The Next Chronicle (Book 2): Damage (7 page)

“How's the pain?” Ray asked before taking a sip of coffee. Kovacs, leaning against the passenger door, shrugged marginally.

“It's fine,” he said. “That cute medic biomanipulator, what's her name...Tia, she took a second shot at me after I had a night to rest. I'm aching a little, but nothing I can't ignore.”

Ray smiled. “My last boyfriend was a tough guy, too.”

Kovacs nodded. “Yeah, I read the file.”

Those words pierced the relaxed atmosphere and let the joy drain out of the car. It wasn't that Ray was ever unaware of Ricky's death and the destruction which followed it, but since waking he had begun to come to terms with it. There would never be a time when he didn't feel guilt over the thousands who died in Fairmont, but Ricky at least had not been his fault. He had only recently been able to think about Rick and remember the good without a spike being driven through his chest.

The heavy silence that followed was noticeable. Kovacs glanced away from the building they watched. “Sorry, man,” he said. “I wasn't thinking. That was shitty.”

Ray waved away the apology. “It's not a big deal. I get reminded of what happened twenty times a day.”

Kovacs nodded. “It's easy for the rest of us to forget you're a real person, you know? That Rick was a real person, with hopes and dreams and all that. The world spent so much time turning you into this icon of how dangerous Next can be, it's easy to forget you aren't a story. Which is doubly fucked up since I saw people do the same thing to soldiers when I was in the service, not to mention how much everyone demonized the Iraqis and Afghans.”

Ray fidgeted in his seat, uncomfortable. He knew perfectly well what people thought of him. It had been unavoidable that the agents he worked with knew his real identity, if for no other reason than to stop him should he ever show signs of going critical again. His awakening during the incident with the Maggard boy had not been quiet, at least not among the ranks of field agents.

“They look at me like I'm a nuclear bomb about to blow,” Ray said.

“Does it bother you?” Kovacs asked, eyes glued on the door set into the heavy stone building they were watching.

“Sure,” Ray answered. “Though I totally get it. Hell,
I
worry about it, too. I have way more control now, but I'm just as scared as ever that something will go wrong.”

Their earpieces chimed, the voice of agent Waid—suggested by Kit as their analyst—coming across the secure line clearly. “He's on his way out. At the front door in thirty seconds.”

“You remember your part?” Kovacs asked. Ray nodded.

Archer and Kit had decided against making a scene when sending agents to bring Dave Hammond, the second of Ginny Shane's attackers, to the facility for safe keeping. Kovacs and Ray would have gone after Kevin Gray, the third attacker, had he been in town.

Instead of counting on a large team, it was just the two of them. If James Shane was watching, they would draw far less attention. While Ray and Kovacs both carried pulse guns and traditional firearms, they didn't have to rely solely on them. One of the lesser-used parts of Ray's power set included the ability to manipulate the Surge itself. While he couldn't strip someone of their powers, he had been practicing what he could to—which was to cause chaos. Fritzing the powers of another Next, even for a few seconds, was more difficult than disintegrating things.

So far he hadn't tested it in the field. First time for everything.

They knew the exact moment Hammond would step through the doors and onto the sidewalk, thanks to Waid's stream of constant updates using the interior security cameras in the building. Ray and Kovacs were already out of the car and making their way casually toward the door.

“Glad we didn't have to wait all day for him,” Ray muttered.

“That was me,” Waid said. “I...let's just say I spooked him into leaving.”

Kovacs shook his head, smiling. A second later they had caught up with Hammond, bracketing him as he walked.

“Sir, we're from the OSA,” Ray said evenly. “We need you to turn around and get in our car. You're coming with us.”

Hammond stopped, fear on his face along with dawning anger. “I don't think so,” he said. “You can't arrest me. I'm not one of those freaks.”

Ray didn't even bristle at being called a freak, of course. On the long list of things people could and did say about him, it was easily the most tame.

Kovacs lost his trademark cool, however, which caught Ray off guard.

