Shades of Gray (45 page)

Jet blinked at it, and said, “For me?”

“That’s what was in the post-office box. You know, the one in Old Chicago?” She nibbled her lip. “I’ve been trying to give it to you, but you’ve been busy …” The Runner’s voice trailed off.

“It’s all right,” Jet said, her mind already flashing to another memory stick, one she had found back at Lynda Kidder’s apartment all those weeks ago. “I should have made myself more accessible. Did you see what’s on this?”

The Runner looked abashed. “Of course not!”

Jet flicked a smile. “Thank you, Tara.”

“Glad to help, ma’am.”

Jet sighed as Tara scooted away. “Ma’am” made her feel much older than twenty-two. She pushed away the piles of decrypted information and inserted the memory stick into her computer.

There were three files on it. One was labeled
READ ME FIRST
. Another was called
ICARUS PROJECT
. And the last was simply
MM
.

Go save the world somewhere else,
the teenage girl snarled at Jet, her eyes telling a different, desperate story.

Jet opened the
READ ME
file.

My parents are card-carrying members of Everyman. Me, I’m the afterthought daughter. I’m also a thief. A good one.

I stole the two files you’re about to read
.

They’re copies of the original journals—written the old-fashioned way, on paper—that I borrowed from Martin Moore. Couldn’t keep those, because if he discovered they were missing, he’d probably do something crazy. Because he is crazy, you know
.

The first file is a copy of Matthew Icarus’s journal, back from the 1980s
.

The second file is Martin Moore’s personal journal. (Sort of ironic: He writes at one point that he finds handwriting to be much safer than keeping an electronic log, which anyone could steal.)

There’s interesting stuff in there. Thought you should know
.

I may be a thief, but I also know the difference between right and wrong
.

What they did was wrong
.

What he’s doing is wrong
.

Good luck, Squadron. You’re going to need it
.

—Kylee Selene

Jet’s heart pounded in her chest as she reread the file. Then she opened up the
ICARUS PROJECT
.

Two hours later, with a trembling hand she opened up the
MM
file.

When she was done, she asked Meteorite to come into the room.

Soon the Weather power was reading, and Jet was trying to keep her brain from exploding. She sat, curled in a fetal position, chanting aloud how Corp was good, knowing full well that it was all bullshit.

Corp was despicable.

The thought brought fresh fire to her head, and so Jet bit back a scream and rocked and tried to tell herself again that Corp stood for justice, that Corp had the best interests of humanity at heart.

A heart that was black and rotten.

When Meteorite was done, she said nothing for a long time. Finally, she asked Jet if she should bring the others in for an urgent meeting.

Jet agreed.

“This …” Meteorite swallowed. “This is it. We can finally bring Corp down. Can’t we?”

Jet didn’t know. “Call the others,” she whispered.

Soon they sat in the main room: Steele, Firebug, Frostbite, Meteorite, Taser, Iridium, and Protean. Boxer was in the hospital, visiting Hornblower, and he wouldn’t leave his nephew’s side for anything short of “a minor or major Apocalypse.”

One of Meteorite’s numerous computers had Kylee Selene’s files uploaded. Jet began talking. At points when the pain overwhelmed her, Meteorite spoke for her.

And this is the story they told.

Martin Moore and his twin brother Aaron are descendants of Dr. Matthew Icarus, the founder of a New Jersey-based fertility clinic—which was open from 1988 until 1991—and the creator of the Icarus Method: a gene-therapy treatment that stimulated fertility in women and allowed them to conceive naturally. This part about Icarus Biological was well-known. So was the fact that Corp-Co bought Icarus, which was completely absorbed into Corp’s biological sciences division in 2018.

What was less known was that Corp-Co had also bought disease-control centers in Mumbai and Hong Kong—which were also absorbed into the organization’s bio-sci division.

What was not known at all was that Corp had not merely
bought
the troubled facility, which had been plagued with lawsuits from former patients as well as a fire that had all but destroyed the original clinic. Corp had actually funded Icarus’s gene-therapy research.

