He put his hands up and backed away. Her husband looked up apologetically as Gus turned to give them some privacy.
He finished lining the men up side by side on the beach and started searching them. He found what must have been the leader, who had the keys to the boat in his pocket on a small keychain with a small orange oval of foam that kind of resembled a stress-reliever. He stared at the little toy, which looked to be a flaming carrot.
It seemed so out of place among these men who, by all appearances, were monsters with no redeeming qualities. But they had their own aspirations and most likely broken dreams and lost opportunities.
I know nothing of their history, I just see the end result and make some knee-jerk judgment on how good they are. They are horrible, for sure. But they’re human. Maybe they could be something more if circumstances were different. Gus reflected on his slow descent from good intentions to going with the flow as life beat him down with disappointment after disappointment.
The hypocrisy of judging others by their actions and himself by his intentions was not lost on him as he looked at the swarthy man lying in the sand before him. He pocketed the key, hoping it would buy him some time to figure out what to do with the men. The family couldn’t leave without the key, and he had no idea of what to do—not yet.
Gus sat down on a dune and looked out at the ocean. The waves rolled in, carelessly beating more and more forcefully upon the shore. He would have to make a decision soon.
The women would probably not take too long to clean up, and Gus was sure the father of the family would want to leave as soon as they were done. There appeared no way to win this situation.
Things were cut and dry with the zombies, but there were negative consequences to every decision that he could think of, and the responsibility weighed on him. As he stared at the rhythmic waves, Gus suddenly smelled the scent of cotton candy as he tasted something sweet and grainy, a pear? Lavender dust appeared to drift on the wind currents in front of his eyes.
“What the hell? Am I having a stro—”
“It’s the hybrid-Nth, trying to communicate with us,” Nick interrupted. Sensations alternated between the feeling of coarse fur rubbing against his back, the hollow *tonk* of a wooden wind chime sounding, and the scent of roasted marshmallows, all combined in ways that meant nothing to Gus.
“Well, since you’ve already jumped in, there may be something I can finagle to help you out. The hybrid-Nth have a proposition for you, Gus. They have offered to have some of their number swap places with the Nth that are embedded throughout your system. This will free up a limited amount of Nth,” Nick said haltingly, struggling to translate.
“Okay, what good would that do me?”
“The Nth could be gifted to the pirates—”
“Why would I ever do that!?” Gus pinched his eyes in disgust.
“Just listen. The gifted Nth would be a very limited amount, but they could enter the men’s systems and work their way to their brains. By stimulating dopamine release, it may be possible to rewire the training these men have had throughout their lives, to get them to choose a better path. These Nth would also need to provide negative reinforcement through nausea and dizziness by stimulating the medulla and vestibular systems.”
“Wa-wa-wait. These Nth are what give me my abilities, right? I don’t know if I want to just give them away to these guys. No way. Besides, isn’t that making the choice for them? I thought Nth weren’t supposed to force people to act a certain way.”
“I see you wrestling with the possibility that something happened to these men so that they do not have the normal social mores. Statistically, they most likely have been abused themselves or neglected enough that they failed to develop empathy and appropriate responses to function in healthy ways. This would provide them a functioning feedback system with which to become useful to society in some way.”
Gus thought about it, and the biggest problem with jails and how society typically dealt with criminals, viewing them as irredeemable. If they could change just that aspect of society, what could come of that? Still, he had his own dreams and ambitions with being a super. Was he being selfish? He knew the manor could fabricate more Nth, so that may not be a problem. Plus what changes would come with fusing with hybrid-Nth? Could be great or horrible.
“Why has no one done this already then? Couldn’t the Nth have just made the change and helped humankind from the beginning?”
“We can’t do it of our own volition, but it can be accomplished if we are directed to do it. Our job is not to make the choices, but to facilitate them. We should be, at best, amoral. It is sometimes difficult with our construct’s influence on our personalities weighed against the lifetimes of experience we have seen, with decisions made on countless other planets before yours. But the caveat for you is that you must give away a portion of your own Nth supply to do this. Most supers don’t want to lose even a fraction of their powers.”
“Can you just make more, like at the Foundry?”
“There are limits. Not to mention that fewer and fewer supers know about the Nth to begin with, so there’s that as well. I think you also are unaware that there are very few locations that can synthesize Nth, among other concessions…”
“What’s the catch?” Gus asked flatly, knowing from Nick’s tone there would be a tradeoff.
“Two things. First, the hybrid-Nth can make the swap with your other fused Nth, but you will decrease your available Nth armor capabilities. Second, this upgrade will negate your next Nth evolution you would normally get at level twenty.”
Gus’ heart dropped, remembering all the amazing things that were on that list. It was, on the other hand, probably the best way to make this a win-win situation for all involved. And if he really wanted to walk his talk, it was exactly in line with where he thought he wanted to go as a super.
Gus tried to think about the future. Maybe this would be a way he could really help when he finally got to the mainland. He could stay here and level at his leisure, and get some perks when he hit levels 30 and beyond. There was no rush; he could go when he was ready.
