by Russ Linton
"Why torch the other lab then?" Jackie asks. Even she's not caught on, probably thinking I'm after what she got.
"This one will be different. With that douchebag's help," I say, pointing at the screen, "We're going to find a cure."
The tension in the room flips. Nobody can speak. Not even Chroma, whose piped into every camera, every speaker, everywhere, dares to say anything for a long time.
Ember feels along her canines with her tongue and laughs deep in her throat. "I told you we had a score—"
"Mom," Jackie warns. She approaches and seems interested in hearing me out. "Why would you want to force people to give up their powers?"
"Nobody said anything about forcing anyone. I want it to be an option. You saw Danger. Not everybody is happy playing demigod. And, well, if somebody proves to be a threat, we need a way to deal with them other than killing them."
"Clip the wings of the ones who disagree with you is that what you're saying?" Ember steps closer and the heat in the room ratchets up several degrees.
"That's not what I'm saying. We'll all make the call when, if, the time comes. But we need this, there's too much at risk."
Hound lets out a mouthful of air and digs his fingers into his scalp. Eric grinds his teeth, unwilling to join in on this conversation. We'll need our own Omega option for his little chat buddy too, but I'm not about to go into those details within a hundred miles of an open connection. I've already asked what she did with the prototype and gotten no solid answers. I'm sure she'll pinky swear she hasn't murdered anybody.
We do know she dropped off Ayana back at Nanomech Inc. The whole place had been swarming with Federal agents. A rogue CIA Agent had led them there with proof of his own betrayal, something Hound took care of the minute we left Kashmir. Apparently, Xamse had already fled the country for his new fiefdom in Africa. An anonymous source leaked photos of Ayana in cuffs to a news site on Eric's OneNet.
She'd been an early entry into the Augment test programs. One of the ones left on a maintenance dose, she never exhibited any powers, but they found she could resist psychic intrusions just like some of the early CM Protocol subjects like Polybius.
Ember's shaking her head vigorously and pacing while Jackie helplessly watches.
"I can't sign up for this bullshit," Ember says. She swats the microphone off the table and storms out of the room.
Jackie looks lost. "I'm with you," she says. "We have to do everything we can to protect people. Everything." She glances toward the empty doorway. "I'll try to talk some sense into her." Before I can thank her, she's a blur. The microphone Eric just picked up skids off the table in her wake.
"And what if ol' Cyrus there draws a line?" Hound asks.
"I know a biologist who just might be willing to come work for us."
Hound sizes me up, just like the first time we met, only this time I earn a toothy grin. "Sounds like a plan, boss. I'll scout 'round these buildings here. Get the lay of the land."
"Alpha Kilo," I say. “Area knowledge.”
He shoots a finger-gun at me as he leaves. "You got it."
The room empty, both Eric and I start to speak. There's an awkward silence, the dance of "You go, no you" until we finally settle on me.
"This won't be a problem?" I ask. "I know this is your space and you've got responsibilities."
His eyes disappear into the back of his head, and he collapses in his chair. "Jesus fucking H Christ, Spence! You won't believe how mind-numbing, how infuriating it is to babysit all these motherfuckers." A torrent explodes in his ear. "Not you, hon!" He says sweetly before tossing his earpiece to the table and muting every microphone in the room from his console. "I need a break. Leading revolutions is tough work." I laugh and nod. "I just want shit to be cool between us, okay?"
"Yeah, we're straight," I tell him.
"Besides, the Collective isn't like that. They don't need a leader." His eyes glow, as clear and sparkly as a missionary knocking on doors finally asked to speak his Truth. "I don't want them to ever need a leader. They're distributed, and they're all doing it on their own. I admit, it causes some problems," he mumbles, darting his eyes toward the screen with Cyrus, "but it isn't like the alternative has been any better. I just step in and provide a nudge, every so often. Maybe I'll nudge harder. But soon, we'll have the entire world wired, for free. Powered, for free."
I scoff. "A nudge? Dude, you're changing the world."
He scans his desktop. Oversized monitors and the spray of computer equipment and cables surrounding his desk all dangle from awkward perches in the ceiling or wire racks. It isn't the flashy command center paid for with Xamse's funding, but it's better. More Eric. Contemplating, he stands and wanders toward the window overlooking the old mine's processing floor, fingers laced behind his back.
Eric turns with an impish grin. "I suppose we are."
Changing the world, but for the better? Get a glimpse of one possible future for the Crimson Son Universe in Under the Flickering Light and make sure to check out the conclusion of Spencer and Eric’s adventures in Crimson Son 4: Legacy, available soon!
CRIMSON SON 4: LEGACY PREVIEW
“YOU SURE YOU WANT TO do this?” Eric’s breath, a mixture of Pizza and Dew, tickles my neck as he asks. I’m not sure if he’s here to be a supportive friend, to nag me, or to hide from the drama in the mine operation facilities above.
