Superluminary (Powered Destinies Book 1)

by Olivia Rising

  “I’m sorry I hesitated, Mum,” he murmured.

  Since Leona Steyn’s eyes were fixed on the ceiling, he wasn’t sure if she had even heard him.

  His gaze went to the Bible that was open on the bedside table. It looked like she had requested verses from the Old Testament. He picked it up and read the first verse he came to—Exodus 21:24.

  Eye for eye, tooth for tooth.

  “Is there anything I can do for you, Mum?” Jordan asked, hoping that she would ask for something different today. Something normal. Music would have been nice.

  Her eyes became animated as they turned to him. “You know what I always pray for, Jordan,” the computer voice buzzed.

  He stared down at his hands. “You can’t ask that of me. It’s awful.”

  “If you were in my position, there’s nothing I wouldn’t do for you,” the voice said before falling silent again.

  He stood up and went to the window so that his mother wouldn’t see the tears streaming down his cheeks. A part of him considered leaving the hospital and never coming back so that he would never have to hear her request again, but he knew if he left that he would be running from his responsibility of looking after her. That wasn’t the way she had raised him. She had given up everything to be a mother to him—her parents, her friends, everything. How could he deny her the one thing she ever truly asked of him?

  Jordan turned and reached for the spare pillow in the open cabinet by the door. When their eyes met, he saw moistness shimmering on her dark cheeks.

  “Are you sure?” he asked.

  “Yes,” the dead voice buzzed. “No one will have mercy if not you. Please.”

  Jordan nodded once before crossing the distance to the bed with a few slow mechanical steps that made him feel as if he was wading through the dense fog of a dream.

  “I love you, Mum,” he whispered before pressing the pillow down against her face.

  Catskill Mountains, USA

  Wednesday, the 30th of May 2012

  7:36 p.m.

  Twelve years later

  With great power comes great responsibility.

  The world’s most powerful Evolved was never more aware of his God-given potential than when he dove through the sky, feeling the air respond to his presence and ease his flight. The currents flowed past him, leaving just enough oxygen to fill his lungs. The long silver ribbons attached to his costume streamed behind him, ready to fan out and take the shape of wings.

  He was high above New York’s Catskill Mountains. Clouds parted ahead of him the way the Red Sea had parted for Moses. Down below, vast forests bathed in the golden light of an early summer evening stretched out across thousands of square miles. No matter how many times he traversed this area, he never tired of it. These mountains were a perfect example of the beauty of creation. They were one of the things worth protecting, and, as such, they were his responsibility.

  He dove down, enjoying the tingle of gravity in his stomach as he changed direction mid-dive and slowed his flight. He drew himself to a halt as he spotted a lone tree on a hilltop. It was twisted and blackened, most likely hit by lightning in a recent storm. Now it served no purpose other than to disfigure the landscape.

  He focused his will, feeling the air currents shift and vibrate in anticipation of his command. In an instant the air pressure around him changed, drawing trillions of additional particles from the atmosphere before rushing at the hilltop with the force of a thousand tons.

  He dove down to examine his work. The tree was literally pulverized, surrounded by a hundred feet circle of flattened grass. God’s work is done here, he thought, satisfied. As he increased his altitude again, a pale burst of color on the far edge of the flattened area caught his eye. A cluster of cosmos flowers, their fragile petals fluttering from his impact.

  He hadn’t seen cosmos for over twelve years, when he had brought his mother a bunch of them on the day she passed away. They’re already blooming, he had the urge to tell her. May thirtieth. I’ll write it on the calendar for you.

  He pushed the thought out of his mind. What was the point?

  His childhood in East Cape felt like it was long ago. He had been a boy when people still had hope in Mandela’s successor. The Pulse hadn’t even happened yet, but the world was a different place now. Dangerous, and in need of protection.

  Samael’s protection.

  Samael began his ascent again, secure in the knowledge that he had done the right thing. The tree was already dead, and the blades of grass would rise again before long.

  He had spent the better part of a year by practicing the measured application of his powers. By now he was able to control the wind, even allowing his wing ribbons stream around him while he was on the ground with his attention elsewhere.

  He was about to rise through the cloud cover when his earbud crackled with an incoming message. “Jordan? Are you busy?” Alexandra asked, the quiver in her voice letting him know that she was having one of her bad days. She was fairly good at hiding it, but not good enough. Not from him.

  “No. I’m not busy,” he said into his winged mask’s microphone. “What’s up?”

  “It is nearly the end of the month. I wondered if you were done with your report on Christina’s transition in Seattle,” Alexandra said. “Overseer Vega is curious to know your thoughts about whether the girl is a Guardian.”

  Samael tilted his head as he listened to her voice. He loved how she tried to sound like the perfect professional heroine. More than that, he loved how she struggled to conceal the Overseer’s annoyance with him.

  He suppressed a smile. This wasn’t about the report.

  “I finished it today,” he told her. “I’ll send it to you when I get back to HQ.”

  “Thank you, Samael,” she said in that velvety timbre of hers that didn’t come through often enough.

