Team Omega (40 page)

Jackson nodded.  Someone who suddenly developed powerful telepathic powers in high school would be unable to resist the temptation to nudge his tormentors into hurting themselves, or to influence the hottest girls in the school to climb into his bed.  Why not?  Jackson had been a stronger kid than many of the others and high school hadn't been a barrel of laughs for him—how much worse would it have been for those without the strength to stand up for themselves?  It wasn't just telepathy that posed a problem, either.  In 1995, a tormented nerd had sparked and torn through his tormentors—and then much of the rest of the school.  He’d had to be put down by the SDI.

“Maybe she just wants to play games,” Lee growled.  “But we need to take her out as quickly as possible.”

“That might be tricky,” Tracker said.  “You can bet your life that she will have tightened up her telepathic net to prevent other assassins getting close to her, or Hope.  Maybe, just maybe, she allowed the first assassin to have her shot at Hope, but I don’t think that we can count on it again.”

“I thought that you were immune to telepathy,” Lane said.  “You certainly entered the Congo without detection.”

“She knew I was there, she just didn't pick up on my thoughts,” Tracker clarified.  “If she senses me entering her telepathic net, she’ll react even if she can’t read my mind.  And my shields have never been tested against a truly powerful telepath intent on ripping out my secrets.”

Jackson leaned forward.  “Couldn't we teleport in?”

“The teleporter we had at the base was set to purge itself and then self-destruct after we jumped out to safety,” Lane said, sourly.  “As far as I know, there isn't another one outside Langley or Fort Meade.  They cost more than a dozen jet fighters apiece and they’re vulnerable to jamming.  Even if we had one, we couldn't rely on it completely.”

Lee smiled, suddenly.  “But I think I know where we can get a teleporter,” he said, with a wink.  “Matt and I will follow up on that—if we’re lucky, we can find
something
that might help.”

“I can put together a dozen Mind Static Devices from the stores in the safe house,” Polly put in.  “The problem is that they may not be entirely reliable.  Some people react badly to the devices—we’re not quite sure why.”

“Maybe they’re telepaths who haven’t sparked yet,” Lane suggested.

“I react badly to them, too,” Tracker put in.  “The SDI used to think that, but all the attempts to force the volunteers to spark failed.  Whatever causes superhumans to appear seems to be beyond our understanding.”

Jackson nodded in agreement. 

“I think that my force can draw Hope out of Washington, and get him somewhere we can use as a killing ground, if necessary,” Lee said, after a moment.  “That leaves you”—he nodded to Lane—“with the task of getting into the White House and eliminating the Redeemer.  If we’re lucky, that will break whatever control she has over Hope.”

Polly hesitated, and then spoke.  “And if we’re
not
lucky?”

“There are...weapons,” Lane said, reluctantly.  “Weapons designed for use against powerful superhumans without actually needing to blow up an entire city with a nuke.”

“A small tactical nuke wouldn't cause
that
much damage to Washington,” the dark-skinned girl said.

“But it would obliterate a large chunk of America’s history,” Lee said.  “The White House, the House of Representatives, and the Senate...I know we all bitch and moan about the government, and some people we elect into power aren’t fit to be elected as a dogcatcher, but we would be blowing up our own history.  That’s the way Hope thinks; smash the old and assume that the new will emerge from nowhere.  We have to think about the future.”

He grinned, suddenly.  “Not that it really matters that much.  The odds are stacked against us.  We may do nothing more than die bravely, leaving Hope and his army to run roughshod over the Earth.”

“The other powers will go nuclear,” Tracker predicted.  “America will be destroyed.”

“Then we’d better win, hadn’t we?”  Lee said.  “We dare not lose.”

Chapter Forty

“Hardly anything is flying tonight,” Lee muttered, as they coasted over Virginia.  “I can't feel anything larger than a bird nearby.”

Matt nodded, unsurprised.  The airline industry had taken a major hit after Hope invaded Washington; air travel just didn't feel safe when superhumans could simply smash through the plane, passengers falling to their deaths.  Besides, the police were still trying to prevent a mass exodus from the cities, and most of the airlines had been ordered to keep their aircraft on the ground.

He clung to Lee as he dropped, finally landing outside a large building isolated from the rest of the country.  The SDI had decided to conceal the facility from the rest of the country, if only because it would make a magnet for protesters opposed to the very concept of turning superhumans into police or soldiers.  Most people, if they bothered to think about it at all, assumed that training was carried out in New York, where the rest of the SDI was based.  They never looked for the other institute—and it was just possible that Hope had missed it, too.  After all, it hadn't even been opened until after he’d left the SDI.

“No sign of trouble,” Lee said, as they dropped towards the ground.  “You think the staff and students will have run for it?”

“I hope not,” Matt said.  They landed, allowing him to let go of Lee’s neck and drop to the ground.  “Most of them don’t have anywhere to go.”