This isn’t a place you go for a chat. We’re in the old geothermal chamber, once the power source for the defunct Jericho diamond mine. Rocky floor and a maze of pipes make this a tricky, cramped space to maneuver. Steam tubes run through solid rock to the generator elsewhere, and I’ve used those as conduit for some beefy transmission cables.
This facility, Eric’s super secret base, isn’t the kind of place I’d ever thought I’d go back to either. Here, in the tundra, we’re practically neighbors with my old bunker. Sure, still maybe six hundred miles away, but you won’t find much civilization between here and there.
Stuff here is comparatively modern when I think back to that Soviet era cave where I spent the better years of my adolescence. What we don’t have though is consistent power. Renewables like wind and solar are too obvious to passing air traffic. Diesel generators can’t keep up with Eric’s needs nor the added personnel. And shortly, we’ll need even more juice for the shiny new genetics lab.
The geothermal source has died with Vulkan no longer down here. Their battery of flesh and blood which I asked, no demanded, Mom remove.
Walls glisten. The air coats. The heat has been turned way down and the result is a cold, clammy place where you feel the lingering presence of the former occupant.
I haven’t been here long enough to find out exactly what the hell happened between Mom and Eric. Since she started exhibiting her host body’s psychic abilities, she’d decided mind fucking dad’s killer into powering Eric’s little base was a good idea. I think she’d even exercised her powers on Eric, though I know he didn't require much coercion for this twisted but resourceful idea.
She wasn’t steering his brain while he swapped out IV drips and colostomy bags.
Right now, she can probably hear every thought. Knows I’m worried. Knows I’m too freaked out to confront her. Or was. That’s going to change. Lots of things are going to change at Hotel Eric.
I tighten down another transmission cable and close the junction box. Eric’s still waiting for his answer.
“Yes, Eric, I’m positive I want to do this.” I cross the room toward the breaker box, weaving under and around the maze of pipes.
Burned out from the missions, the isolation, the uncertainty, nobody asked questions when I’d said I’d get their power up and running without enslaving an Augment. And ever since I got here, I’ve been mucking with the Jericho Base’s systems.
Mostly, it has given me an excuse for avoiding everyone. But Eric finally chased me down here when I passed a security camera carrying the Black Beetle’s power core. I was surprised to see him huffing his way d
own the ladder, headset attached to his head. He’s got a whole revolution to run. Especially tricky since Chroma, his virtual assistant, has gone AWOL.
“What if we need the suit, you know? I mean, Hound’s great and all, but the guy can’t go toe to toe with a heavy. And Ember...man, she’s distracted with all her bonding time. All I’ve got left is an imprisoned healer, a psych ward candidate who thinks he’s a storm god, and the new girl, what’s her name.”
The fact he doesn’t mention mom doesn't’ go unnoticed.
“Jackie. Jackie’s her name,” I say, checking the breaker box to make sure I’ve got everything powered down before the big test. “She can handle a heavy, Eric. You saw her, she is a heavy.”
Eric gives me a skeptical look and shrugs. “I suppose. I mean, I haven't’ fully tested her metrics. She might not quite be Hurricane—”
I look him dead in the eye. “Better. Hurricane was godly, but I never saw him move so fast he could walk on a fucking cloud.” Eric looks like he wants to argue, and I stop him before he gets going on his Augment geek rant about power levels and whatever. “She’s just getting started and can already pull off some crazy tricks. Give her a few months and you’ll see what I’m saying.”
“Months?” Eric sounds hopeful. “So, you plan on staying?” His eyes light up behind foggy glasses and I glance away as I get back to work.
“Yes, I’m staying.”
I’d made up my mind the minute we got back. Plan outlined, I retreated into solving technical problems, not human ones. Telling people you are in charge and taking up the mantle are two different things. While everybody waited for me to re-emerge, sounds like they’ve lost faith that I’d stick around.
I also didn’t want to tell Eric that the same powers I was talking up in Jackie scared me shitless. Crimson Mask...Dad...had been one of a kind. There were other heavy hitters who would pop up from time to time, but the Augmentation process was anything but predictable. So far, it seemed every one of the new crop had been gifted with world-breaker powers. Insane stuff which Xamse had bestowed on the general population before running off to his own African paradise.
Nothing good could come from it. The more power they had, the more it seemed to affect their thinking, their moral compass, the way they perceived the world.
“Before, well, Vulkan,” Eric says, “I used the diesel generators. Getting fuel here without giving up our location was tricky, but nothing the Collective can’t manage.” I let the suggestion go unanswered. I keep mapping out the wiring in my head, checking the connections, making sure it’s all good to go live. “Since you’re staying, we really should have the Beetle on standby.”
I take the steps to the chamber’s central platform. Vulkan had hung here once like a pig carcass in a slaughterhouse, his brain completely devoted to controlling the underground magma which fed the vents and the massive turbines. It wasn’t pretty.
