The Guardians Omnibus

by Damien Benoit-Ledoux

  Mr. St. Germain chuckled. “Unfortunately, I can’t. You said you had a bunch of new information to share; what did you learn from Blake?”

  Quinn repeated what Blake had told him about Mother Superior and her plans to create a super-powered army of warriors to carry out their agenda by executing an experimental reactor recharging process at the Orgonon facility. He also told him about speaking with Camilla Brenhurst and sharing his side of the story.

  “Well, you guys were right about this not being a believable story, like at all. The weird use of religious titles makes it seem even crazier!”

  “What do I do?”

  “What Blake asked you to do. Help him stop Mother Superior, at least for now. There’s nothing to stop them from doing this elsewhere, so we’ll have to watch the weather patterns for clues if they try to do this at one of their other facilities. But watch your back, Quinn. There’s no guarantee anything Blake told you is true; for all we know, Victor’s feeding Blake a ton of believable horse shit. It seems Blake is so eager to break with his current life that he's going to do whatever he can to get away from his life here in Portsmouth. But be careful, worst case, this is a trap to get both of you up there.”

  “I dunno, you might be right. Blake trusts Victor a lot, especially since he apparently disagrees with Mother Superior. But more importantly, how do we stop them from carrying out their…evil plan?” He chuckled at his last words.

  Mr. St. Germain smiled. “If the reactor is the key to the entire operation, then that’s what you have to take out. It wouldn’t hurt to wipe out the Cloudbusters and the collection arrays on the surface if you can. Tell me again what the inside of the chamber looks like?”

  Quinn described the large octagonal chamber, the arrays at the top, the eight energy conduits that ran to the energy storage area under the reactor, and the hexagonal plating that lined its walls.

  “Okay, let me think.” Mr. St. Germain brought his left arm across his stomach and stroked his beard with his right hand. He walked in a small circle as he spoke. “You said the chamber converts the energy it collects from the surface?”

  “Yup, that's how they explained it to me.”

  “I think you have a few options. One way to foil the entire operation would be to sever the cables between the surface devices and the chamber. Of course, they can always fix those once they figure out what you did. Oh, I know! Like, in the X-Men movie, you could always rearrange it like Magneto did to Cerebro.”

  “I’m not sure I remember that scene…”

  “It’s the second movie, X-Men United. Anyway, there’s a scene where Magneto rearranges the rectangular metal plates in Cerebro—a big, underground chamber created for Professor Xavier. At any rate, when Xavier tries to use Cerebro, it malfunctions terribly. There’s a strong chance you can make the system compromise itself in a similar fashion.”

  “Oh right! I remember that now. How do I know those plates do anything in the reactor core?”

  “Easy. If they weren’t necessary, they would not have spent the money putting them there. Technology is always in place for a reason. That chamber somehow focuses and converts the energy into a storable form; shifting the plates around might reprogram the reactor core to scatter the energy everywhere. It will essentially overload the entire system.”

  “I can't rearrange all those plates by hand!” Quinn protested.

  “I thought you were fast?” Mr. St. Germain asked, chuckling. “Ask Blake to do it with his telekinesis. Once that is done, all you need to do is power on the reactor and it should take care of itself.”

  “It's not going to go nuclear or something and kill us, right?”

  “Nope. It should only create feedback loops in the system, essentially short-circuiting and burning it out. When the entire thing is fried, it should be totaled and completely unusable. It's highly unlikely they will be able to repair it, but there is no guarantee.”

  “Okay, I think I can handle that.”

  “Let's be clear, Quinn, the only thing this plan does is prevent The Order from testing their new mega-fusion technology at the Rangeley facility. If they really want to, they could still do this somewhere else if they are willing to risk failure and what sounds like a destructive end.”

  “Right, but slowing them down may be all I can do right now.”

