The Cloak Society (6 page)

“Actually,” Alex chimed in, raising his hand, “I have a question. I was wondering if you could talk to us about the battle at Victory Park. Were you there?”

The others grew quiet, all staring intently at their professor. It was hard for any of them to imagine him on a battlefield.

“Do you not remember?” the Tutor asked, sipping water from a tall glass cup at his desk.

“What do you mean?” Alex asked, puzzled.

“The day of the battle,” he said, “you were here, in this very room. All the children were bumbling around on the floor. Once the nanny was called into the War Room to help dress wounds, I was left to watch everyone. I had no idea what to do with you all. I tried to keep spirits up by reading
Le Petit Prince
aloud—in French, first, and then the translation—but you, Alex, were the only one who seemed to enjoy it. Though, looking back, I can't help but think it was perhaps too complicated a book for children who could barely form complete sentences.”

“Wait, we were here too?” Julie asked, pointing back and forth between her and her brother. “And we had a nanny?”

Everyone looked confused by this. Alex had been only two years old at the time, so it didn't surprise him that he had no memories of the event. But the nanny posed an issue he'd never thought of before. The current Uniband in charge of the Gammas had also been his caretaker growing up. But she hadn't moved into this position until Alex was five or six. There must have been someone else caring for them before that time, but Alex had no recollection of this person—nothing but a hole in his memory.

“Oh yes.” The Tutor nodded to both questions. “She was a wonderful woman, like a governess out of some Victorian novel. This was before the new council locked down security and had most of the auxiliary staff purged. You don't remember her? As I recall, you were all quite fond of the woman.”

“No, I don't,” Alex said. “When was the staff . . . purged?”

The Tutor hesitated, looking deep into Alex's concerned eyes.

“On second thought, I must be mistaken about timing. My head is so full that sometimes my memories suffer as a consequence. I must have been thinking about your mother's nanny instead. When you get to be my age, things like that tend to run together.”

Alex felt that there was something he was missing, some element of the conversation that was being washed over, but he couldn't pinpoint what it was.

Somewhere in the library, a clock began to chime. Titan glanced at his watch and then quickly closed his notebook and gathered his things, bolting for the door.

“Shade's going to kill me,” he mumbled. “I'm late for power training.”

The others gathered their things and left. Alex caught up with Mallory in the hallway.

“I'm going up to see what Gage is doing,” he said. “Want to come?”

“I got talked into braiding Misty's hair this afternoon,” Mallory said. “But I'll take the elevator up with you. I need to pick up my laundry.”

“Careful, or you'll end up the Gammas' personal hairstylist,” Alex said.

“No way,” Mallory said, smirking. “I'd just suggest to Shade that braiding be a part of
your
training.”

“Hey,” Alex said, “do you remember seeing anything about Victory Park on the news when you were a kid?”

Mallory twisted her face and thought about this.

“No,” she finally said. “I don't think I do.”

Mallory had been six years old when she came to live at the base, but she remembered very little of anything regarding her pre-Cloak life. In those early years, Titan and Julie had shunned her because she had not been born into the Society, but Alex had always tried his best to make her feel welcome. Shade attributed Mallory's poor memory to post-traumatic stress. She had probed the girl's mind several times, looking for hints of her past, but never seemed to find anything.

“Ah, well,” Alex said, exiting onto the top level. “Maybe it's for the best. I'll see you at dinner. Have fun with Misty.”

It was a busy time of afternoon on the first floor, and the Unibands he passed all nodded to him, keeping their eyes to the ground. “Good afternoon,” a few of them murmured, to which he responded, “Hail Cloak,” without much thought. In a room across from the elevators, several Unibands sat around computer terminals, monitoring the functionality of the base—oxygen levels, power supply, temperature. On his way to Gage, Alex passed the infirmary and a large mess hall, where cooks were already preparing dinner for the nearly fifty inhabitants of the complex. Though the Unibands ate together there on the first floor, the Betas and High Council took their meals in the lower levels, with rare exceptions.

The entrance to Gage's workshop was wide, made up of two sliding sheets of steel. Alex pressed the circular button to the left of the entryway, and the door split in the center, opening with a small rush of air. An acrid electrical smell immediately overtook him.

Inside the workshop, rows of tables and counters of varying heights were piled high with creations of metal and glass and rubber. The area was loosely sectioned off into groups of weapons, utility devices, and oversized projects, which sat at the far end of the room where there were no tables. The size of Gage's workshop was one of the few indulgences afforded to him by the High Council, and even then, only because his work required so much space.

