“Epic, tell whoever it is to go away.”
I’ve been up since four am, and I’m pretty sure it’s approaching ten pm. I don’t know because my head is stuffed inside the chest piece of my armor. I had a stroke of brilliance this morning and I’ve been working on it ever since. The key is my kinetic shield and it’s housed inside my chest piece. I already begged off my patrol for the day and I want to finish this.
The door chimes again.
“Fine, open,” I say.
I don’t think anyone else in the building has voice-activated controls, but it sure helps with being in a wheelchair. I hear the door slide open and large booted feet walk in.
Crud. I’m in my sweatpants and a tank top, laying on the floor with my upper body firmly ensconced in the armor.
“Amelia! Are you okay?” Luke asks as I hear him run to me.
Of course he thinks I’m hurt. How could I possibly be out of my wheelchair unless I was hurt? I bite my tongue—hard—and count to five. It’s difficult to say the least, when people think you are incapable of even the most mundane things.
“I’m fine. I had a really cool idea on something and I wanted to try it out.”
“At eight in the morning?”
I hit my head on the upper oscillator.
“What?”
“Yeah, I was coming in to go over your patrol assignment for the day and…”
I slide out from under the titanium—tungsten carbide armor. The chest piece weighs about seventy-five pounds and is by far the heaviest piece.
“No kidding? Epic, open the blinds.”
Sunshine streams in as they pull apart. I feel it now. With the fever of my work interrupted a deep weariness comes over me.
“Considering your armor is in about seven different pieces I think we can beg off the patrols until after you get some sleep.”
“Actually,” I say as I yawn, “what I really need is some breakfast.”
His eyes light up unexpectedly and for a moment I can see the man and not the Marine.
“The mes—restaurant down below is five stars. Would you like to go?”
My stomach growls and answers the question for me. I can’t believe I spent all day and night installing a second kinetic shield emitter. Talk about lost in time. Now that I know, I can feel the twenty-four hours without sleep settle on me. My wheelchair is on the other side of the room and I gesture to Luke. Without hesitating he reaches down and slides his arms under me and picks me up like a twig. Okay, I know I don’t weigh a ton, one-fifty sopping wet, but I still open my mouth a little when his arms heave me up and it isn’t even a strain for him. They’re warm and comforting and I can’t help but drape my own around his neck. God, he’s got lines to die for. Not to mention there is something incredibly—sexy—about a man who can lift me so effortlessly.
We get about halfway to my chair when he’s overcome with embarrassment, he goes all stiff and his face turns red. I smile. It’s nice to be the one not awkward for a change.
“Sorry,” he mutters as he sits me down in the chair.
“Don’t be, it was unexpected, but I don’t mind a little assistance now and then. Give me a minute to change and we’ll go.”
I spin around and do a wheelie down the little ramp and through the doorway to my limited living space.
I keep all my clothes in drawers low enough for me to access. Everything gets folded; no hangers for me. In my old place, I had plastic bins, but Kate updated everything for me. I can’t say I dress quickly, but it only takes me a few minutes to switch out. I decide to leave my synthsuit here. I wouldn’t put it past those dirtbags in the science division to scan it while I was out of armor. I can’t imagine them trying to steal it from here, but with my alarms, the remaining two members would be on them in seconds.
I roll back in and Luke is examining the suit. I would be concerned if I thought he understood any of it. He also helped save my life so my concern about him being involved with the conspiracy is less than it was. Not zero, but less.
“I’m no scientist, but this,” he waves his hand at the suit, “Amelia, how is this even possible?”
“Says the guy who can bench press a truck.”
He shrugs. “It’s a lot easier to accept super-powers. They’ve been around since 1903. They defy science, sure, but they have their own rules. This,” he gestures at my suit, “I did some poking around on the Internet, this isn’t possible.”
“Not that I’m comparing myself to him, but I’m pretty sure Newton heard the same thing. Mind pushing?”