  “You have another consideration as well. Nobody knows about the danger The Order presents. Destroying the reactor could create a public relations nightmare and tarnish Blue Spekter’s reputation as a superhero and not a super villain. You need to reflect upon what you’re going to do and how you’re going to do it. The challenge will be any decisions you have to make in the moment. The police are right with one regard: you are not trained, at all. You’re also very young, which means…”

  Quinn’s phone buzzed with an unusual alarm sound. A moment later, Mr. St. Germain’s phone buzzed as well with the same sound. “That’s weird,” Quinn said, ignoring it.

  Mr. St. Germain pulled out his phone. “It’s an emergency alert. Something bad is going on around us.”

  They both read the message: USAF Boeing KC-135 Stratotanker inbound to Pease from northwest experiencing engine trouble. Seek shelter; falling debris danger and crash immanent.”

  “Oh my gosh!” Mr. St. Germain said, surprised.

  Quinn looked around for any sign of the plane but saw nothing. He flew up to the tree line and looked around. When he looked west, he saw it.

  “Hey, you’re not glowing!” Mr. St. Germain exclaimed.

  Quinn smiled. “I’ve been practicing. I see the plane. It’s one of those big refueling jets—it’s entire left wing is spewing black smoke.”

  “So, it’s on fire. That’s not good because it means the fuel cutoffs may not have triggered and the fire suppression systems aren’t working. The wiring might have melted.”

  “I can see the airport to my left, but the jet’s heading to my right. It needs to turn, like now.”

  “How far out is it?”

  Quinn gave his mentor a funny look. “Sorry, measuring distance isn’t one of my super powers. It looks like it’s going to fly past the airport.”

  “If they don’t turn soon, it’s because they can’t. They might be heading out to the ocean to swing around and land the other way. That’s bad though; that flight path puts them over Kittery, the harbor, Portsmouth, and Rye.

  “Oh wow, two fighter jets just appeared out of nowhere.”

  “If the plane can’t turn, can you help steer it? The fighters are probably there to provide an extra set of eyes in the sky—which means the pilots have definitely lost control over parts of the aircraft.”

  Quinn lowered himself to the ground and stared at his mentor. “You want me to go steer a burning airplane by pushing it around?”

  “That might be the only way to save it, Quinn. You’re the only one who can save the crew and the people below if they crash. But, if you don’t get there right now, you might be too late.”

  “That’s going to piss off the police and the DHS.”

  “I can’t tell you what to do, Quinn. This is completely uncharted territory for me as well. I can only ask this: when the man fell off the bridge, when the downtown bomber attacked, and when there was a supposed hostage situation at the Sheraton, what did Blue Spekter do?”

  Quinn smiled, and his eyes flashed on as his body erupted with blue light. “Thanks, Mr. St. Germain. I know what I have to do now.”

  A moment later, Quinn rocketed toward the doomed Stratotanker.

  ❖

  Blake

  After leaving Coach Tomlin’s office, Blake pedaled up Middle Street past an unusual amount of traffic on his way to work after school. Coach had given him a get out of jail free card for the fight he broke up because he saw that Darien, Kyle, and Tony started it, but he suspended them all from track for the rest of the week. With his left hand, he pulled some beef jerky out of a bag he held in his right hand while simultaneously steering his bicycle.

>   When he turned onto State Street, the traffic stopped. Ahead of him, he could see police cars and other unmarked vehicles with flashing lights blocking the entrances to Market Square. An officer flagged him over and told him to wait behind a group of pedestrians.

  He hopped off his bike and walked it to the line of irritated pedestrians who were complaining about an infringement on their civil rights. He shoved the beef jerky in his sweatshirt’s center pocket. His phone made a weird sound in his pants pocket, but he ignored it.

  The authorities let cars through, one at a time, but only after speaking with the driver. They did the same with pedestrians, and when it was nearly Blake’s turn, the salt-and-pepper officer addressed the man in front of him.

  “Do you have any drugs or anything illegal on you that will make the dogs react?” the officer asked. Several phones around him made that same, strange sound.

  The man mumbled an answer and the policeman shook his head, directing the man to a different line.

  “Hello, son. Do you have any drugs or anything illegal on you that will make our dogs react?” the officer asked him.

  “No, I do not. What’s going on?”

  Blake sensed the officer swallow his frustration. “Trying to sniff out the unidentified phenomenon.”

