Upstairs I unpacked quickly, then stripped down and showered again, pulled on my new underwear, and laid out the rest of the loot from my expedition. Brushing my hair back, I looked at myself in the mirror, tried to imagine what he saw, and sighed. He sure didn’t see an Atlas-Girl. I was too small, and though my muscle-tone helped my legs and butt, the best I could say for my chest was it wasn't flat. At least I had a good face: wide forehead, big blue eyes, nice nose and good cheekbones, lips almost lush. Good skin. My severely bobbed hairstyle gave me a little more maturity than I would have had. I shook my head. Enough.
I sighed again and turned away to pull on new stretch-denim jeans and a white cashmere sweater. Casual pull-ons went on my feet, and then I went downstairs to discover that John hadn't been kidding about dinner.
He'd microwave-thawed some steaks and stood grilling them over a fancy range, and I smelled baking potatoes. He looked absolutely ridiculous moving around the kitchen in his uniform—like a knight in shining armor playing golf. His eyes lit when he saw me, and the look in them made the tension inside me wind tighter.
"If you stay where I can see you dinner might not get done," he said.
"No touchy then," I said. "I'm hungry. What can I do to help?"
"Can you do the salad? I started some pasta and the other fixings are in the fridge and the cabinet on the left. I'll get upstairs and change."
I saluted and got to work and he came back down in a minute, dressed like the cowboy he was. Finding some extra-virgin olive oil, balsamic vinegar, and minced garlic, I mixed up a dressing and made up small bowls of sun-dried tomatoes and other ingredients to sprinkle on. A slate-topped work table over wood cabinets filled the kitchen's center space, so we had to move around each other as we pulled everything together.
We finished and set the table in time to sit and watch an extravagant winter sunset through the cabin's big bay windows. The deliciously done and seasoned steaks, flaky potatoes topped with butter, chives, and sour cream, and my modest pasta salad made a perfect meal. John brought out a full-bodied Napa Valley Cabernet to go with the food, and I sipped a little.
We sat at corners from each other and ate and watched the sun drop into purple mountains, a good thing because, delicious as it had all turned out, I found I couldn't look at him and eat at the same time. Passing dishes and condiments brought our hands into proximity all through the meal, and we talked quietly about the mountains, what my family did for vacations, the ranch in Texas his parents and younger brother still worked, little things. The meal done, he had me sit on the couch in front of the fireplace while he put the dishes in the sink—I'd have insisted on helping, but by that point I was afraid of dropping anything I touched. Then he grabbed a horse-blanket, took my hand, and led me outside.
The elevated porch in back of the cabin held rough wood furniture with deep but weatherproof cushions. He pulled the weather-covers off and dropped onto the outdoor couch, patting the cushion beside him. When I self-consciously sat, he turned me so my back rested against his chest. Sighing, I tucked my legs up and snuggled in. He kissed the top of my head and whispered "Look."
I did, and laughed. "You're always giving me the stars."
With the cabin's outside lights off and no towns for miles, the stars twinkled in the winter night even more brightly than they did high over Chicago. The thoughtful man had even ordered a meteor shower, and I started wishing on every falling star I saw. Every wish was the same.
I don't know when I fell asleep. We didn't even need the blanket, really, since both of us could laugh at arctic temperatures. I woke up sometime deep in the night, and realized he'd stretched us out so his legs were up and I was using him as a mattress. Kissing him on impulse, I flushed when he chuckled, obviously wide awake. Thinking about our position, my flush got hotter.
"It doesn't bother you?" I whispered. "Waiting till the wedding?"
The chuckle turned into a growl.
"I want to make love to you so bad I can't stand it," He said, but his arms tightened as I tried to sit up. "And I'm not the least bit tempted." A kiss, and he pushed my hair out of my eyes. "Waiting is a small price for not pushing the woman I love into something she'll regret."
"Oh." I touched my Saint Agnes medal, worn around my neck since I turned sixteen, and almost wondered if I'd really regret it. My suddenly racing heart told me I clearly found myself in what Father Nolan sternly called a proximate occasion of sin.
The chuckle returned, with more kisses. "Promise me you're not considering it, or we're getting off this couch right now."
I hid my burning face in his neck.
"A little," I giggled, "and no we don't have to move. I'll be good. Promise."
He relaxed, obviously relieved not to have to go completely against nature and kick me out of our impromptu love-nest. I sighed, settling in and looking up at the stars.
"Can I ask you something?"
"If you must." Laughter rumbled in his chest.
"So..." I whispered, "to misquote Shakespeare, 'I pray thee now, when did you first suffer love for me?'"
He was quiet for a long moment, and then he kissed my hair.
"Honestly? When you threw up."
"What?" I tried to sit up and his arm tightened again.
"Most capes," he continued seriously, "go through months of training before they ever go out into the field and encounter a situation like you did that first day. And there you were, all prim and proper like we were at a society luncheon. You held it together for so long afterwards I'd begun to wonder if you had a single nerve in your body."