He stands up and moves behind me. For such a big guy he sure has a gentle touch. We walk to the elevator in silence. It opens as soon as we get there and he pushes me inside and presses the special button.
I really hate this part. The lift shakes and I feel the energy wave pass over me. The lift suddenly runs smooth and picks up speed. I wonder, is the whole lift teleported? If so, what happens to the one back at the building. If it isn’t teleported, could someone be brought in only to materialize in an empty elevator shaft and plummet to their death? Suddenly I want my armor on like crazy.
The silence drags on too long and I have to say something.
“I think every kid hopes she tests positive. I’m sure they all line up in the 9th grade and eagerly give blood to know. The truth for me is the opposite. I don’t care about powers or wealth. I have—goals. I’m driven. I’m very much my father’s daughter.”
“If he’s anything like you I would love to meet him someday.”
Me and my big mouth. I can feel the tears coming and I bite my lip. The pain helps a little.
“Can we change the subject?” I don’t how to ask him without sounding harsh. He stiffens beside me and nods.
“Sure. Anyway, you should know Cat-7 has requested, repeatedly I might add, to send a tech up to examine your armor.”
I open my mouth to yell, but the expression on my face must have clued him in because he rushes to speak.
“I told them no. If you want them, you will invite them. They have no authority in our building anyway.”
I try to stifle my anger; it helps he defended me.
“You should know, if anyone tries to touch the armor while I’m not in it they are going to have a very, very bad last day.”
“You really don’t want it out, do you?”
The door opens and the aroma of food hits me like a brick, and suddenly my mouth is watering.
“Nope, and it never will be,” I look up to him, “I’m the only person in the world who knows how to make it. Once I perfected the process I memorized it, wiped all my computers, destroyed every note. Trust me, no one is ever going to figure out how I did it. Ever.”
I’m speaking more for Cat-7, who I know is listening, than Luke.
“Now, bacon and eggs, pronto.”
I jerk my head behind me so he knows to push me out. He obediently pushes me into the underground HQ. It’s really quite amazing. They have enough supplies here to feed and house the fifty or so superheroes on the west coast. A map on the wall shows four such bases in the US. Portland, where we are, North Dakota, presumably in the same location as the UltraMax, Miami, and Washington DC.
He wheels me through to the café; it smells delicious. There are plenty of tables with nice linens and flowers. The ceiling is a little higher to make it feel less claustrophobic. Currently, there are a half-dozen costumed heroes eating here, in groups of two and three. I don’t recognize any of them, but one.
The Protector.
He’s probably the most well-known superhero in the world. His costume looks like he stepped out of a Greek epic, with its bronze alloy and plumed helmet. Currently, he’s sitting in the corner eating a stack of pancakes and reading a book. As if he can’t bench press a tank.
“Luke,” he waves at us as we go in.
I’m not a fangirl, per se, but the Protector… I won’t deny having a poster of him. I remember when he pulled a sinking cruise ship onto a beach. He’s one of t
he world’s strongest F5’s.
“You know him?” I ask.
“Yeah, when I was on the New York team we worked together a few times. He’s a nice enough guy. Kind of bookish.”
He says that like it’s a bad thing.
Luke parks me at a table after moving the chair and sits down across from me. The menus are pretty standard; I already know what I want. He surprises me by taking his time.
A few minutes later I’m sipping my orange juice and he’s working on a cup of flavored coffee. I can smell the vanilla from across the table.
“Can I ask a question?”
“Sure,” I say between sips.
“I mean no disrespect by this, but Amelia, you literally could do and can do anything you want. Why be a superhero?”
It’s a good question for someone to ask. The truth is, I don’t want to be a superhero. I can’t tell him that, certainly not down here where our conversations are most assuredly being listened too. Our food arrives, buying me a few moments. The eggs, bacon, and potatoes on my plate are cooked to perfection. Luke’s stack of pancakes looks like it stepped out of a commercial.
He dives right in, slicing his fork through a pool of butter and syrup. I pick at my fluffy eggs for a moment, watching him eat. I know he works out, even though I’m pretty sure his physical strength has little to do with his muscles. How can he eat a stack of pancakes and still have a six-pack?