The main workstation was located directly across from the entrance, below a large Rembrandt painting that had belonged to Gage's father, called
The Storm on the Sea of Galilee
. Alex found Gage there in his white lab coat, hunched over a sketchbook.

“Hey, Gage,” Alex called when he was halfway into the workshop. “Am I interrupting?”

Gage swung around on his swivel chair, holding a pen in one hand and wearing thick goggles that distorted his dark eyes. His curly hair sprouted wildly.

“Of course you are,” he said, grinning. “But I'm happy for it. What's up?”

“Just avoiding my studying,” Alex said. “We're starting something called ‘game theory' in our lessons, and I have a feeling it's going to give me a headache.”

“Oh?” Gage asked, sliding his goggles to the top of his head. They left deep imprints around his eyes. “What problem did he start you with?”

“Oh, no, no,” Alex said, shaking his head. “You're not getting me to talk homework. What are
you
working on?”

Gage looked back at his sketchbook. He flipped it shut.

“Just some new weapon prototypes for the upcoming attack,” he said. “Nothing special.”

“Actually, I was going to see if you had any spare alarm clocks lying around.”

“Hmmm,” Gage murmured, thinking for a moment. “I don't believe so. Is yours malfunctioning?”

“I had a little accident with it this morning.” Alex shrugged. “I think my brain must have hit the snooze button a little too hard, and now it's busted.”

“I'll see what I can put together for you later,” Gage said, rubbing his eyes.

“Gage, man, you look like you haven't slept in days. Why don't you take a nap or something?”

“I would if there were anyone reliable enough to continue working while I slept. As it is, I think it best that I keep at it.”

As he spoke, Alex looked around the room at the long countertops cluttered with electronics and tools. His eyes stopped on a boot poking out from behind one of the tables. He walked over and looked at the floor, where one of Gage's assistants was lying perfectly still.

“Uh . . . is he . . . ,” Alex began. “Is he dead?”

“Of course not,” Gage said, hopping off his chair and walking over to the man on the floor. “He's just unconscious. Here, look at these.”

On the counter was a stack of red and black click-top pens. Alex reached out to grab one, but Gage stopped him.

“They appear to be real pens,” he said, “made to look innocuous. I call the red ones Gassers. Clicking one sends a quick burst of knockout gas shooting out. And these black ones are Blackout Bombs. They send small electromagnetic pulses that disrupt electrical devices by causing a miniature power surge. One can blow a breaker, basically.”

“Wow,” Alex said, genuinely impressed. “That's incredible. So were you testing a Gasser out on this guy?” Alex lightly kicked the unconscious man's boot.

“He got one mixed up with his normal pen,” Gage said. “He'll be fine. An hour from now he'll wake up more rested than any of us.”

“I may sneak away with some of those,” Alex joked, nodding at the Gassers. “That way I could shut Titan up in class. Or use them on him during combat drills.”

“Or the next time he's standing at the top of a very tall flight of stairs,” Gage suggested.

The thought of the metal Beta tumbling down an endless staircase sent Alex into a fit of laughter. Gage smiled widely and pulled his goggles back down over his eyes, turning once again to his workstation.

 

The Beta Team common room consisted of a few couches and chairs, a large television, and a kitchen area. It was all dark mahogany and brown leather, making it feel more like a hunter's lounge than a rec room. There, following dinner, the Betas gathered at the request of the High Council, anxiously wondering why they had been called together so late in the day. Titan was stretched out on one of the couches, a cold compress on his head. He'd become severely overheated during his outdoor training session that afternoon, and was now whining about it to anyone who would listen, coaxing Mallory over to re-cool the compress every five minutes. Alex stood staring at the wall of movies that the High Council had given the Betas to watch in their free time, mainly old heist movies and period films that involved a lot of medieval conquests and revolutions. Julie killed time by casually tossing throwing knives at a dartboard in one corner.

Finally the door slid open. In walked Shade. The Betas immediately got to their feet, standing at attention, and waited for her orders.

“Good evening, everyone,” Shade said. “Don't worry. I haven't gathered you here for late-night training.”

“Whew,” Titan said, relaxing a little and rubbing his pounding head.

“Despite the failings of yesterday's mission,” she continued, “I brought you all a gift. It's last night's newscast. I'm sure you'll be excited to see it.”