“First off,” Kovacs said, “we
can
arrest you. You might recall the more anti-Next authors of the McDonnell act made sure to give the OSA broad powers. Second, you probably want us to take you in, because we're trying to save your racist ass. If you want to keep breathing, you should come with us. No skin off my back if you want to die, though.”

A slow flush crawled up Hammond's face. Before things could get out of hand, Ray stepped in front of both men. If one of them was going to throw a punch, at least he'd have a shot at getting between them.

“Mr. Hammond, I understand you're confused and upset, but you really are in danger. Someone is targeting the men accused of attacking Ginny Shane. One of you has already been killed.”

Hammond's eyes widened in shock. “Who?”

“Robert Lile,” Kovacs answered.

Hammond looked around the empty sidewalk with the startled disbelief of a predator suddenly realizing it has become prey. “O-okay,” he stammered. “Let's get out of here.”

The three of them turned as one toward the car, and found the sidewalk no longer empty.

James Shane glared at them.

In the split-second look Ray managed, his brain lined up the reality with the dossier. The man was tall and thin, with short dark hair, light brown eyes, and several days of growth along his jaw. Though the weather was far from balmy, Shane wore no coat, showing the tattoos covering his neck and arms all the way to the first joint of his fingers.

Before Ray could do more than register Shane's appearance the man vanished. Kovacs threw his elbow back in a powerful strike, followed by a meaty crack.

Ray spun to find James Shane stumbling back, clutching his face as blood gushed from an obviously broken nose. The guy was tough, Ray noted, regaining his footing within a few seconds and lunging for Hammond, who was only partially blocked by the two agents.

The sidewalk beneath Shane's feet crumbled into dust, a circle just wide enough to surround both feet. The tall man stumbled again, but vanished before he could hit the ground.

Reappearing a few paces away, Ray was ready. He flexed whatever mental muscle allowed him to alter the flow of the Surge, squeezing with everything he had. Completely outside his control, his Surge Vision switched on. The world flipped into shades of green. Gone were the calm, smooth tones, however. Now a ring not unlike an explosion's blast wave emanated from Ray, spreading in every direction.

James Shane burned like a star in Ray's eyes, a green so pale it was nearly white. When the ring of disturbance washed over him, the smooth brightness trembled. It grew too bright to see for a moment, then faded back. Another wave crashed against him—Ray hadn't let up—and the process repeated.

Central to the plan was the fact that Ray could make it harder for Next to use the Surge energy fueling their powers. For most Next, this wasn't a game-changer. Teleporters, however, manipulated oceans of raw energy. It required precise control to manage to teleport at all, much less avoid sending themselves to the top of a mountain, bottom of an ocean, or inside solid matter by accident.

Kovacs pulled and raised his pulse gun with a smooth speed Ray would have called superhuman had he not been looking at the man with his enhanced vision. There was no trace of Surge about him, of course; the man was just that good.

James Shane reacted quickly, already diving to the side as the tight beam of electromagnetic energy cut an invisible channel through the place he had been standing. Shane rolled, coming to his feet with practiced ease, and used every inch of his long legs to run away.

Ray raised a hand to create another hole in the ground, but before he could manage, James Shane popped away again.

He throttled back, letting his powers drop to a loud hum running through his body instead of the aching growl they had been amped up to. His vision returned to normal, though he kept his back to Hammond as he searched the area for their attacker. After a minute, it became clear Shane wasn't coming back.

“Get to the car,” Kovacs barked, pulse gun raised.

Hammond needed no cajoling to cooperate. It seemed the sudden appearance of a vengeful and powerful enemy who could literally come from out of nowhere had convinced him to go with the agents. Ray kept a hand on Hammond's elbow, his grip tight enough to bruise. The briefing just before this assignment had been clear in explaining that so long as someone was in physical contact with the man, Shane would have to take them both.

Ray tried not to think about how badly that could end. The world was big place, full of terrifying locales. In the blink of an eye, Ray knew he could end up in any number of awful places. The lip of an active volcano. The edge of Niagara Falls. Kansas, even.

