Team Omega (39 page)

“Are they higher now than they were before you decided to launch the invasion?”  Chester asked, wryly.  “No, we made the decision without consulting the public.”

He shook his head, tiredly.  “You want to know something about the average American citizen?  Joe and Jane Public have a view of the world that is very far from the truth.  The government is there to take care of them, the world is America’s oyster, and they don’t really need to care about the bigger picture.  Those who dislike the government come up with grand theories that explain its failures; corporate interference, bribery and corruption, political correctness, transnational elites replacing local governments, the vast right/left-wing conspiracy...

“The truth is that the government isn't all-powerful, and it certainly isn’t all-knowing,” he pointed out.  Was there anything he could say that could get through to Hope?  “But no one wants to believe that the government can be incompetent, so they prefer to believe that there was some secret reason for the government to fail rather than admit it might not be all-powerful.  Instead, we have the results of endless compromises, of endless attempts to come up with new legislation to deal with new problems—and then people who don’t like the results bitch and moan, so we get a new series of compromises.  And
none
of them are any better than the ones they had before.  They just annoy different people.”

Chester looked up at Hope, willing him to understand.  “You have superpowers,” he said, “and when you have superpowers, when you consider yourself a hero, the entire world looks like a problem you can
hit
.  But the real world is a messy place, and you destabilised the fragile balance of power when you proved yourself to be out of control.  If you care, even slightly, about the country and the world, walk away now.  You cannot save the world by naked force.”

Hope looked back at him.  “Bullshit,” he said, flatly.  “Naked force is the only thing the warlords respect.  No amount of pleading and whining from the international community stopped the fighting in the Congo; hell, nations that played the lead role in whining about how bad the warlords were being were also the ones supplying them with weapons, just to keep the area nicely destabilised.  They respect force, and so I showed them greater force.”

“This isn't going to work,” Chester said, insistently.  “You have to stop before it is too late.”

He saw fire in Hope’s eyes and braced himself, expecting every second to be his last, but instead Hope controlled himself.  “Your people destroyed the Pit,” he said.  Chester allowed himself a moment of relief.  Some of the superhumans in the Pit were deadly dangerous.  The thought of allowing them to rampage free was terrifying.  “They killed upwards of three hundred superhumans, including several whose only crime was defying SARA and trying to help people.”

Chester swallowed his anger with an effort.  “You don’t think that most of the superheroes who have signed SARA help people?”

“I think that they don’t do enough,” Hope said.  “I will put you on trial for your actions, before the American people.  And the evidence presented will be enough to convince them that I did the right thing in removing the American government from power.”

“If you say so,” Chester said.  Hope had crossed the line into fanaticism.  He’d have to be stopped—but Chester was no longer in a position to organise resistance.  The only thing he could do was hope that there was enough of Team Omega and the SDI left to fight back before America shattered under the occupation.  “Tell me something, please.  Did
all
of the Saviours go along with you without question?”

“Mimic quit,” Hope admitted.  He sounded rather rueful, unsurprisingly.  Mimic had had a through military training before sparking and becoming superhuman.  “He told me that it would end in tears.  I thought he had gone to warn you about my plans.”

Chester’s eyes narrowed.  “He never reached us,” he said.  “What did you do to him?”

“Nothing,” Hope said.  He studied Chester for a long moment.  “Your pulse rate suggests that you are being truthful.  What happened to him?”

“Maybe you should find out,” Chester said.  Mimic had been a SEAL.  There was no way that he would have gone along with the plan to invade America, particularly after Libya had collapsed into chaos.  “Because he would have had the ability to contact us and warn us that you were planning something—and we never heard anything.  Not a single word.”

He expected the mutants to lead him back to the Ballroom, but instead they led him to one of the White House bedrooms.  They were intended for officials who worked too late and couldn’t go home, or military officers who had to sleep at the White House during times of crisis; they were certainly comfortable enough for Chester.  Team Omega—wherever they were—would have called them too luxurious for comfort. 

Shaking his head, he sat down on the bed and tried to meditate.  The door was locked—he’d tested after the mutants had left—and there was no other way out of the room.  He didn’t dare ask if he could call his wife.  There was nothing he could do, but wait.

And pray.  

Chapter Thirty-Nine

The protest march had started at Central Park, walking up the blocked roads, and shouting loudly for Hope to leave the United States.  Jackson had seen a handful of protest marches before, but this one was the largest he’d ever seen; all of New York appeared to be out on the streets, demanding an end to the superhuman government.  Given that it had only been two days since Washington had been taken by the Saviours, someone had clearly been working overtime to organise the march.  It was even escorted by a large number of police and soldiers from the National Guard, making their own feelings clear.  This was one march that wasn't going to turn into a riot.

“He can hear them in Washington,” Lane said, as they started to walk away from the march.  A handful of would-be pickpockets had been caught by the NYPD and were being searched and arrested down a side-street, although no one quite knew what would happen to them in Hope’s new world order.  “And this isn't the only march being organised today.  I wonder how he will react.”