He walked up towards the gates and pressed his hand against a sensor embedded in the walls.  Like most SDI installations, there were hidden defences placed around the training centre, ones intended to deter supervillains from attacking the next generation of SDI operatives.  It was a completely isolated system—Mainframe shouldn't be able to get into the facility’s computers—and it was possible that it wouldn't recognise him.  General Kratman had sent him here a couple of times, but he’d needed clearance for both of them.  Luck was with him; the gates clicked open, allowing them to walk up towards the building.

Years ago, back during the first era of superhumans, a New Age researcher had claimed that superhumans were actually Indigo Children, and that she could predict which children would eventually spark into true superhumans.  She’d enjoyed a remarkable level of success for a decade, until it had become clear that none of the Indigo Children she had identified had sparked into a superhuman.  Indeed, the school she’d founded for the children had charged awesome fees, and left the children with almost no preparation for modern life.  Matt had never met her, so he didn't know if she believed the crap she’d peddled or not, but by the time disillusionment was settling in, some of her subordinates had embezzled a vast amount of money from the school’s trust funds.  The remainder had been taken by the lawyers, leaving the school empty until the SDI had bought it for a song and—perversely—finally allowed it to serve as a training centre for superhumans. 

The main doors opened, revealing a man who looked alarmingly like a gorilla, right down to a hairy face and bad attitude.  Mutants were rare in the SDI, as they could rarely operate in public without being noticed, but the Doorman had worked in the training centre as long as it had operated.  He was tough enough to intimidate almost all of the students, yet surprisingly gentle, the closest thing the SDI had to a drill instructor.  Behind him, the balding Jennifer Brown—the headmistress of the school—looked worried.  What news they’d had from the outside world wouldn't be very good.

“Fireman,” she exclaimed, as soon as she saw Lee.  “Long time, no see!”

“Jenny,” Lee said, with a brilliant smile of his own.  They’d served together in the first incarnation of the SDI, as well as the first super team in existence, before Jennifer’s powers had been badly weakened by a supervillain pounding his fist into her head multiple times, nearly killing her.  “I did invite you to visit me.”

“And I have responsibilities here,” Jenny said.  She looked over at Matt.  “I assume that this has something to do with Hope?”

“I'm afraid so,” Matt said.  “What have you told the students?”

“Can’t hide anything from them,” Jenny said.  It was true; her students included three teenagers with superhuman hearing and one with a limited form of touch-telepathy.  “I told them that losing New York wouldn't bring down the SDI, and that someone would come to give us orders.  They’re scared, Lee.  Perhaps a few words from Fireman would help to settle them down.”

“I can try,” Lee rumbled, “but we need to talk to the Lofting kids first.  Where are they now?”

Jenny smiled.  “The girl should be in her room, fast asleep; the boy should be with her, but he’s actually been courting Daisy for the past five days.  And they think that we haven’t noticed.”

“We were all young once,” Lee agreed, gravely.  They shared a smile.  “How well do they take after their father?”

“Alarmingly well, in some ways,” Jenny said.  “I think they have the heroic urge down pat, it’s the restraints and limits that they’re having problems grasping.  Charles had been counselling both of them—after all, he lost his legs because he acted without thinking—but the kids don't always listen to him.  Marvin gained his powers much later in life.”

Matt nodded.  It was rare for children below twelve to develop superhuman powers; in fact, there had only been two confirmed cases and they’d both been in South Africa, when Dr. Death had been experimenting with the superhuman organs he’d pulled from black superhumans, after slowly killing them first.  Teens, on the other hand, were alarmingly common—and often, great power didn't lead to great responsibility.  Some teens were simply too wild to be allowed to run free with superhuman powers.  Poor Marvin’s kids had been on a path that would have eventually led them to the Pit or death if they hadn't been caught in time to save them.

“Call them,” he said.  “We need to have words with them.”

The visiting room was intended for parents, should they wish to visit their children who had developed superpowers and had chosen to join the SDI.  Not all parents
wanted
to visit their children, sadly; often, the moment when the kid had sparked was traumatic for both parents and children alike.  Other parents wanted to live the life of superhero parents, pushing their kids into a starring career in the Young Stars or a similar group, and resented their children for choosing to join the SDI instead.  The room was designed to leave them with a good impression of the training program, with bright photographs of the students in uniform and the superheroes they became after they graduated.  Not all of them were marked, Matt couldn't hope noticing.  Those who went into the covert team rarely wore spandex and capes while they fought for America. 

He looked up as Jack and Jane Lofting were escorted into the visiting room.  Jane looked tired—and faintly disturbing to his enhanced senses, as if her skin was concealing something much more than merely human.  Jack, two years older than her, had definitely been making progress on his courtship; judging from the faint aroma surrounding him, he’d made it to second base at least.  He still looked like a virgin, but now he had reason to hope that he’d make it through that rite of passage sooner rather than later.  Matt hadn't been much older than him when he’d sparked, and his powers had sent him crashing into a mental hospital for two years.