He played with the ends of my hair, stroked my neck with the back of a hand, and I shivered.
"You only lost it once you were safe and nothing needed to be done. Even then you pulled it back together so fast... I thought you'd be useless for days. You look fragile, but you're one of the strongest women I've ever met. I wanted to dry your eyes and kiss you senseless so bad my teeth hurt. And all I could do was pass you a water bottle." A thumb moved over my cheek, wiping away the ghosts of tears.
"Oh," I said stupidly. "I—oh." My blush returned, turned into a rush of warmth.
"One of the strongest?" I asked to distract myself.
"Well, there's my mother... Oww!"
"Rat," I laughed, bringing my fist down on his chest again.
He grabbed my wrist. "So you're one of those girls, are you? Best I know now." I sat up to swing with my free hand and he grabbed it too, pulling me back down.
"So be fair." He whispered in my ear, making me shiver again. "How did you put it? 'When did you first suffer love for me?'"
I wiggled in closer, ducking my head down.
"When I was ten," I confessed against the shield of his chest.
Now it was his turn to be confused and I let it out with a rush.
"Shelly and I played superhero and dreamed about teamups, and I always said it was Volt or Burnout, but looking at your pictures made me feel…just, warm and safe. Volt went off to Hollywood and Burnout had his own band, but you were always up there, protecting us. I imagined being Mrs. Atlas."
I finally dared to look up.
"When Shelly died I did a good job of forgetting about it. Until the ball. Then it came back bigger and all grown up. Superpooh wears your cape."
"My God," he groaned softly. Both arms went around me and, released, mine slid around his neck. It seemed to be where they belonged. The growl came back, a low, thrilling rumble in my ear.
"It's time to shut up now," he said. "Or we're going to separate rooms."
I laughed gaily, snuggling close, and fell asleep before he did.
Chapter Thirty Eight
In the aftermath of the Event the United States found itself putting out fires all around the world. The Caliphate, founded on the strength of superhuman fanatics and their followers, tried to annihilate Israel. China blew up into a popular insurrection and a three-way civil war. Mexico fought, and is still fighting, a war with its superhuman narco-warlords a
nd their private armies. Nearly a decade later, we have troops in Trans-Jordan, the Chinese States, and even northern Mexico, and are hated by fanatics who want to re-found Communist China, re-recreate the Caliphate, or establish Aztlan—after destroying the American invaders and the popularly elected governments trying to preserve law and order that we have propped up.
And since they cannot defeat us militarily, they pursue other options.
Professor Charles Gibbons, The New Heroic Age
* * *
We weren't due back until the third morning, so John showed me all around his cabin and property. We explored miles of pine and high aspen meadows, even a spring-fed waterfall and mountain lake, now a wonderland of ice. We built a snowman, threw really big snowballs, ate candlelight dinners, talked and kissed and snuggled a lot, but didn't share a couch for the night again (he firmly steered me upstairs to the guest room each night). It felt like our mountain nested inside a snow globe, a late Christmas present only now unwrapped. Early on the third morning we packed and flew back to our labors.
There we learned President Touches Clouds was flying in to Whittier Base.
Critics in the media wondered where she'd been all this time, but as her press secretary said, she and her entourage would have simply gotten in the way for a photo-opportunity (which didn't mean that she hadn't practically lived in the situation room those first few days).
The Army gave her a supersoldier escort, including, I saw on TV, Lieutenant Dahmer—the Atlas-type Army ranger and recruiter who flew out to speak to me in Chicago. They accompanied her by air to disaster camps, supply depots, and temporary bases around South California as she met and talked with everyone she could.
Through it all, speculation about who had triggered the quake and what to do about it filled the news channels. The biggest topic of debate was the proper response. Some people talked about a comprehensive federal registration system and close monitoring of superhumans with potentially catastrophic powers, but others called for the internment of anyone with "powers of mass destruction" whose politics or history seemed questionable. There were no serious anti-superhuman protests yet, with so many capes visibly working hard to aid the recovery, but Blackstone said it was only a matter of time.
Atlas and I went with Riptide to LAX to see his nephew off. A bed in a children's hospital in Salt Lake City waited for little Carlos, and Riptide planned to join him there once they didn’t need him to bring the camps water. While we were gone he'd learned his sister and mother had died when their apartment building collapsed, leaving him the boy's only family north of the border.
Dad decided to head home the same day; there would be work here for super-strong heroes for months to come, but he needed to get back to the office and plenty of others remained. We managed to find a screened lounge area, empty after a recent departure, and I put all my strength into the hug—in his Iron Jack form he could take it.
"Oomph," he said.
"Wuss." I dropped my head to his broad shoulder. Sighed.
"Your mother says you've been light on your texting. Anything for me to tell her?"
"Lots for me to tell everybody. Dad…"
"Ajax tells me you could certify any day now."