“I don’t really see myself as a superhero I guess. I had a hard time with the codename even.”
“Then why do it?” he asks around a mouthful.
Can I tell him the real reason? Since Las Vegas, he has been kind and considerate toward me, but does that mean I can trust him? Maybe, maybe not. Certainly not here.
“I like to invent things,” It isn’t a lie… mostly, “I don’t necessarily want to sell them. A lot of inventors in the past have made things and ran out to the world and said look at what I made!”
“Is there anything wrong with that?” he asks.
I pop a couple of crunchy potatoes covered in ketchup in my mouth and follow them with a sip of OJ.
“No, not inherently. Other than a lack of practical thinking.”
“I don’t follow?”
“Too many inventors are in such a rush to share their ‘genius’ with the world, they forget they live in the world,” I say.
He still looks confused. God bless his naivete.
“Alfred Nobel felt so guilty for creating dynamite, he used his fortune to create the Nobel peace prize. He thought his creation would stop war since nobody in their right mind would actually use dynamite. Robert Oppenheimer, when he invented the nuclear bomb to end World War Two, said upon seeing it tested, ‘I have become death, the destroyer of worlds.’ Luke, they lived in a crazy world. Japanese super soldiers were sinking ships with laser vision, the Luftwaffe was populated by officers who could fly without planes—he had a good reason for making a weapon powerful enough that even superpowers couldn’t stop it. Now, you have to ask yourself, is the world a better place for having dynamite and nukes?”
I could see him actually giving this some thought. He is full of surprises. I kick myself for just thinking of him as a ‘dumb’ Marine. Sure he’s not me, but then again, who is?
“I would say better, ultimately.”
“Possibly, we could argue that. However, I know this. If the world had access to my tech, people would die and it would be my fault. Can you imagine a tank made of my armor? Rifles firing my particle beam tech? I can. I can see it all. In the right hands, maybe it can do some good. If I let it get in the wrong hands, it will most certainly do evil.”
He nods and eats his food for a moment. I didn’t mean for things to be intense. I get that way when I’m talking about my work. I’m glad I didn’t slip up and tell him why I’m really here.
“I’m sorry about the way I treated you before,” he says suddenly. “A few years ago we were in a joint action with the California team. They let anyone on their teams there. It’s very…celebrity oriented.”
I raise an eyebrow at that, “I thought the feds determined the regs for teams?”
He shakes his head, “Not all of them. But, yeah, a few. In Cali their team is also a reality show, I’m sure you’ve heard of it.”
Everyone has. It’s the highest rated show in the country. I don’t watch it, but a lot of people do.
“They had this girl on their team. An archer,” he says.
His eyes unfocus and he gets this faraway look. I finish off the last of my breakfast and push the plate aside.
“She was a real nice girl, sweet, smart, super-talented. She had been in a couple of fantasy movies about an archer and this was the studio’s way of promoting it.”
Uh oh, yeah, I think I remember this now.
“Anyways, we’re fighting this super-powered gang. They use their powers to run drugs, sex trafficking, stuff like that. Mostly they’re unregulated because they never come forward when their powers express. I was part of the team who had been asked to keep an eye on her. The fight was chaotic. Some of these guys shot energy beams from their eyes, they were serious. The fight lasted a good hour. When it was done the gang ran for it, disappearing in a hundred different directions. She was missing, though.”
I’ve never seen him with glassy eyes—like he was about to cry.
“What happened?” I whisper.
“They ended up finding her in Russia a few weeks later—after the videos came out. It was…awful. She had no way to defend herself and had no business being on a team. As far as I know, she still lives in a psychiatric home. This is why I am against people without powers joining the team. It’s why my first reaction to you was so negative. For that, I’m sorry.”
“Oh Luke,” I reach across the table and put my hand on his and squeeze.
“No wonder. I would have too.”