All around the room, eyes lit up. There was no cable or satellite feed in the Beta Team common room—the High Council kept them up to date on any news from the world they needed to know—so any TV program was cause for excitement. More importantly, they were all keenly aware of what Shade's gift meant: They had been on television.

“I'll leave you to it,” Shade said, handing the DVD to Alex. She stood for a moment, soaking in their smiles, before nodding. “For the glory.”

“Hail Cloak,” they replied.

The Betas gathered around the TV, silent with anticipation, as Alex put in the DVD. On the screen, two news anchors—one male, one female—were seated behind a long, curved desk. Alex raised the volume as the male anchor began to speak.

“Our top story tonight is the shocking robbery at Silver Bank's downtown branch this afternoon,” the man said.

The camera switched to the woman. A window popped up over her left shoulder, showing an image of the bank's exterior.

“Authorities are saying no arrests have been made in regard to a crime that resulted in millions of dollars of damage and lost property, including several irreplaceable items that were being held at the bank on behalf of the Sterling City Museum. Police are
baffled
by the apparent mass amnesia experienced by witnesses recovered from the crime scene.”

“You guys! This is amazing!” Julie said, before being shushed by everyone in the room. The female anchor continued. The picture of the bank changed to what appeared to be Lone Star's headshot.

“The police department has yet to issue an official statement about the incident, but inside sources say the Rangers of Justice were unable to capture the perpetrators—a rare misstep for the world's most revered heroes. Eyewitness reports from outside the bank suggest that the criminals themselves possessed superhuman powers, leading some to fear that a new supervillain group has roosted in Sterling City. Rumors are already circulating that this could mark the reemergence of the Cloak Society, the criminal organization believed to have been destroyed by Lone Star and the Rangers of Justice ten years ago.”

“Of course,” a male anchor said, “we would like to remind the citizens of Sterling City that we have every faith the Rangers will bring the perpetrators of this crime to justice. We will keep you informed as this story continues to unfold.”

The picture cut to black, and the Betas looked at one another in silence. Then the four of them began to whoop and clap all at the same time, as if on cue.

“We. Are. Awesome,” Titan said, his thick, clanging claps drowning out the others.

6
A Chance Encounter

With their strict schedules of training and studying, the days of the week would have ticked by with complete monotony for the Beta Team had it not been for Thursdays. Thursdays were different. On Thursdays, the Betas and a few members of the High Council would pile into one of the long black SUVs parked in the underground garage that connected to the first floor of the base. From there, they drove through an echoing metal tunnel for several miles and eventually surfaced inside an old barn on the outskirts of Sterling City, on the back lot of Phil's Fill-Up Station—owned, naturally, by Cloak. The place looked like it had been closed for years, but a hidden switch turned on the pumps, which were always full of gas.

If it had been within the High Council's power, Cloak would have been completely self-sustaining—but they still needed groceries and paper towels and soap and coffee and haircuts. There was always a rare book that the Tutor requested or a new tool that Gage needed in order to fix something at the base. And while they could just send Unibands out on most errands, the truth was that spending a few hours in the world aboveground was good for everyone's morale. The members of Cloak couldn't spend
all
their time cooped up beneath the earth. While it's easy to assume that people like the High Council only interacted with other supervillains, realistically, there is no such thing as a villainous hairdresser or barista, and it was far more practical to take advantage of the men and women in Sterling City who would put up with last-minute orders or appointments with no questions asked (for a few extra dollars, of course).

So on Thursday afternoons, Alex and his teammates were left to their own devices in the city for a few hours while the adults took care of business. It was a luxury that each of them delighted in. On the Thursday after the bank mission, Shade and Barrage took the Beta Team and Misty to an outdoor shopping center far west of Victory Park and Silver Bank. The Betas spilled out of the car and immediately lined up in front of the trunk, awaiting dismissal from their superiors. On a lamppost beside their vehicle, a large metal sign read:

 

HIDE YOUR BELONGINGS, LOCK YOUR DOORS, TAKE YOUR KEYS.

—A FRIENDLY REMINDER FROM THE RANGERS OF JUSTICE

 

“Ugh,” Titan groaned as he pointed the sign out to his sister. “I have a friendly reminder about how we're going to beat them to a pulp the next time we—”

Shade cleared her throat, and the metal boy fell silent.

“Remember,” Barrage said. “You are Cloak, but you're also in public. We don't need any unplanned incidents calling attention to us prematurely. Behave yourselves if you want to continue to enjoy the privilege of Thursdays.”