  “With dogs? Do they even know what to look for?”

  “Sorry, son, I can’t answer that. Step ahead, please.”

  Blake walked his bike forward to the officers with the police dogs. They sniffed at him with great interest and the officers regarded him strangely.

  Blake extended his hands to the dogs and said, “Hi, puppies.” The dogs immediately started sniffing his fingers and licking them.

  “Don’t interact with the dogs, please, they’re working,” one of them said.

  “Sorry.” He withdrew his hands and one of the dogs whimpered.

  The officers looked at each other strangely because the dogs seemed overly interested in Blake. Then they looked at Blake.

  Noting their concerned gaze, he said, “I was just eating beef jerky. Look, I have it here in my pocket.” He moved his right hand slowly and pulled out the red and white jerky bag.

  The officers rolled their eyes and gestured for him to keep going. “You can go about your business…move along.”

  He nodded and walked his bike forward. The dogs whimpered at him again, but he nonchalantly jumped on his bike and pedaled toward Kaffee VonSolln. I have no idea if the dogs can smell our power, or why the police think the dogs would be able to identify us…unless…they managed to get a piece of Quinn’s clothing from the Sheraton thing…then they might have trained the dogs to smell for him…wow, that’s insane.

  Around him, the people who had made it through the police check points were checking their phones and looking up, searching for something in the sky.

  I wonder what’s…

  “Ugh!” Blake grunted, grabbing the side of his head with his hand, momentarily stunned and nearly losing his balance. He almost rode into a parked car but regained control, braked, and looked up as he set his feet down. A blue flash—Quinn—soared overhead toward Dover. A moment later his phone made that strange sound again and vibrated in his pocket.

  What the hell are you doing?

  He pulled his phone out of his pocket and checked the notifications, his mouth falling agape when he read the emergency alert.

  2-20 | KC-135 Stratotanker

  Quinn

  EXTENDING HIS RIGHT FIST IN FRONT of him, Blue Spekter flew under the three jets, pulling an Immelmann turn that put him above the massive tanker. He studied the left wing; it looked black and scorched compared to the rest of the light gray U. S. Air Force plane. Flames licked up from the seams where the flaps and ailerons connected. On the right wing, those parts moved…on the left, they seemed stuck. Blue Spekter noticed the rudder in the vertical stabilizer pushed to the left, but the plane either wasn’t responding or was taking its time turning—until he realized it was angled in the wrong direction.

  They aren’t going to make it to the runway…I have to make sure they stay in the air long enough to fly around and land in the other direction. But first. I need to put those flames out before this whole thing explodes…I just hope those fighter pilots don’t think I’m a bad guy…

  Blue Spekter settled over the top of the KC-135 and flew to the left most cockpit window. When he knocked on the glass, the pilots jumped in surprise and stared at him. The rushing air, the tanker’s engines, and the two unbelievably loud fighter jets seem to overpower his ability to focus his super hearing. Instead, he did his best to offer a glowing blue thumb and then show both hands, hoping they’d understand he wasn’t there to hurt them. The pilots looked at each other then looked back at Blue Spekter, their faces expressing confusion and concern.

  Blue Spekter slowly drifted away from the fuselage until he was hovering—and flying—over the left wing. The fighter jets suddenly moved when they either noticed him or were notified by the pilots. Both fighters were on the left side of the plane now. Blue Spekter raised both hands in surrender and crossed them over his head, alternating them slowly so they’d get the message not to shoot him out of the sky.

  He rolled onto his back, and while flying backward over the left wing, he sprayed water from his hands and did his best to soak the burning wing. Unfortunately, at the speed they were traveling, the water dispersed into the air before it even hit the wing. Dammit, we’re flying too fast.

  Blue Spekter flipped onto his stomach and flew closer to the wing. He blasted the wing with ice and water and this time he encountered more success—but the water he generated still sprayed into the atmosphere behind the plane and the ice he created fell to the earth like hailstones. Focus Blue Spekter, you can do this.