He smiles at me and we sit there. I look into his eyes and I feel a buzz in my mind, an excitement I’ve never really felt. With conviction I didn’t know possible, I realize he feels the same way.
20
The last piece of my armor snaps into place with a click. I glance up at the status monitor, integrity checked in at one-hundred percent.
“Okay, Epic, start a systems check and see if the new modifications are going to work.”
“Geez, niña, you make the superhero team and you still work all the time!” A familiar voice says from the door.
“Carlos!”
I let out a squeal as I spin around. I hate when I do that, but I am excited to see him. It’s been a few weeks. I roll over to him and he bends down to give me a hug.
“Is…uh, you-know-who here?”
“You mean Domino?” I say casually as if I don’t know why he’s asking.
“Yeah, I thought I would say ‘hi’ and stuff. Thank her for the keycard,” he waves it in the air. It’s black, with the Diamondback logo on it; a gold triangular snake with the seal of Arizona behind it.
I smile, wheel around and roll over to the workshop, “It’s pretty late, I don’t think she’s around. However, I could text her and have her come by…”
“Nah, it’s cool. Besides, I’ll be too busy kicking your butt. Where’s the Xbox?”
Three hours, four cokes, and a pizza later and the problems of my life fade away. Having Carlos around buoy’s my spirits. I put the controller down and stifle a yawn. Despite my usual adeptness at shooters, I’m feeling my tired today.
“Okay, amigo, I’m going to let you have this one. I have to hit the sack.”
I wheel up the ramp. Across from my room is the bathroom, which are at the far end of my workshop.
“You mind if I crash here? It’s awful late and the buses don’t run often.”
“If you don’t mind sleeping on the couch in the workshop,” I say.
I run the water for a minute and splash it onto my face. It feels good to have the cold water. I grab a rag and scrub my skin.
“Uh, Amelia…” C
arlos says from the workshop.
His voice sounds weird, like he’s scared. I roll out of the bathroom and freeze. Vixen has her hands around Carlos’ neck, her claws tickling his jugular. Two men, dressed in skin-tight black suits and masks, flank her.
“A frigging cripple? You got to be kidding me,” she growls.
I hate that word. I may be impaired, but I am hardly crippled. I glance at my screen. Usually Epic has my armor diagnostics displayed there; it’s blank. Why didn’t my security systems keep them out? A million questions scream through my head. I don’t have time to answer any of them.
“Don’t try anything stupid, girl, or I slice lover boy’s throat wide open.”
Carlos’ face is white as a sheet. I’ve got to do something. The suits the two men wear aren’t for decoration—they’re some form of stealth suit or something.
“Two, get the armor,” Vixen orders. As he turns I can see he’s carrying a pistol that looks an awful lot like a compact version of the plasma rifles. Same tech. Who are these guys?
“Listen, Vixen, let Carlos go. You can walk out of here with whatever you want. Obviously, I can’t stop you, and he doesn’t have any powers. You don’t need to hurt him.”
She smiles, her canines were either elongated when she expressed, or she filed them herself.
“Oh honey, I can take whatever I want, I don’t need your permission. You being disabled is icing on the cake—”
The goon she called ‘Two,’ touches the control panel I keep on the side of my suit storage. Electricity snaps like a bullet and he screams as two hundred milliamps course through him into the plate on the floor. His body seizes and he collapses as the current runs its course.
“Oops,” I say.
I have no sympathy for murderers and thieves.
“Cute,” Vixen says.
She swings Carlos over to her remaining henchman and lunges at me. There’s no contest—I’m in my chair, she’s who she is. The wind is knocked out of me as she punches my stomach. She grabs my hair and jerks me forward, pulling me out of my wheelchair to fall on the ground.
“Leave her alone,” Carlos screams.
“In case you think someone is coming, or perhaps an alarm has gone out, think again. My associate here,” she points at the faceless man holding my friend, “assures me there is a dampening field around the building. No communications, in or out.”
Full Metal Superhero Box Set [Books 1-6] Page 10