He toppled into the back seat with Hammond, yanking the seat belt on as Kovacs rushed into the driver's seat and sent the car lurching forward. There was safety in being a moving target, both because it allowed Ray to keep an eye out for bursts of Surge energy that might signal Shane's arrival, and because it made the job that much easier. Teleporters might be able to travel anywhere in the blink of an eye, but aiming yourself into the cabin of a moving car was asking for disaster.

At no point during the nerve-wracking drive to the protection of the facility did Ray let his guard down. Training took over, forcing him to be aware of his surroundings and alert for any intrusion. None came.

In due course they made it to safety, the car rolling into the large garage situated next to the lone office structure sitting in the giant field that had been Fairmont. Ray stood watch as Kovacs hurried Hammond toward the elevator nestled in the corner. He heard Kovacs slap the button, the door thud as it closed, and the machinery engage. If what they knew about teleportation was true, Hammond would be safe from James Shane now. Or at least as safe as he could be.

Ray ambled through the massive front door of the garage and walked toward the office, though he came up short when he saw his boss kicking the crap out of someone.

John Franklin sailed through the air yet again, and Kit found herself impressed against her will. Not with herself, as she was practiced in taking down people far more powerful than her. And not with John's technique, though he was a quick learner and didn't make the same mistake twice. No, it was for the boy's self-control. Though she had seen anger and embarrassment eating at the edges of his face, he had managed to keep himself in check. No lashing out, no shouted curses. If anything, his concentration got better as the exercise continued.

“Last time,” Kit said, waving her pulse gun in a lazy circle.

John wasted no time, moving toward her in a tightening spiral. He had learned not to attack directly. In an hour he went from doing his best impression of a human cannonball to circling his enemy and watching for an opening. Kit didn't let the satisfied smile take root on her face, but she felt it trying.

Kit's foot caught on an uneven clump of ground. The tiny misstep didn't cause her to fall—in fact she caught herself immediately—but the stutter in her step was all the opening John needed.

The boy launched himself forward, but with control. Instead of trying to barrel into her, he slowed at the last second, sliding the last few feet. It was a good use of his abilities; fast and strong without overdoing it. The wind whistled around his arm as he struck out with a punch.

Unfortunately for him, Kit no longer occupied that space.

As she dropped to the ground, the pulse gun thrummed. This time it was dialed up to full strength, the electromagnetic pulse washing over John with enough intensity to visibly cause his hair to stand on end.

Then Kit kicked him.

John didn't fly this time. She had pulled the kick, giving it perhaps a tenth of what she was capable of, if not less. John's face turned crimson, a shocked and pained expression on it. He toppled over with hands clenched to his middle, and curled into a ball on the ground.

Kit hauled herself to a sitting position next to him, legs bent into lotus. She watched in fascination as the scrambling effect of the EMP wore off. John's skin seemed to tighten as his protective energy field reasserted itself. The pain in his eyes began to fade, though it didn't disappear completely.

“I know the last thing you want to hear right now is me giving you some lesson like a badly written mentor in a martial arts movie,” she said as the young man regained control of himself. “I want you to know how proud I am of you. You're learning to use your powers faster and better than I could have hoped. That's why I ended today's lesson this way. Most people wouldn't consider it an advantage to be able to feel pain, but my own training was the better for it. I never had the level of ability you do, the comfort of being able to endure almost anything. I always knew I could be hurt.”

John didn't seem especially interested in what she was saying. Kit briefly wondered if she'd kicked too hard.

“I guess what I'm saying is that I want you to learn to use what you have, to be comfortable with your powers. That's important, because you've spent most of your life without them. You need to be able to get through your day without accidentally tearing off door handles or breaking someone's hand when you go to shake it. The other side of that coin is that you can't rely on your powers, kid. Not solely. With people like you, it's easy to forget you can still be hurt. All it takes is getting hit with something like my gun here and you're back to being as vulnerable as anyone else.”