They all knew what this meant: It was an order to blend in. Alex understood the necessity of reminding everyone to keep a low profile, but they all knew better than to use their powers in public or so much as breathe the word “Cloak.” And while anyone who spoke to Titan might think him obnoxious, Alex hardly thought anyone would suspect him of being an actual supervillain in training. Sterling City was home to several million people, not to mention the countless tourists. It was easy to be another face in the crowd.

“All right,” Shade said. “Mallory has a radio if there is an emergency. We'll pick you up right over there at the side entrance in two hours. Don't be late.”

As they departed from the parking lot and headed to explore the shopping center, Shade's voice sounded in Alex's head.

Keep an eye on Misty today. She is your responsibility.

Before Alex could respond, Shade was back inside the SUV.

I'm being punished,
Alex thought. He turned to see Misty standing behind him with a wide grin on her face. Obviously she knew that Alex was her keeper for the afternoon. She grabbed his hand and pulled him toward the shopping center along with the rest of the Betas.

“Ice cream! Let's get ice cream sundaes first! It's so hot out here,” she said. As she dragged him along, Alex tried desperately to remove his hand from her grip. “Oh! I bet they have a big shoe store here. So after we eat our ice cream, we can go look at shoes! The Unibands are never any help when we go look at shoes, but I bet you will be much better at it.”

“That can't be true,” Alex said. “I only see one color, so how can I . . .”

But she wasn't listening, and continued to plan their afternoon. By the time they actually reached the shopping center, Misty had mapped out a schedule that they would never be able to complete in their two hours of freedom.

Usually Alex and Mallory spent their Thursdays together, but Misty was determined to find ice cream, and Mallory's first stop of the day would be a lengthy trip to the bookstore as she gathered materials that the Tutor had requested. So, hesitantly, Alex set off into the bustling shopping complex with Misty. He had to admit that ice cream did sound good.

They found an ice-cream shop a third of the way through the shopping center. Inside, the line was long, but the air conditioner was blasting at full strength, so Alex didn't mind. Kids ahead of him furrowed their eyebrows as they tried to decide on a flavor. Alex smirked. He wondered what it was like to be carefree, to worry about such insignificant decisions.
How weak,
he thought.

Misty decided on cotton-candy-flavored ice cream covered with chocolate chips, whipped cream, and three different varieties of sprinkles. Alex ordered plain chocolate for himself. Single scoop.

As Alex paid, Misty looked for a table. The place was busy, full of kids done with school for the day. She couldn't see an empty table, but she did find two empty seats at a booth with four other girls, so Misty decided to make new friends.

“Hi!” Misty said to the girls.

The group stopped talking and stared at the red-haired kid in front of them. No one spoke. Then, completely ignoring her, they turned back toward one another and continued talking.

“I like your outfits!” Misty continued, not dismayed.

Again the girls ignored her, but Misty stood her ground.

“What are you drinking? This is a cotton candy sundae. It's really good! Do you want to try it?”

“Oh my gosh, y'all,” one of the girls said. “Who is this kid?”

“Seriously, don't you have any friends your own age you can go play with?” the one closest to Misty asked.

“Well . . . no. Not really. I mean . . . Alex is here, but he's a few years older, so . . .” Tears started welling up before Misty could stop them. The edges of her body began to atomize, outlining her in a subtle blur.

Alex, catching sight of her atomizing red hair, dashed over and placed his hand on Misty's back, quickly leading her away from the table. Behind him, the girls laughed.

“Hey,” he said to Misty, “calm down. Are you okay? Do you want to go look at shoes?”

“What's the point?” Misty said, her eyes still on the girls. “No one is going to see them but you and the people at the base anyway.”

“Hey. Watch this,” Alex whispered to Misty, winking.

He looked back at the girls. His eyes narrowed as they landed on a tall cup at the center of the table. It glowed a brilliant blue in his vision, and suddenly the bottom of the cup crumpled, sending bright red liquid high into the air, coating everyone at the table.

Misty gasped and smacked Alex's stomach as the girls all screamed.

“Alex!” she said. “You're going to get us in trouble!”

“Don't worry about it,” he said, pushing her again toward the exit. “This will be our little secret.”

Misty raised her head with a satisfied grin and walked outside.

As they stood eating their ice cream, Alex looked around for their next indoor, AC-filled destination. Toward the end of the mall, he spotted a sign that jumped out at him:
GAMEMASTER
, it read in bright blue letters.