  If you have feelings for me, say so already.

  “Or I could bring you the print in person,” he added.

  “An electronic copy is sufficient, but I appreciate the offer,” she replied, almost succeeding in controlling her voice.

  She didn’t say no, he noted with satisfaction.

  “I’ll be right there,” he said. Commanding the air molecules around him to form an air tunnel, he shot through the atmosphere to the UNEOA skyscraper at his top traveling speed.

  Two minutes later he landed on his penthouse apartment’s balcony, his wing ribbons fanning out with practiced elegance, sure that Alexandra would be watching. He slid open the glass door and grabbed a pile of papers off his desk, commanding the air around him to propel him to Alexandra’s balcony next door.

  She drew her balcony door open as he landed.

  I knew she would watch for me, he thought, smiling beneath his sheer silver mask.

  She had pulled a long black cardigan over the ankle-length blue dress she wore. Her styled curls cascaded in a graceful disarray around her smooth olive cheeks. She wasn’t wearing any makeup, but that didn’t matter. Her face didn’t require cosmetics to be pretty, not with those stunning dark eyes and their unique mix of confidence and vulnerability.

  Samael didn’t need to glance over her shoulder to know that she was alone. He knew that he would find the sad remains of an abandoned romantic evening if she let him inside. It wouldn’t be the first time.

  Alexandra accepted the outstretched report with one hand and extended a cup with the other. He took it and glanced down at the contents. Milk with water, just the way he liked it.

  “Are you inviting me in, my Queen?” he asked, knowing the answer.

  Instead of responding, she turned and walked into her apartment while leaving the balcony door open behind her. Since he didn’t need an invitation, he let his wing ribbons float to the floor before removing his mask and shoes while following her into the living room. As he expected, there were candles set out on the dining room table which had already burned down to half their size. The two untouched glasses of red wine told him everything else he ne
eded to know.

  “I know what you must think, but Andrey did not stand me up,” Alexandra said in a casual tone, maybe too casual. “He went to investigate the transition in Cambodia.”

  Jordan raised his eyebrows. As far as he knew, that transition was nothing more than a minor case, nothing the local authorities couldn’t deal with. He decided not to comment. She already knew his opinion of Andrey. Their entire team knew, as well as most of the UNEOA’s small assembly.

  He took a sip of his watered milk, as amazed by the taste as he was by her. She was always careful to get the proportions right.

  “So did your boyfriend give you his report on Monsoon yet?” he asked, following her lead and sitting down next to her on the upholstered sofa, mindful to keep at least a foot of space between them.

  “Yes, he delivered it the same day,” she responded. “Yours is the only one which has yet to be filed this month.”

  He waved away her words. “No one pays any attention to those reports.” Recognizing his mistake, he added, “No offense.”

  “That is no longer true,” she told him, pushing the curls out of her eyes. “Now that political debate is increasing in regards to powers, I am sure the Evolved committee will pay much more attention to our reports. Therefore I hope you have given special consideration to your wording. I doubt our reports will remain dormant in the Overseer’s filing cabinet any longer.”

  Debate. Committees. Reports. Why does anyone believe committees are going to save the world? Jordan asked himself. Now that power surges had become a reality, each and every transition had world-ending potential. It wasn’t a question of if, it was a question of when. Heroes were the only authorities with an interest in acting. The international community did nothing except talk, argue, and conjecture about the problem.

  They talked, argued, and conjectured about the evil lurking beneath every shadow and in every household. Evil that spread like some horrible disease. Was he the only one who knew the extermination of evil took a certain kind of conviction? Jordan had known that Andrey was the wrong choice for the job the instant they first met. The Russian shied away from his responsibilities, including his responsibilities to Alexandra. Too much hesitation.

  He doesn’t love you, Alexandra.

  “…at the core, it is about the funding,” she was saying now. “There are plans for villain prisons, but they might be cost prohibitive for obvious reasons.”

  “You already know my thoughts on villain prisons,” he said.

  People don’t change.

  She turned her head to consider him. “Yes, you have mentioned them before,” she said with a hint of that velvety timbre.

  For a moment he thought this would be the day she would give him a signal and break free. His heartbeat sped up, but he managed to keep himself from bringing a hand up to trace her cheek. Over the years he had learned how to wait for the right moment without letting it pass by.

  He had read up on Andrey Luvkov. Not the official files, but additional material he had gotten by calling in a few favors. The man was a hopeless alcoholic who barely managed to contain his temper. It was a shame Alexandra didn’t want to see the truth of the man.

  But I see it, he thought. And the truth is that everyone’s favorite superhero will crack under the pressure any day now.

  When that happened, Alexandra would be his.

  6.1 Emergence

  San Francisco, USA

  Sunday, the 10th of June, 2012

  8:10 p.m.

  The click of the holding cell’s lock sounded all too familiar to Chris’s ears, taking her back to the time after her transition when she was a prisoner. Even though she now found herself on the right side of the locked door, the series of clicks—two faint, one loud—still brought memories of staring at white walls, bored out of her mind.