Kit saw the logic of it work through his brain. The tinge of anger tightening the corners of his mouth faded, replaced with thoughtfulness.

“I hadn't thought of it that way,” he finally said. “I get why you had to make me realize it, but did my education have to be so painful?”

Kit stood, offering a hand. Pulling him to his feet, she met his eyes. “You're lucky. I've seen others get broken bones to drive the lesson home. Nothing teaches caution like two months of agony every time you breathe because of a few cracked ribs.”

John nodded in hasty agreement.

“Beating up little kids? Isn't that a little below you?” Ray asked as he approached the group.

Kit raised an eyebrow at him. “Is that a short joke? Because I just proved I can kick the crap out of people much stronger than me.”

Ray put up his hands in surrender. “I'd never dream of making fun of your height. I can't believe you think so little of me.”

She raised a fist and shook it at him mockingly. “Just for that, you get none of our lunch.”

Peep, who had been watching the lesson and letting out the occasional worried noise, had set out an excellent spread. John groaned slightly as he settled on the edge of the blanket. Kit plopped down next to him, while Ray remained standing with hands in pockets.

“I assume the retrieval went well,” Kit said as she loaded a plate with deviled eggs, ham, and mashed potatoes. John stared at the pile of food, though Kit had mentioned her caloric requirements to him before.

“Yeah, Kovacs is getting him settled now,” Ray answered. “I'm sure one of the analysts would have let you know if we'd lost the guy.”

Kit cocked her head slightly as she chewed on a mouthful of food. The news was good, but there was something off in his voice. She hurriedly downed her bite and looked at Ray. “There's more,” she said. “You're worried about something.”

Ray grimaced, eyes darting around. It took Kit a moment to realize he was scanning for threats. Shane must have scared the shit out of him.

“Our briefing was wrong,” he said. “Or at least it wasn't fully accurate. We were told teleporters need time to recharge, but Shane didn't. He seems to be able to pop in and out as fast as he can gather up his concentration. I think we got lucky, if I'm being honest. We caught him off guard. Next time, he's going to be prepared. Two agents won't be enough.”

Kit considered that as she popped a deviled egg into her mouth. It was true enough; any Next who could  make the fabric of space/time his bitch was dangerous. James Shane had apparently grown in power—or had hidden the range of his abilities during his tests—to the point where their information about him had to be considered suspect.

“Head in and let Archer know,” Kit said, jerking her head toward the employee's entrance. “Tell him I'll be in shortly, and to have Waid put together everything he can on Shane's abilities. I want the notes from the people testing him, anything that might help.”

“Sure,” Ray said before jogging off. Kit frowned as she ate. Worry or no, the workout had given her a mighty appetite, and experience had taught her not to ignore it.

“Sounds bad,” Peep said a little while later, breaking the silence. “Do you think you'll be able to catch him?”

Kit was aware of John watching her with interest. He hadn't made a secret of his desire to do something with his powers, whether it was joining the OSA or some other avenue. Like any teenager, his opinion on what his future should be changed with the wind. He had hinted more than once that the OSA, specifically working for Kit, was a serious option.

“One way or another,” Kit said. “Though we might have to rethink how we do it if he doesn't have to take time to juice up his batteries.”

They chatted for a few minutes more, though Kit was mostly silent as she wolfed down a frightening amount of food. Her comments came in fits and bursts between hurried bites. The thing about being in charge was that, at the end of the day, you were the one held responsible. Which meant you had to cut short lunches, ignore friends, and decide where to spend your time and energy. Even if it meant shirking duties like mentoring.

The good news, Kit thought as she said her goodbyes a quarter hour later, was that James Shane didn't pose the threat Thomas Maggard had. He was not a broken child capable of murdering thousands of people at a time. The bad news?

He was an adult who knew exactly what he was doing, and that made him much harder to catch.

