediately.

  Lionheart shifted back to his human form. There was blood down the front of his shirt, like a birthmark. “Yeah, me too,” he rumbled. “No future in this city.”

  “Callie?” Lester raised his eyebrow, his expression telling her exactly what her answer would be.

  “I’m staying,” she said.

  “To play the hero,” Lester scoffed.

  Iridium gritted her teeth. “If you wanted a supervillain daughter, you shouldn’t have taught me so well, Dad. You showed me how to be a hero. Nobody else to blame.”

  Lester sighed, then turned to Protean. “What about you, big man?”

  Protean stepped closer to Iridium. “I’m staying too. I like it here.”

  A smile quirked Lester’s face. “So be it. I’ll watch for you in the vids.” He turned with a swirl of his black cape and started to leave.

  “Dad!” Callie cried. She might never see him again, and he was just leaving? Lester turned back, and Callie pulled up short. “I just wanted to say … um. Have a safe trip.”

  She let out a surprised squeak when Lester swept her into a tight embrace. “I’m proud o
f you, Calista my girl,” he whispered. “Don’t forget it. You be the hero I never was.”

  Iridium blinked away the sting in her eyes. “Yes, sir.”

  Lester pulled away, and almost as an afterthought, took off his cape and handed it to Callie. “Take care of it, daughter.”

  Arclight walked out of the warehouse, head high and back straight as always, and Iridium stayed where she was, feeling fledgling and fragile as she had on her first patrol.

  Protean nudged her. “What say you put that thing on and we go fight some crime for the greater good?”

  Iridium slung the cape around her shoulders. It settled, not heavy. Just … present.

  She flashed Protean a grin. “Yeah. Let’s go kick some ass.”

  CHAPTER 58

  JET

  First day at the job. I’d never admit this to Aaron, but I’m eager for this opportunity. Working for the Squadron is exciting—and we have the chance to help them help the world.

  —From the journal of Martin Moore, entry #2

  When Jet arrived at the old Wrigley Field headquarters, she hadn’t expected to see Taser there, chatting up a group of female Runners. The man was worse than Lady Killer. But at least he didn’t wear nearly as much cologne.

  “Ah, just the woman I was looking for.” Taser walked over to her, arms wide, his mouth clearly grinning even behind the ski mask. Hooking one arm over Jet’s shoulder, he said, “We should have a little talk.”

  Jet stiffened. Part of her wanted to knee him in the balls. The rest of her wanted to hug him. Light, she was hopeless. Jet ducked out from Taser and stood in front of him, hands on her hips as she glared at him. “I can’t think of what I’d possibly want to talk about with you.”

  “A business proposition,” he said.

  Jet frowned at him. “Does it include kidnapping me and delivering me to a psychotic former hero? If so, pass.”

  As she turned to walk away, Taser said, “I promise you, Jet, this is something you’re going to want to hear.”