“Make it so,” Gus muttered, accepting the consequences. A stinging sensation prickled throughout his body, followed by a soreness that passed over him, then soon faded.
“Okay, touch them on the cheek.”
Gus noticed his fingertip glimmered in the sunlight like he had swiped it through a broken Etch-a-Sketch. Leaving a smear on each man’s cheek, the mark quickly paled as the Nth worked their way into the skin and began to do their job. Gus felt a pang of loss when they transferred from his consciousness to the men. They were not awake yet, but some were starting to stir when Gus began the transfer. Once the Nth hit their systems, they relaxed as if in deep, but comfortable, sleep.
“Now they just need time. The assimilation process will take one to two days.”
Gus felt sudden fatigue go through him.
“You will be weaker for about the same amount of time. Sorry, I should’ve mentioned that, boss.”
Gus just rolled his eyes. “I guess I’ll just have to go easy on the training a bit then, no big deal.”
Gus went and spoke to the father, explained the situation, and gave him the keys.
The man listened and rubbed his sore, bruised wrists. Gus could tell he just wanted to get home and get on with his life. He did feel indebted to Gus and begged that he be allowed to do something to repay him. Gus asked him simply to not tell anyone about the island and that he had protected the men.
He explained that he had made a big sacrifice to get the men to change and promised that they would confess on their own if the family would just trust Gus. Internally, Gus was not certain of that at all, but he had hopes that would be the eventual result, or would at least give them a chance.
The man nodded silently but looked at his wife, and Gus was uncertain how everything would turn out. He hoped this was a man of honor. He hoped even more that he was one as well.
In no t
ime, they were ready and Gus loaded the men on the ship. He traded their ether ties for real ropes and gags, uncertain how soon they would encounter someone who knew how to use ether in this manner. A half-hour later they were gone.
Gus sat down and watched them sail out of sight. He stared at that spot on the horizon for a long time afterward.
Tension he hadn’t realized he was holding slowly dripped away. He could have killed those men so easily. He had that power, and he had not taken the easy choice. Or did I? Promises he had made on how he would be different if he got powers. Deserving.
So why do I feel so empty?
“Alan, or Cyclone as he insisted he be called after getting his powers, did change. He would barely even talk to me, like I wasn’t even his brother anymore, since I was still just a reg.”
“And you didn’t like that.”
“Who would? But it wasn’t just me. He looked at everyone who wasn’t a super differently. He had this air of superiority, even the way he looked at people. I told myself I wouldn’t act like that when it was my turn. Over time, it just got worse; he didn’t even try to hide his feelings, and he became more and more rude. Later in life, I saw that this wasn’t just something that happened to my brother; a lot of supers treat regs that way. The way the Faction has free reign in the district, it’s not like supers ever get punished for anything they do. That immunity from consequences changes what a lot of people are willing to do.”
Gus stared at the surf for a moment before continuing. “It happened the first week I started work as a henchman, after constant prodding from my father.”
Another window opened in the corner of the display.
“Is it this memory?” Nick asked.
“No, I think it was the third day, after orientation.”
The video sped forward, to that day.
Gus unlocked the door and let the cool air envelop him as he stepped inside. Good. No one is home. He dropped off his pack and helmet, then made his way to his room. He removed his belt and threw it in the corner, then peeled off the form-fitting unitard. The air conditioning felt good against his sweaty skin. He had been on patrol duty on the upper wall of the Purple Faction headquarters. It was high enough and secure enough that there was little risk of attack, but their coordinators were merciless in their drills.
While many of the other trainees grumbled at the mind-numbing work, Gus didn’t mind. Occasionally, he would patrol a section of the wall high above the academy training yards. He would try to guess what abilities the small forms would use to cross the obstacle course. The instructors could generate different scenarios at will, and it was entertaining to watch. Gus could hear the faint cheering and celebration when someone pulled off an especially creative or innovative skill to solve one of the challenges.
He wasn’t supposed to be distracted, but the other henchmen along the wall would snap to attention and signal him to improve his posture and stare ahead or otherwise mask his observation of the supers. The only thing that made it difficult was the heat. Gus didn’t know if the helmets they wore helped or not. At least they resembled a motorcycle helmet and left the face exposed; some supers required full coverage.
They kept sweat from dripping directly from his brows, but at the end of his shift the padded lining felt totally drenched. It wouldn’t take long for the heavy neoprene smell to be replaced with a different, but equally disagreeable, scent. He had been issued five outfits but only one helmet.
Heading to the bathroom, he gave the helmet a thorough rinsing and then took a quick shower. Throwing on some sweats and an old T-shirt, he put his helmet on the porch to dry in the evening sun, then relaxed on the couch. Before he could get settled and find the holo-vid remote, Alan kicked the door open. He had his arm around Tempest and they were laughing and joking.
“You should have seen the looks on their faces, it was priceless.”
“What happened, Alan?” Gus sighed, a little chagrined that he hadn’t had the house to himself for longer.
His brother turned on him, joviality gone. “It’s Cyclone now. Don’t call me Alan.” He poked Gus’ chest with a finger hard enough to leave a bruise. “Got it?”