An hour later, Kit sat at the head of a huge and gleaming conference table. The room occupied the far end of the office's second floor, a mirror image of Archer and Kit's offices but without a dividing wall. It was rarely used, as the directors were the sort to check in with their departments often and thoroughly enough not to need meetings to catch up.

This meeting was of a different sort; it was that rare occasion when a strategy needed to be worked out beyond Kit and Archer simply giving orders.

They sat at one end of the massive table, with Archer, Nunez, and Ray on one side. Kovacs, Deakins, and Waid sat on the other, with Kit sitting at the head. Waid was rapidly tapping and dragging his fingers across an over-sized tablet computer. Everyone else quieted as Kit leaned forward and laced her fingers together.

“You've all read the message I sent out a little while ago,” Kit said, referring to an email she had written briefly outlining Hammond's retrieval. “Ray and Dan here agree that we need to mount a better-staffed effort to bring James Shane in. Being able to teleport with only a slight delay changes things.”

“It'll obviously be tough to grab him,” Archer said. “We'll have to keep him still long enough to lock him down with an EMP.”

Nunez cleared his throat. “As to that, we have new prototypes which may be of use. A few of our engineers have been working on several new projectiles that seem ideal.”

“Waid?” Kit said, nodding at the analyst.

“On it,” Waid said. “I'll have the specs in a minute.”

Nunez seemed surprised by this, but said nothing. Waid had proven himself expert at finding any and all information as needed, but Kit felt no need to explain.

“We have the manpower,” Deakins said in her deep voice. “Between the freelancers we've taken on from Louisville and our trainees, there are plenty of bodies to go around.”

“I don't think we should use any trainees on this one,” Archer said.

Kit shook her head. “I disagree. They're going to have to get in the field eventually. Face danger. I'd rather it be someone like James Shane, who doesn't have an offensive power, than a Next capable of killing them with a thought or taking over their minds.”

Archer mulled this over, then nodded. “Makes sense, but we'll use them as support staff. Fair?”

Kit smirked. “I wasn't planning to make them part of the tactical unit, you know.”

“Agent Waid passed along the files he dug up on Shane,” Nunez said. “I read them just before we sat down.”

Waid looked up, confused. “That was something like fifty pages.”

Nunez smiled. “I am a very fast reader.” His expression became somber. “One fact we missed before, though thankfully it didn't cause any problems so far, is that our man isn't just a teleporter. He's a touch teleporter.”

Archer and Deakins grimaced, but the rest of the faces at the table registered no reaction.

“Explain, please,” Kit said.

“For most people with the ability,” Nunez said, “teleporting anything or anyone requires them to travel along. Touch teleporters are able to stay where they are, but send people and other matter somewhere else. All they have to do is touch their target. It is a remarkably useful ability in combat.”

Kit groaned. “Which means we won't be able to touch him.”

“Not without first disabling his ability,” Nunez agreed.

Which set off a long, winding discussion about how exactly to do that. Nunez pushed for technological solutions, as Kit knew he would. Deakins crafted reasonable arguments for using tactics based on the abilities and judgment of their agents, as she always did. Archer abstained from putting in his own thoughts, instead deciding to point out flaws and weak spots in what others said.

Waid was essentially tech support in this meeting, and wisely kept his head down save to answer questions. Kovacs and Ray put in their two cents where possible, and they were the ones Kit gave the most attention to. Field agents were the boots on the ground for the OSA. Their perspective mattered to her a great deal, a lesson she had learned as a field operative at Helix.

Once the discussion began to wind down, they had a loose plan in place. Kit would work with everyone to finalize it, but there was a key variable they simply had to work around, one they couldn't change.

“When is Kevin Gray coming back?” Kit asked Waid. Having been assigned to her full-time, he was aware of every detail of the case. More than she was, actually, since he was the researcher who fed Kit information.

“Three days, according to his employer,” Waid said without hesitation. “I checked his flight reservation a few hours ago, and it hasn't changed.”

“There you go,” Kit said to the group. “We've got three days to figure out how to capture James Shane. Let's get to work.”