According to Matthew Icarus, Corp-Co was looking to create a breed of programmable soldiers that would replace the armed forces and the police alike—superior fighters who would obey commands instantly, without question.

The experiment went awry. The majority of children born as a result of the Icarus Method had horrific birth defects or mental disorders. A number of children were tested and found to be clean, with no measurable side effects. And a handful of children were born with extraordinary abilities. They were the initial extrahuman generation.

Corp-Co oversaw those extrahuman children’s education and training. When those children were adults, Corp created the Squadron.

And then Corp expunged all records of its involvement in the genetics program. Matthew Icarus himself stayed with Corp, developing many tools and measures to train the Squadron and to oversee the next generation of extrahumans.

One thing became clear to Icarus: There was a basic flaw in the extrahumans’ genetic code. This flaw invariably led to various disorders and pathologies, including but not limited to suicidal tendencies, mood disorders, schizophrenia, and dementia. Some extrahumans’ conditions were mild; others were severe. Still others were incredibly dangerous, to themselves and everyone around them. Because of this, Corp-Co insisted on medicating the Squadron to lessen the severity of what CEO Sebastian Lister called “going extracritical.” Thus began the practice of lacing the extrahumans’ food and drink, to help keep them stable for as long as possible.

This was all in Matthew Icarus’s journal—which had fallen into the hands of Aaron and Martin Moore twenty-five years ago.

And then there were the revelations of Martin Moore’s log.

The Moores were both scientists on Corp’s payroll when they discovered the truth of the extrahumans’ origin and their liabilities. The brothers decided to use Icarus’s notes to create tools and methods that would better control the Squadron. The Executive Committee gave them its blessing.

The two most prominent items in the Moore brothers’ legacy were the comlink and Therapy.

Because they were interested in mind control, the Moores studied Doctor Hypnotic and the other Mental powers closely—including Angelica, who they had determined was a Mental power and not a Lighter. After much trial and error, they successfully created the comlink. Through this earpiece, a signal was sent out to all extrahumans, one that would effectively keep the Squadron loyal to Corp-Co—and to the Moores themselves.

As for Therapy, Aaron Moore created the technique as a permanent solution to what he’d dubbed “The Extrahuman Question.” The first extrahuman patients unfortunately were lobotomized. But over a period of eighteen months, Aaron Moore perfected the procedure. Now, as Squadron members reached their “extracritical” points, they underwent Therapy. The result, according to Martin Moore, was beneficial to everyone.

But the tone of Moore’s journal changed after his brother was killed by Doctor Hypnotic. It became darker and more vengeful, with Martin blaming the Squadron and Corp for Aaron’s death. One thing became clear: Extrahumans were ticking time bombs, and it was Martin Moore’s mission to destroy them before they went insane and annihilated everything in their path.

Moore stayed on in Corp’s employ, lying low as a computer technician while he quietly worked to sanitize his records and expunge all mentions of himself and his brother from Corp’s files. On the side, Moore began experimenting to create a serum that would mutate normal humans into powerful beings that would be completely devoted to Moore, and programmed to destroy extrahumans. Lynda Kidder was the prototype. Moore expressed disappointment that Kidder had been defeated so easily by “the Shadow freak,” and said his goal now was to unleash a horde of mutants to keep the Squadron busy, while he worked to perfect the serum and create a new breed of creature that would not stop until the Squadron was destroyed.

Where did he get the resources for such experiments? The Everyman Society. When he joined, he quickly became close with a core group of people who felt the same way he did about the extrahumans: “Put them down like the rabid dogs they are.” Moore’s involvement with Everyman, he admitted, was just a means of obtaining a steady supply of fanatical volunteers who were devoted to the pretense of making everyday people as powerful as the extrahumans.

His last entry was after the Ops signal had been cut off, thus freeing the Squadron from the brainwashing frequency fed through the comlink. In this entry, Moore was furious over Frank Wurtham’s cutting off Moore’s funding. The chairman had discovered that Moore was a Corp employee. This prompted Moore to hire Bombshell to blow up the New Chicago Everyman branch office, and to firebomb City Hall to divert suspicion from himself.