  These last few hours under lock and key must have been even worse for Nora. Unlike Chris, the Darkshaper was about to face a potential death sentence. The powers in charge had left little doubt about how they felt about her lack of control over her own power, and the political pressure from Canada didn’t help.

  Mr. Black should be on trial, not Nora, Chris wanted to tell somebody, but she didn’t know who would listen to her.

  The two security guards flanking her opened the cell door enough for her to see Nora perched on the cot with her shoulders hunched and her head bowed, her mane of thin black braids concealing her face except for the grim line of her mouth. Because she wore her civilian clothes instead of prison coveralls, the absence of her bulky costume made her appear frail and vulnerable in the windowless room.

  Chris poked her head into the cell. “Hey. Ready to go?”

  At first Nora showed no reaction. Just as Chris wondered whether she should try again, Nora lifted her gaze from the floor while brushing the braids from her dark eyes. “I guess,” she muttered. It took her another few seconds to budge herself off the cot and stand.

  Chris watched Nora step out of the prison cell, racking her brains for something witty and reassuring to say, but nothing came to mind. Nora wasn’t the type to appreciate sympathy anyway.

  The two teenagers moved down the length of the corridor in silence, the guards trailing behind them. At the end of the hallway, they were escorted into the elevator cabin. As they lumbered up to the ground floor, Chris felt her stomach churn. It wasn’t every day she was called to testify against one of her teammates in front of the Covenant heroes.

  The heroes want to neutralize Legion more than anything else, she mused, casting a sideways glance at Nora’s stony face. He’ll be their number one priority to deal with. This doesn’t all have to be about her.

  They bumped to a stop on the ground level, waiting for one of the guards to unlock the security doors with his key card. Nora was the first to step out of the elevator, prompted by a guard at each elbow. Chris stuffed her hands in her hoodie pockets and followed them down the long white corridor, feeling a pang of sympathy at Nora’s guarded body language and her downcast eyes.

  “You okay, Nora?” she tried.

  The Darkshaper gave a short grunt in response.

  She won’t help her case if she can’t speak up for herself, Chris thought. Hopefully they call me in to testify first.

  As four sets of footsteps echoed down the bland gray corridor, she tried to figure out what she should and shouldn’t say to the Covenant heroes. A dozen arguments about why Nora’s life should be spared raced through her mind. She identified the strongest ones, the facts and observations that would give her an early advantage in the negotiation process. If she played her cards right, Nora might be allowed to remain a Warden. The Darkshaper was one of a handful Evolved who could attack Legion while he was underground. That had to count in her favor, right?

  Unless they consider her shadow a more immediate threat than Legion.

  Their concern wasn’t misplaced altogether, she reasoned. Mr. Black was capable of harming a lot of innocent people. Maybe not as much harm as Legion, but would the heroes understand the difference? They hadn’t seen what Chris had seen, hadn’t experienced what she felt through her danger sense. The searing pain. The collective insanity of several conjoined identities, many who had transferred their powers to Legion.

  She wished she knew more about the personalities who would decide Nora’s fate. She had met Athena before, but she had not met any of the other heroes and none of the UNEOA representatives who had the power to preapprove the Covenant’s actions. There was a lot of celebrity-style gossip circulating about the heroes. Some of it might even be true, she supposed.

  Nobody’s that perfect in real life.

  The guards led Nora through the holding facility’s lobby, full of men in uniform sipping coffee and chatting. The chatter died down at the Darkshaper’s presence.

  Real tough job you got there, Chris thought as a portly man holding a donut shuffled over to the reception area to open the ward’s main entrance doors with a push of a button. The sight of all those uniforms m
ade her think of her dad. He hated the stereotypes about policemen and donuts, but that didn’t stop him from cracking corny cop jokes whenever he got the chance.

  Chris shook her dad from her head, following Nora and her escort into the courtyard that the so-called ‘observational confinement’ building shared with the Warden HQ offices. The cool evening breeze teased her face, carrying the scent of Chinese food from a nearby diner. On any other night it would have made her stomach grumble. There was nothing normal about tonight, though.

  Dusk coated the San Francisco skyline in shades of gray. She looked up at the HQ building’s fifth story as she walked along the cement pathway across the courtyard, hoping to catch a glimpse of her other teammates. The communal living room lights were on, but she couldn’t spot any silhouettes through the windows.

  They’re probably watching a movie to get their minds off all of this. She pictured Emily curled up on the couch, munching on cheese crackers while Peter did his best to brighten the mood with funny cartoon hero movies. Anything to inspire optimism.

  Once they reached the HQ building’s front entrance doors, one of the guards turned his back to have his retina read by a security scanner.

  “Thank you,” Nora mumbled as Chris stepped beside her.

  Chris was dumbfounded. “What for?”

  “For trying,” Nora drawled in her heavy New Orleans accent. “I know you’re gonna try to save my ass again, and I appreciate it. Not many others would care.”

  I’m not exactly the best advocate. Chris knew that socializing and cooperating with the authorities weren’t among her strong suits, but she kept those thoughts to herself. “You can thank me when it’s over, if you still want to.”