Jackson nodded.  The Soviet Union had responded harshly to any protest movement that appeared in the satellite states, long before the Polish superhuman had sparked and moved to evict the Russians from Poland.  China had crushed protest movements using armed soldiers and policemen—even superhumans.  The United States needed to be a little more careful—public opinion counted in the United States of America—and besides, it wasn't as if the protesters were marching against a repressive government.  But that might have changed.  Who knew how Hope would respond to a protest march demanding that he left the country?

He caught sight of a superhuman flashing through the air above him and looked up, only to see the superhuman vanishing into the distance.  New York’s vast number of superhumans seemed to be doing nothing, either out of fear for their lives—Hope
was
powerful, and he had powerful allies—or because they sympathised with Hope.  Lane had pointed out that Team Omega would have been grateful for the SDI’s existence, but the SDI’s overt team had all passed carefully-designed psych tests to prove that they were reliable.  But the SDI was gone and the other superheroes were far from trustworthy. 

There were almost no moving cars on the road today.  From what they’d picked up on the internet, the Teamsters—the Trucker’s Union—had called a wildcat strike; most of them were refusing to work until Hope and his superhuman goons were out of the country.  There were strategic food stockpiles in all major cities—superhuman battles sometimes wrecked parts of the interstates—but the sudden shortage of consumer goods would cause its own problems.  And there were no new deliveries of gas from the oil refineries due to the ongoing Teamsters' strike.  Every car that didn't have one of the Halo batteries developed in the years since Iraq occupied the Saudi oil wells would be marooned as soon as it ran out of gas.  The NYPD had advised civilians to remain at home, or to walk if they needed to leave their homes for any reason at all—such as joining the protest march.

Parts of New York looked to be collapsing into chaos as they walked towards Hell’s Kitchen.  The gang warfare that had broken out in the wake of their mission against two unregistered superhumans had, thankfully, broken the power of two of the gangs, but the others were still fighting it out for supremacy.  It didn't help that the mutant gang was linked with the occupation, unfairly as far as anyone could tell.  But incidents of violence against mutants and lower-ranking superhumans had been on the rise ever since Washington had fallen.  They might wind up joining Hope out of self-defence.

He hesitated as they reached an older apartment block, the place he had visited with Harrison before the shit had really hit the fan.  “Captain,” he said, “are you
sure
about this?”

Getting back in touch with the rest of Team Omega had been relatively easy, even without the internet.  There had been contingency plans for rendezvous points that allowed the different teams to link up without compromising their boltholes—and, thankfully, most of the support staff had left the base before the superhumans attacked, allowing them to reach their own boltholes before the Saviours tracked them down.  But linking up with what remained of the SDI had its own risks.  There was still no explanation as to how the Saviours had known about Team Omega, right down to the location of its base.  Jackson doubted that it was a coincidence.  The attack had been very precisely targeted. 

“Counting all of the support staff, there’s only ninety-seven of us,” Lane pointed out, sharply.  And that was misleading, for only thirty-six were trained SOF soldiers.  Team Omega did share the Marine philosophy that every man was a rifleman first, but none of the supporting staff matched the operators.  How could they, when they were technical and intelligence experts rather than soldiers?  “We need allies, and we have to be damn careful about where we look for them.”

Jackson couldn't disagree.  In many ways, Hope’s invasion had been relatively bloodless, certainly the cheapest invasion and occupation in recorded history.  But that meant that most of the military had survived, and they weren't inclined to accept defeat so casually.  Weapons and equipment had been removed from military bases and hidden, while large numbers of soldiers, sailors and airmen had gone underground, intent on carrying on the fight.  There were even reports passed through the internet of brief engagements between insurgents and the Saviours, although none of them had been very specific.  Jackson suspected that didn't bode well.  Outside of specialist teams with special weaponry, it was very hard to take out a high-level superhuman. 

The Vice President was still out there somewhere, but he was clearly cut off from the military network that would have allowed him to coordinate a response.  As long as he remained free, it was a victory—of sorts—but he was also helpless to do anything about the chaos.  There were even more nightmarish possibilities being discussed online, including the suggestion that Russia or China would take the opportunity to nuke the United States back to the Stone Age—or that the United States would use its submarines to fire on its own cities.  No wonder so many people wanted to flee the urban areas; they feared the worst.  Even during the War of 1812, when Washington had been burned by the British, the country had never been so completely humiliated and broken.  There was a great deal of anger out on the streets. 

Lane tapped once on the door. It was opened by a man Jackson didn't recognise, a tall, bland man who looked as if he could fade into the background easily.  There was a brief pause as they exchanged recognition codes, and then he led them upstairs into the small apartment.  Inside, there was an older man Jackson vaguely recognised, a dark-skinned girl sitting to the rear, as if she was afraid of them—and Polly Hayworth, the former CIA agent who had transferred to Team Omega.  Lane recognised the older man at once and held out his hand; the strange man shook it carefully. 

Jackson prodded his memory and a very old name finally surfaced.  Fireman himself.  He must have said something, because the next thing he knew, the man was shaking his hand.