  He blasted the wing with water one last time, but the flames persisted. There’s got to be an active oil or fuel leak in there somewhere. I don’t understand why this isn’t going out.

  One of the fighter pilots bravely flew his jet closer to the Stratotanker. He’s trying to get my attention.

  Blue Spekter looked at the fighter pilot and overly gestured with raised hands, “What do I do?”

  The fighter pilot responded by tipping his wings to the left twice. Blue Spekter cocked his head to the side. You want me to fly the plane to the left?

  The pilot pointed at Blue Spekter, then at himself…or herself. The pilot repeated the gesture. Oh, he wants me to follow him.

  Blue Spekter nodded and gave the pilot a thumb’s up, but realized he or she wouldn’t see it given his glowing status. Blue Spekter put his arms out and mimicked the pilot’s tipping gesture, indicating he would follow the fighter.

  The fighter pulled ahead and Blue Spekter flew to the cockpit window again. He tapped it and gave the pilots a brilliant blue thumbs up, and then he flew to the right side of the plane’s nose. He smirked and pressed his left shoulder and right hand against the R of the word Force in the U.S. Air Force decal on the side of the plane. Then he pushed, willing himself to fly left.

  The behemoth tanker groaned and responded, altering its course to follow the path of the fighter in front them. Blue Spekter flew back to the cockpit and checked in on the pilots. They excitedly gave him two thumbs up and applauded. Then, one of them made a gesture with two fingers, pointing at his eyes and then the fighter in front of them.

  He nodded. Yup, I’ll keep my eyes on him.

  The new flight path took them out over Kittery Point, away from the more densely populated areas—not that people’s lives weren’t still in danger. So far, none of the plane had fallen apart.

  When they had crossed over the shoreline and flew over the ocean for a minute or two, the fighter pilot tipped his wings to the right, twice. Blue Spekter understood the gesture and flew to the left side of the fuselage. He checked the rudder behind him—it was still pointing to the left. It must be stuck. This turn will be twice as hard and much more delicate.

  This time, he pressed his right shoulder and le
ft hand against the A of the U.S. Air. Force decal.

  He pushed and the gigantic plane responded slowly, fighting him the entire way. He lost sight of the fighter jet behind the nose of the tanker, but he couldn’t push the plane any harder because the metal crinkled beneath his shoulder. Crap, I’m not pushing on the airframe…

  The fighter jet slowed its turn and allowed Blue Spekter to catch up. Beneath him, the Isle of Shoals seemed far and distant as they swung around in a wide circle.

  Then, the metal caved in and dented under Blue Spekter’s shoulder. He shouted, surprised, thinking he had broken through it. Seeing a beam from the airframe a little further back, he pressed on that and shoved harder. The plane groaned in protest again but responded, turning more tightly than before. Minutes passed before Blue Spekter saw land again. The fighter jet kept turning.

  Behind him, Blue Spekter heard the engine noise fade away. He looked over his shoulder and saw the two engines were on fire, black smoke billowing out the back of each one. Wait, aren’t the fuel tanks in the wings somewhere? Isn’t this whole plane some kind of flying fuel tank?

  He kept an eye on the lead fighter jet while repeatedly checking on the flaming engines. The second fighter jet, having flown alongside him the entire way, put some distance between it and the Stratotanker. He thinks it’s going to blow up…great.

  Several moments later, the fire went out and the black smoke faded into the distance. At least I don’t have to worry about that right now.

  The tanker began descending but the fighter held its course toward Pease and slowed down a bit. I have to take this thing all the way to the runway, don’t I?

  At long last, he finally saw the airport in front of them as they flew over the shoreline. The fighter jet in front of him tipped its wings back and forth several times and pulled up a little. Blue Spekter craned his neck up to look at it, confused. What the heck does that gesture mean?

  Then, he looked down. Oh, right, descending too fast; we’re gonna crash. Shit.

  Blue Spekter made his way under the airplane to a rectangular square. He was about to push up on it when he realized it was the forward landing gear door. He moved in front of it and put his hands and knees on the bottom of the fuselage. Flying upside-down, he willed himself to fly upward.