"Yes, but—" I raised my head. Smiled. "You guys are talking again?"
He shrugged massively.
"Past few days. Your mother and I are very proud of you."
"Whatever I decide?"
He rapped my forehead with a knuckle.
"There was never any question of that. We've always only wanted you safe. Safe as you can be in this world, anyway. Whatever you decide, we won't fight you."
I laughed. "Pinky-swear?" He did.
A bunch of the Chicago CAI capes went back with Dad, and FEMA slated us to go home the next week as more and more army reservists and national guardsmen poured into the state to replace our powers with numbers and equipment. Things were coming together.
Then The Ring hit us.
* * *
The alarm caught me and Atlas sharing a canned meal in his room.
"All teams! All teams! Whittier Base is under attack! Repeat, Whittier Base is under attack!"
I paled; the President was still there, due to fly out in the morning. Out of our chairs and into the hall before the alert died, we ran into Riptide. He'd been given an earbug of his own for the duration.
The rest except for Chakra—probably already on the floor of her room in lotus position and chanting mantras to prepare—piled into the hall. At a signal from Atlas, Rush headed down and the rest of us headed for the roof two flights up. Nimbus disappeared, flashing ahead. Rush had liberated a motorcycle; racing through a time-frozen world, he'd get there long before any of us except Nimbus. On the roof we loaded up, Atlas gripping Ajax' armor while Quin climbed on my shoulders. Riptide grabbed Atlas's arm.
"I'm in this fight," he said.
Atlas didn't hesitate. "Need a ride?"
"Hardly." He grinned, and transformed into a spout of water before our eyes, leaping up and away. That got a blink; he'd been holding out on us. Artemis misted and flew, but neither she nor Riptide could keep up with us.
We flew south through the night, towards the rolling explosions. Looking ahead I could see the skeletal tail of a cargo plane sticking from a shattered prefab building, and half the base seemed engulfed in flames. Strobing flashes lit the low clouds and the staccato of automatics, the ripping fire of machine guns, beat our ears.
We flew low as our earbugs chattered, spelling out casualties and hot-spots. Then the chatter died, jammed. We landed by the fence at the north edge of the burning camp to find Blackstone and Rush waiting for us. Nimbus had already gone in, and her photonic lances lit the smoke.
"The President was staying in the south barracks!" Atlas yelled over the explosions. Fireballs lit up the night and it sounded like ground-zero at a fireworks plant. "What are we facing?"
"At least thirty superhuman Johnnies, all types!" Rush yelled back. "We're down to a handful of supersoldiers, bits of a division, plus the President's detail!" He shook his head.
"They landed a freakin' plane on the camp! Don't know why, but her guys didn't get her away—she's in the open on the south side of the base, and her detail's got a shield around her. There are dead Johnies everywhere, but some giant dude is eating our side for breakfast. The rest of the bad guys have formed an outside perimeter while the big guy finishes the job."
Atlas nodded as the others flew in. He gave me an unreadable look.
"No other teams are close yet, but we can't wait," he said. "So, Ajax and Riptide, Artemis and Blackstone, Rush and Quin, me and Astra. Stay together and fight for the center; our mission is to extract the President at all costs. Havoc protocols." Blackstone waved and his cane disappeared, replaced by pistols. He passed two to Artemis, who dumped her elasers, then one each to Quin and Rush, and finally conjured one for himself. Spare clips followed.
I watched them load up, focused on my breathing, tried not to think. Havoc protocols meant deadly force. Stop them, stop them hard. I crossed myself. Hail Mary, full of grace…
Atlas took one last look around, then nodded sharply.
"Johnny's called the dance and it's a barn-burner. Let's make ourselves troublesome. "
Artemis misted away and Blackstone 'ported in quick hops as far ahead as he could see. Rush grabbed Quin and disappeared. Ajax leaped forward in long bounds, Riptide a moving cloud of spray beside him. Atlas and I simply threw ourselves over the fence and into the smoke.
And directly in front and moving with me I saw the Anarchist—or a ghostly image of him. "Do what he says!" the phantom called to me, as clear as if he were right beside me or speaking through my dead earbug.
And he was gone.
I almost fell out of the air, but Atlas didn't twitch. He hadn't seen anything, and I shook my head.
We flew into madness.
PART NINE
Chapter Thirty Nine
I dreamed and in my drea
m I found Aladdin's lamp of old, and the fearful djinn I released bowed to me and asked what my heart desired. Fame, riches, power and palaces, the most beautiful women in the world? And I said to the djinn, I wish to be a sword in Allah's hands, to smite the unbelievers, to bring sorrow to the House of War that they may weep knowing that God is great. And the djinn laughed, and burst forth brighter than the sun that blinds to look upon, and revealed himself to be an angel of unspeakable beauty. And he breathed upon me, breath with the scents of Paradise, so that when I awoke I found I had become the Sword of the Faith.
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