In many ways, Matt would have preferred to work with Jack alone—but it was Jane that he needed.  The young girl was so black that her skin seemed to be made out of darkness itself, an aspect—he suspected—of her powers.  Layla had downloaded him the report, yet the SDI’s researchers hadn't been able to deduce much about her in the short time between her capture and Hope’s invasion of the United States.  Their best guess was that she was intimately connected to shadows, allowing her to create deadly shadows to kill and move from shadow to shadow, rather like a teleporter.  Once she knew how to use her powers properly, she’d be almost unstoppable at night. 

“You’re
Fireman
,” Jack said, looking at Lee.  His face was wide with awe and hero-worship.  “Did you know my father?”

“Your father saved my life once,” Lee said, smiling.  “And I had the pleasure of watching when he put on the mask for the first time.  Things were simpler then.”

“You weren't at the funeral,” Jack said.  “Why didn't you come to say goodbye when he left us?”

Matt winced at the accusation in his tone.  “I couldn't go, not without bringing the media jackals with me,” Lee said.  He hesitated.  “I wish your father was still alive.  The country needs him.”

Jack looked at him.  “You intend to fight Hope.”  

Lee nodded. 

“What’s wrong with what he’s doing?” Jack asked.

Lee sighed.  “Having superhuman powers doesn't make someone more than human,” he said, picking his words carefully.  “They only confer might—not the wisdom to use it properly.  In the long run, Hope will create—at best—a dictatorship where his laws are the only ones to follow, a dictatorship enforced by telepathy and naked force.  What happens if Hope decides that—for example—video games are bad for children, and orders them all destroyed?  Who is going to be able to tell him no?”

“Your father understood that smashing enemies wasn't enough,” Matt added.  “He could kill a thousand drug dealers and a thousand more would spring up the day afterwards, so he worked to improve the area he lived in by offering new opportunities for children who would otherwise have gravitated to the gangs or prostitution.  When he died, the area fell back into the hands of the gangs.  Hope is threatening to do that to the entire country, without even
trying
to offer people another path.”

Jack looked down at the floor.  They did have one advantage; Jack had worshipped his father—and his father had worked for the SDI before retiring to raise his children and clean up Hell’s Kitchen.  But the young were often susceptible to idealism, particularly the raw idealism displayed by Hope.  In a very real sense, Hope had defied the elders of the world to clean up the Congo and the young had responded to that, heedless of the danger.  They wanted to do something
now
.  And even though Hope had moved from idealism to blind rage...would Jack be capable of understanding it?

“My father wouldn't have wanted to hurt the country,” Jack said, softly.  “I think...I think...”

He looked up, suddenly.  “What do you want with me?”

“I need you to join my team,” Lee said.  He hesitated.  “And I need Jane to do something else, something more complex.”

“She’s too young,” Jack said, automatically.  “You can't put her in the line of battle...”

Matt was tempted to point out that Jack had made use of her talents as soon as they’d developed, but held his tongue.  Lee would have a far better chance of reaching the teenager. 

“She isn't going to be in the line of battle,” Lee said, soothingly.  “We need her teleporting talents, not anything else.”

“The shadows scare me,” Jane said, suddenly.  There was something plaintive in her voice, as if she’d seen something that no young girl should have to see.  “I can feel
things
moving in the shadows, watching me from the darkness.”  She ran her hands down her nightdress.  “One day, I will walk into the shadows and never come back.”

Jack reached out to take his sister’s hand.  “I won’t let them have you,” he said, firmly.  “You can always come back to me.”

“I know,” Jane said.  Matt had no brothers or sisters, but he was touched by what they shared, even if it risked their plan failing.  “What do you want me to do?”

Matt hesitated; Lee spoke over him.  “We need you to take some people somewhere,” he said.  “I can't tell you where, because one of our enemies is a telepath.  We just need you ready to go when the time comes.”

“And me?”  Jack said.  “Do I go with her?”

“I think you’d be more useful fighting in the open,” Lee said, after a moment.  “We're going to need everyone we can convince to join us.  Not everyone is as patriotic as your father.”

“He always used to curse the superstars,” Jack said.  “He said that they never did anything useful, never saved lives or caught criminals; they just made money from being lucky enough to become superhumans.”

“He was right,” Matt said, with the private thought that the whole superhuman celebrity buzz
had
helped to keep superhumans from causing trouble.  Who would want to be a supervillain if they made more money from photographs, autographs and carefully-orchestrated charity appearances?  The General hadn’t been keen on the whole idea, but there were some people who just weren’t suited to a life of public service.  Besides, they made a great deal of money for the government to tax.  “But Hope has become more than a superstar—he’s become a threat to the entire world.”