“Call me Michael,” he said, shaking Jackson’s hand with a care that belied his hidden strength.  Everyone knew that Fireman was Level 5, even though the rating system hadn't been worked out until after he had retired from the superhero life.  “I always feel vaguely silly when someone calls me Fireman.”

“A good attitude to have,” the other man agreed.  “Matt Tracker, SDI Covert Team.  And I assume you already know Polly.”

“We’ve met,” Lane said, dryly.  Polly smiled at him.  “Is this room secure?”

It was the dark-skinned girl who answered.  “It should be secure against everything apart from telepathic probes,” she said.  “Unfortunately, building a Mind Static Device capable of blanketing more than a few millimetres is technically impossible, at least with the current level of tech.  It doesn't make them useless, but it
does
limit how they can be used.”

“So Hope can't hear us plotting,” Lane said.  “We’ll just have to hope that he isn't having his telepath follow us mentally.”

“Telepaths aren’t gods,” Polly pointed out.  “Unless the Redeemer had good reason to suspect us—and came reasonably close to us—she couldn’t pick up on us unless we got very unlucky.”

Jackson found the whole discussion uncomfortable.  They’d been given basic training on shielding their minds against telepathic probes—or at least knowing when their minds had been read—but the training cadre had warned them that a powerful telepath could eventually hammer their minds into submission, no matter how hard they resisted.  On the other hand, telepaths rarely enjoyed other powers; someone who could hold out for a few minutes would have an excellent chance to knock out or kill the telepath before their minds broke under the strain.  And it was quite possible that they would suffer brain damage and die before any useful information could be extracted from their minds. 

Michael Lee—Fireman—opened the discussion.  “I—we—have spoken to several other superhumans and convinced them to join us,” he said.  “However, assembling a force capable of matching Hope’s in raw power might be difficult.  It
is
possible that MI-13, the Tricolours, or the G-14 will assist, but right now everyone is shit-scared of Hope.”

“And besides, if we have a brawl in the streets outside the White House, we’ll bring most of Washington down in the crossfire,” Tracker pointed out.  Jackson couldn't tell
what
powers he had, but if he’d been in the covert team he had to be formidable.  “Ideally, we want to have the battle somewhere away from the civilians.”

“Perhaps we should move towards the Congo,” Polly said.  “Force Hope to chase us there...”

“He might refuse to take the bait,” Lee said.  He hesitated.  “We could transport a tactical nuke into the White House...”

“Might be tricky,” Tracker said.  “That telepathic bitch will have her nets out, sweeping for any intrusion into the White House and the surrounding area.  They’ll know the moment we appear—they might even know what we’re carrying.  The only person we had who could have circumvented the telepathic net is currently a prisoner in the Congo.”

“Besides, there would be an unacceptable number of civilian casualties,” Lane said, flatly.  “I don’t intend to destroy the United States in order to save it.”

“I don't think we’re going to get out of this without a great deal of damage,” Tracker said, equally flatly.  “Hope isn't going to give up without a fight, not when he’s so...
convinced
that he’s doing the right thing.  But there is a possible weak spot.”

He outlined, briefly, what he’d seen in the Congo. 

“Mimic’s dead?”  Lane said, in some surprise.  “I knew him when he was a SEAL.”

“Yes,” Tracker said, bluntly.  “The Redeemer killed him.  And given how furtive she was about disposing of his body, I think Hope doesn't know what happened to him.”

“The Redeemer,” Lane said, slowly.  “A powerful mentalist, known to have both telepathic and telekinetic powers...what else do we know about her?”

“Very little,” Polly admitted.  “The SDI opened a file on her when she first made her appearance, but very little hard information was ever recovered.  We don't know where she was born, when she sparked and what happened to shape her mind.  The first recorded sighting of her was back when Hope started the Saviours, just after he left the SDI.”

“But she was a telepath,” Lane mused.  “She could have come from America and never bothered to register herself.”

“Or she could have come from Russia, China, or even Iraq,” Polly pointed out.  “Unlike Dreamy Girl, cameras don’t see the real
her
.  Those pictures of her taken without her knowledge show a vaguely humanoid blur, and that’s it.  What if she’s a deep-cover agent from Russia intent on bringing down the United States?  Or China; they’ve been worried that we’re moving ahead of them in the superhuman stakes, now that superhumans are the new nukes.  This could be their play to cripple us and give them time to take over.”

“Except the Chinese are even more dependent upon the world economy than we are,” Lane countered.  “The Chinese would have to be insane to try, even if they weren't discovered and we didn't retaliate against China itself.  It’s much more likely that she’s a free agent, operating on an agenda of her own.”

“Which raises a simple question,” Lee said.  “What does she want?”

“Some telepaths have been driven mad by their powers,” the dark-skinned girl said, into the silence.  “They couldn't master their powers or erect mental shields, so they were constantly bombarded by outside thoughts until it drove them mad.  Others were corrupted by their powers, using their insights into a person’s thoughts for fun and profit.  And the more powerful ones, the ones with the ability to control others...they often give in to temptation.”