“Yeah, sure, Cyclone.” Gus coughed.
“That’s more like it, lackey. You know you’re lucky you’re not with Orange, or you might have had some trouble today.”
“Why’s that?”
“Well, yours truly just completed his first mission as a team lead. We infiltrated an Orange outpost and gathered some intel. Too bad they didn’t keep any supers on hand. Some of the henchmen there got some flying lessons…”
“What?”
“The dummies tried to stand their ground instead of retreating. I mean, duh! You’re standing next to a sheer cliff face with only a parapet to protect you. Against supers! What do you expect? Gus, I hope you’re smarter if you ever get a posting like that. Know your place and stay out of the way, or you’ll get what’s coming to you.”
Gus squinted and frowned a bit, looking up at his big brother.
Cyclone rolled his eyes, then held one hand up high and flat. With the other he made a little man out of his first two fingers, kicking as the hand fell then followed by a big raspberry at the end. “Get it?” he punctuated, looking at Gus expectantly.
“Y-yeah, I’ll be careful,” Gus replied, a bit stunned.
“See that you do. I wouldn’t put it past you to lose your head in a real fight.” He turned to the kitchen and strode out. “Man, I’m starving! What do we got to eat?”
Gus glanced at Tempest, who looked proudly at his older son. He turned and looked at Gus. Nothing was spoken, but Gus heard the words echo as if he’d said them again.
Well, it sounds like you learned a valuable lesson, then. Never engage a superior force, especially without the resources to defend your position.
Gus’ tongue probed around the inside of his mouth that was suddenly dry and uncomfortable. Tempest nodded and followed Alan into the kitchen without a word.
“I think that was a big day for me, Nick. I remember how Tempest seemed fine with Cyclone acting as he did. Like it wasn’t a big deal that he had just killed someone doing their job. A job that I could easily be doing! It really rocked my world. I considered getting out of it for a while after that. I spent a lot of time up on the wall that summer, looking down on those supers. Wondering what I would do when I got my opportunity. I got tested again later that year and I still wasn’t a candidate.” Gus shook his hands out to get blood back into them. He had been clenching his fists tighter than he had realized.
“Why did you stay?” Nick asked.
“For one thing, I didn’t really know what I wanted to do. Nothing grabbed my attention, and I knew I would be in training for a bit, so I just stayed with it. It wasn’t hard compared to what I could be doing. And it kept my family off my back, so it was a case of going along to get along. Around the end of that summer, I was playing online with some friends, and we got talking about work. Turned out we all had gone into henchmen jobs, and the others were surprised that I was actually doing the same thing. They suggested that we all apply for a transfer to the same unit after my basic training was over.”
“So they were in training too?”
“No, they had been out for a year, and were all working together already. One of their friends had been promoted and transferred out, and then got busy so he was never online anymore. That’s how they picked me up, to round out the squad after that happened. Everything went through, and we were working together in a matter of months. Being with those guys took a lot of the sting out of the work. Don’t get me wrong, it sucked at times, but we had fun regardless.” Gus stared at the water, interlacing his fingers as he sat there, pensive.
“You weren’t worried about… the dangers of supers attacking?”
“I was at first, but you have to understand these guys. They knew how to work the system. Since none of us were shooting for a big promotion, we didn’t have to take the high-risk po
sitions which usually earned you more merit points, or danger pay. To be honest, I was glad. It was nice just to be me for a change, and let my shields down. And that they were cool with that. Drove Tempest bonkers, because I wasn’t ‘applying myself,’ but I was happy for the first time in a while. I think it was because I began focusing on things I wanted instead of what others wanted me to be doing. Conforming to another person’s expectations. After that day with Cyclone, I didn’t just accept the Purple Faction mindset as undeniably true. That perhaps there was a better way.”
“I hope the others see it the same way. You’ve committed them now, regardless.”
“Yeah, I should let them know. It’s only fair, right?”
Chapter Seven
Tempest
Tempest looked at the display and muttered in disbelief, “How could this happen?” Graviton should have been competent enough to protect his son. “And why did it take three weeks for this report to get to me!?”
Taking a deep breath, he released the volatile emotions that threatened to overtake him. Always dealing with incompetence! Everything I’ve done and now I could have lost them both? Through force of will, he released the tension the anger induced, activating a power that changed his physiology and lowered his blood pressure.
The same control he had built up over the years of refining his abilities had helped him learn the patience, focus, and concentration necessary to lead the Faction with stony determination. The negative impact of strong emotions was something that seemed to always compromise the other supers that he knew, regardless of level.
It was partially how he had maintained his position in the hierarchy. Anyone could challenge another in an attempt to move up the ranks, but the duels were monitored and the rules were rigid.
Tempest had avoided many challenges by maintaining a ruthless persona, resisting the desire to react to the taunts and ignorance of idiots. They probed with their transparent barbs, but nothing struck home, and Tempest revealed no weakness. Maintaining his persona constantly did get exhausting though; the ambitious were relentless. His calm allowed him to avoid snap judgments out of the anger or fear that led to losing battles.
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