“I think I see an arcade over there,” he said. “How about we go play some games, huh?”

Misty needed little in the way of encouragement. As soon as her eyes landed on the sign, they were off again, jetting toward the storefront, set back from the main shopping complex in a long breezeway. Inside, the arcade was noisy and full of flashing lights. It was a large, open room, stocked full of everything from stuffed-animal crane machines to the newest virtual reality simulators.

“Over here! Let's get some tokens,” Misty called to him, having found the cash machines.

They changed some money, and Misty tried to convince Alex to join her in some dance game that caught her eye. After a few whining pleas, she handed her ice cream over to Alex and hopped onto the machine alone, quickly becoming so engrossed in mimicking the moves on the screen that she hardly noticed Alex was there at all.

The entrance to the arcade swung open as more gamers came inside. Through the open door, Alex heard people shouting in the center of the shopping complex. Immediately he worried that Julie or Titan had picked a fight and were making a scene. He rushed out into the breezeway and jogged toward the commotion.

A tall man rounded the corner running at a full sprint, carrying something bulky under his right arm. He was looking back over his shoulder, completely unaware that Alex was directly in his path.

“Whoa, hey—,” Alex started, but it was too late, and the two of them collided, both tumbling onto the concrete. Alex's shoulder rammed into the brick side of the breezeway, and his and Misty's ice creams splattered on the ground.

“Dude,” Alex said as he began to pick himself up. “Watch where you're going.”

The man lay on the cement, moaning. The parcel he'd been carrying under his arm had been flung several feet away from him. Alex now recognized it as a purse—he'd accidentally run into a bag snatcher. He heard approaching footfalls as a female voice rang out.

“You there! Stop! In the name of . . .”

As the girl attached to the voice ran into the breezeway, Alex's eyes widened. Kirbie.

“. . . justice,” Kirbie whispered. She was dressed in a light T-shirt and shorts, her flip-flops in one hand.

“Oh no,” Alex said.

Kirbie jumped back and took a defensive stance, flexing her arms in front of her as she stared at Alex incredulously. Her features were changing, her nails and fingers beginning to extend as her ears drew back and her eyes became more diamond shaped. She was flirting with transformation, ready to take her wolf form and attack at a moment's notice. She could hear the bystanders whispering to one another.

“Who's that girl?”

“I think she's one of the Junior Rangers.”

“No, no. This girl's just a kid.”

“Well, yeah. That's why they're called
Junior
.”

“I wonder what she can do. Is that boy one of them too?”

Kirbie glanced at the man on the ground, who was still whining, and then brought her attention back to Alex.

“What are you doing here?” she asked. It sounded more like a command than a question.

“What are
you
doing here?” Alex needed to get back to Misty, and find the others to warn them that the Rangers of Justice were in the shopping center. He just needed to figure out a way to get away from Kirbie.

“I was trying to go shopping,” she snapped. “But now I'm chasing bad guys. Making sure people like you don't cause any problems.”

Being compared to the man on the ground was insulting to Alex. They might have both been classified as thieves—even as “bad guys”—but they were leagues apart. A man like the mugger had no dignity, no finesse. As far as Alex was concerned, Kirbie was lumping diamonds with dirt just because they both came from the ground. Still, knowing that she was out shopping meant that Kirbie might be alone, which was all the better for Alex.

“That guy will be up and trying to get away soon,” he said. “You'll probably want to—”

“He just stole a purse,” she countered, her voice low so as not to alarm anyone in earshot. “He didn't rob a bank with his supervillain friends.”

“I wouldn't call them all my
friends
, exactly.” Alex was stalling for time, weighing his options. If she was alone, he might have a chance of defeating her. But using their powers in public was strictly off-limits for the Betas. They risked exposure as Cloak members and incarceration, which would then force the High Council to plan a jailbreak—a tedious and time-consuming annoyance.

“Where are they?” Kirbie asked, realizing the high probability that more Cloak members were lurking around the mall—that the purse snatcher had just been a ruse to lead her into a trap. “Where are your teammates?”

“They aren't here. I swear. I just came for ice cream,” Alex said quickly, gesturing to the sticky mess on the ground beside him where he'd fallen. He didn't want to give her any reason to call in reinforcements.

“Right. Why should I believe anything that comes out of your mouth?”

“Because—”

“Why am I even talking to you? I should just—”