As a replacement, I’ve wired up the Black Beetle armor’s power core. It glows with an almost arcane aura, sprouting several newly added thick cables and cords. Trading one human rights violation with the blood of my own sins seems the right move.
Too many died while I hunted for my father’s killer. Too many who were innocent of anything other than being in the way of my revenge. The suit needs to go.
Besides, I’d always argued with Xamse about the power level these cores could output. You could either run a battle suit or a small city — a useful thing when half the U.S. has lost the majority of its power grid. He never seemed interested in pursuing that angle. Now I know why. His business plan only went as far as wrecking the land of the formerly free.
“Back up,” I tell Eric. “If this doesn’t work, the whole platform might go hot. Probably cook you before you can scream.”
He scampers toward the elevator. I flip the switch.
Power hums. Eric squints as the main lights come to life, replacing the dim emergency lighting which I’d adjusted to. I want to feel happy that this little hack works. All I can do is stare down on the glowing core and wonder if this makes things right.
“Thank God,” Eric says, leaning on the ladder. “We can use the damn elevator to get out of here.”
“Go on ahead. Round everybody up for a meeting. Command center in twenty.”
Eric salutes and disappears into the elevator.
I DROP ONTO THE PADDED cot which passes for my bed. Happy to no longer be sleeping in a cell of one kind or another, I flick on the television. Power restored, I can finally sit in my quarters and watch some baseball. Just a little taste before the briefing begins. Maybe I’ll call in sick.
At least that’s what I tell myself. Deep down, I know I’m setting the foundation for my involvement. Eric is changing the world from here and desperately needs a wingman. These emerging Augments, they need some sort of check on their power.
The ball games aren’t a helpful stress reliever. There is no Big Show only a propaganda laced shell. The days of hot dogs and beer while watching the greats rule their diamonds had started to fall apart when corporations stamped their names on all the stadiums. Even then, you’d open with the anthem and close with a riot which, at any other time, or in certain neighborhoods, would have you arrested or shot dead.
But after the Great Power-pocalypse, the anthems are too forced. Standing is compulsory. People salute out of fear, not pride. The riots? Please. Games don’t run past the national curfew. And we’ve finally achieved equality as the military roaming the streets will shoot anybody dead if they try to so much as light a trash can. Kill the power and a fragile freedom became casualty number one. Simple as that.
Besides, I guess I’m technically Canadian now. They’re all about hockey. More ice. More potential frostbite. I can’t really get behind that.
No, baseball isn’t why I turned on the television.
Eric’s base has worldwide access to the broadcasts which survived the EMP. He needs the updates to run his growing empire. I need it to try and make sense of the world before I face the rest of our team. Living in Xamse’s corporate headquarters on a steady diet of the state-run FreedomNet didn’t exactly give me a broad understanding of current affairs. But that’s the first channel that comes up.
“Still wanted for questioning is this man,” says a newscaster, his delivery officious and scripted. My employee photo from Nanomech Industries flashes on the screen. “Former CIO Spencer Harrington believed by the FBI to be the pilot and engineer behind the Black Beetle suit. The Defense Department contractor went on a nationwide killing spree before absconding with the high tech armor last fall. His role in Nanomech’s treason is part of an ongoing investigation. The criminal’s last known whereabouts were in the vicinity of San Diego where he led an assault on the naval facility there, crippling the remaining Pacific fleet. Any sightings of him or the armor should be reported immediately to the local authorities.”
Right. Like I killed those Augments without explicit orders to “disarm and decommission” the Governments former weapons. Or could lead Marut to do anything. The guy is whacked out of his mind. Jackie and I only barely saved the fleet from his odd idea of financial restitution. I mash the buttons and switch channels.
There’s my face again.
European networks are a little more ambivalent. Instead of a wanted criminal or murderer, I’m just a wayward threat like these new Augments. Funny how quick you can go from savior to hellspawn.
Is everything okay?
Mom. She’s in my brain. She says she can’t help it and I don't’ believe her.
You should believe me. The closer I am to someone, the harder it is to shut them out. We’ve known that about Charlotte’s...I mean my powers for a long time, remember?
That doesn’t mean I wouldn’t rather be left alone.
No response. Great, I’ve probably pissed her off. The only potential positive of having surprise mental visits from your mother is that my masturbation habits have been completely cured.
She doesn’t need to be
lurking around this dark space anyway. I’m not the cheeriest mind to be prancing about. I’ve got reasons. Hell, everybody has reasons. But I’m going to make some changes starting with this meeting.
Had somebody told me I’d need to step into Dad’s boots and lead this carnival of Augments into action, I’d have told them to lay off the Ritalin. After all that has happened though, I feel responsible. And I’m not willing to let Dad’s death be pointless.
I tried the revenge angle. It only sunk me deeper into this pit. This time...dammit...it’s hero time.
Spencer, we’re ready for you.
Yes, Mom.
Jesus.
Continue Spencer’s adventures in Crimson Son 4: Legacy, out soon!
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