As of now, Martin Moore was still at large.

But the Squadron has his journal, as well as Icarus’s notes—both of which damned Corp for its role in engineering the extrahumans.

When Jet and Meteorite finished speaking, silence reigned. Everyone in the room sat, stunned and speechless, looking lost.

“We really are freaks,” Firebug whispered.

“No,” Jet said, her voice hollow. “We are what we are. Extrahuman.”

“We’re all going to go crazy!” Firebug’s eyes were wide with fear. “Don’t you see? We’re broken!”

“Kai,” Jet said, her voice sharp, “we’re broken only if we say we’re broken. Stop gibbering. You’re a Squadron soldier.”

Firebug’s breath hitched. Steele put her arm around her shoulders, and Firebug sobbed quietly as her partner soothed her.

Weak,
Jet thought coldly. And the Shadow voices agreed.

“We’ve got them,” Frostbite said, slamming his fist on the counter. “We finally got them. We’re going to the press!”

“Which accomplishes what?” Protean asked. “Other than causing worldwide panic over how extrahumans are wired to explode?”

That shut Frostbite up.

“Frankly,” Iridium said, “I think this is a load of cowcrap.” She turned to Frostbite. “You haven’t gone crazy, even after what they did to you. I haven’t gone crazy. None of us have.” She looked pointedly at Jet, who managed not to flinch.

“Corp lies,” Frostbite said, nodding, clearly willing to believe Iridium’s words. Jet thought Iri would make a terrific politician. Frostbite said, “This is all probably just one big wad of bullshit.”

“Hear, hear,” Taser said, lifting an imaginary glass in a toast.

Meteorite looked green. “What if it’s not?”

“It is,” Iridium said firmly. “My dad may have been a criminal, but he was never crazy.” Her gaze slid to Jet. “Unlike some of our former mentors.”

Jet ignored the Shadow voices whispering in her mind. She was too busy taking in the other extrahumans’ responses. Iri clearly would be fine. So would Frostbite and Taser, who looked bored. Protean seemed to accept Iridium’s words as a small truth, if not complete gospel. Steele was unbendable; no matter what, she would fight the good fight. As for Firebug, well, she would have to make it through this.

As would Jet. Maybe the Icarus journal was nothing more than one man’s speculation and oddly wishful thinking. Maybe it was all lies, and Martin Moore decided to believe those lies.

It didn’t matter. They were heroes.

Duty first.

Always.

“So what next?” Jet asked. “Do we pretend nothing has changed?”

“Go to the press,” insisted Frostbite. “Corp’s got to pay.”

“I have a better idea,” Iridium said slowly, a smile blooming on her face. “Let’s blackmail the hell out of those sons of bitches.”

CHAPTER 61

IRIDIUM

I cannot fight the future. I only hope my children will.

—Matthew Icarus, in his suicide note dated 2020

TWO WEEKS LATER

I
ridium looked at the loose knot of heroes waiting on the debris of the old playing field. “I don’t like it. They’re just … standing there.”

Taser shrugged. “No law against standing.”

“I don’t like it, either,” said Frostbite, frowning at the costumed strangers. “Who asked them here?”

“Corp,” Iridium said. “Looks like Squadron: India finally got an offer they could agree to. Bet you an E they’ve come to clean up Corp’s mess and make sure we’re not fomenting revolution.”

Frostbite folded his arms. “My point exactly. I say we tell them to screw off. Possibly with fireballs.”

Firebug rolled her eyes. “Don’t volunteer me just yet. We should at least talk to them first.”

“They haven’t made a hostile move,” Steele said, backing up her partner.

“True,” Jet said. “Iridium, Frostbite, come with me. Taser, stay close in case the situation degenerates.”

Iridium rolled her eyes and followed Jet down the bleacher steps, Frostbite bringing up the rear. In the past two weeks, Jet had become positively unbearable in her role of Fearless Leader.

The problem was, Iridium had to admit she was pretty good at it.