“What’s this?” I asked as Myshtal set both plates on the table.
“Myshtal made breakfast for us,” Mom said.
“Oh, wow,” I uttered, as this really was unexpected. “You didn’t have to do that.”
“So says the guy who rarely cooks his own meals,” my grandfather chimed in.
“That’s not true,” I countered. “I make my own meals all the time.”
“Cereal and sandwiches don’t count as cooking,” Indigo interjected.
“Fine,” I said testily. “I’ll fry my cereal in the skillet next time before I eat it.”
That got a chuckle out of everyone as we sat down to eat, with me thinking that this was a nice gesture on Myshtal’s part. It was a fairly basic breakfast and clearly wasn’t a test of her culinary skills, but considering the fact that she had probably never prepared a meal before, I was suitably impressed.
“This is great,” I said to Myshtal as I took a bite of toast.
“Thanks,” Myshtal replied. “I wish I could take all the credit, but I did have help.” She tilted her head towards my mother.
“You’re being too generous,” Mom said between bites of bacon. “All I really did was season the eggs.”
“Well, my compliments to both chefs,” Gramps said, to which Mom and Myshtal both muttered their thanks.
From that point, the breakfast conversation shifted mostly to generic topics, but with a focus on the gala to occur that night. There was a general question about my friends being invited, but no one asked specifically about Electra attending. Our relationship was obviously in an odd place, but – despite the tense conversation we’d had outside the embassy – we had ended the night on something of a high note. Dealing with Kroner’s unexpected appearance had given us something else to focus on, and watching my grandparents pose for him had reminded us of just how much we cared for each other. In short, after Kroner had gotten his photo and departed – and my grandparents had retired for the night (for the second time) – Electra and I had parted with a kiss as opposed to heated words.
Thinking of her now (and the fact that I’d be seeing her at the upcoming shindig) made me mindful of everything I had to do today. With my chore list now in the forefront of my brain, I quickly finished up breakfast and excused myself. Then – after promising that I wouldn’t be late for the night’s festivities – I ran upstairs, grabbed a jacket from my closet, and teleported.
Chapter 11
I popped up on a paved but mostly deserted two-lane road that could be accurately described as being in the middle of nowhere. The immediate surroundings were primarily featureless, frost-covered plains, although mountains were visible off in the distance. A cruel, wintry wind blew in from behind me, mussing my hair. Raising my body temperature to combat the obvious cold, I focused on the one notable feature of the landscape – a guard shack in the middle of the road about a thousand feet away – and began walking towards it.
I approached at a pace that was probably on par with power walking: too slow to be jogging or running, but too fast to be construed as my normal stride. This was basically to give the guards in the shack adequate notice of my presence. Telescoping my vision, I saw them through the window of the building – a couple of guys in matching uniforms that at first resembled military fatigues, but which didn’t have name tags or identify a branch of service. Noting my approach, one of them spoke hastily into a handheld radio, and then they both checked their weapons – each carried a service pistol – before putting on overcoats. Afterwards, they simply watched me, plainly waiting until I got close enough to merit them coming outside.
Having been here before, I could easily have popped up right next to the shack, or zipped over to it at super speed. However, I didn’t see any benefit in making guys with guns (and perhaps itchy trigger fingers) any more excitable than necessary. Therefore, I had made sure that my presence was conspicuous and kept my hands visible as I drew close.
When I was about a dozen paces away, the two guards came out. One of them carried a small computer tablet; the other held an assault rifle (which I hadn’t noticed before), although it was currently pointed at the ground.
The shack had barrier arms down, blocking traffic in both directions – an indication that most visitors probably arrived here via motor vehicle. However, if the guards found anything strange with respect to me being on foot, they didn’t show it. It was either a sign of professionalism on their part, or they’d been briefed about me. (Or they could have been the same guards who had been on duty when I’d been here previously. Unfortunately, I hadn’t taken note of their faces, and without name tags it was difficult to say.)
The two guards eyed me warily as they approached, and I felt suspicion emanating from both of them. That was to be expected in their line of work, but the feeling was interlaced with confusion and bafflement. Maybe my being on foot was surprising to them after all.
The guard with the tablet walked straight up to me, while the other took a position to my left and slightly to the rear. Practically speaking, the one with the assault rifle was in position to blow my head off if I did anything even slightly out of the ordinary.
“I’m on the approved visitor’s list,” I said to the one with the tablet. “Name’s Jim Carrow.”
“I haven’t forgotten,” the guy with the tablet grumbled, making me raise an eyebrow. Apparently these guys – at least the one in front of me – actually had been on duty when I’d come through here before. (And he seemed to have an excellent memory.)
“He’s clear,” the fellow with the tablet said to his partner, not even bothering to check the VIP list that I knew was on his computer. He then turned to me. “I assume I don’t need to call a ride for you.”
“Ah, no,” I mumbled, thinking that this entire interaction seemed somewhat surreal. “I’m good.”
The two guards returned to the shack without another word. I watched them for a moment, then teleported.
*****
I had to pass two more similar checkpoints in the same fashion. In each instance, I appeared far enough away to give the guards on duty enough time to react to my presence. Oddly enough, on each occasion, I picked up on almost the exact same emotional sentiment as I had at the first shack: heightened suspicion accompanied by frank bewilderment. It was almost as if they weren’t expecting me, even though the exact opposite should have been true. Being on the VIP list in question meant that there had been confirmation that I would be present.
Despite being curious about the situation, I put all thoughts about the guards aside after passing the last checkpoint and focused on my ultimate destination: a fenced-in compound consisting of numerous interconnected, windowless buildings, all of which appeared to have armed security personnel stationed on the rooftops. In addition, there were a few guard towers placed strategically around the premises, and the top of the fence was covered with razor wire.
Frankly speaking, the place gave off a distinct “prison” vibe, which is exactly what it was. However, it wasn’t the kind of penal institution that you’d find on any map or falling under the jurisdiction of the Federal Bureau of Prisons. This was a black site – a place that didn’t officially exist – and the people kept here weren’t your run-of-the-mill criminals. They were supers, which meant that the normal rules of confinement went out the window.
Knowing where I was supposed to go, I headed to the side of a nearby building. When I was within a few feet of it, a seam appeared in the featureless expanse of wall. The seam grew in length, outlining the shape of a rectangle before swinging outward, revealing a doorway. I went inside and found myself in a long, narrow corridor.
On previous occasions, there had been an escort waiting for me just inside the entrance. This time there was no one, but I knew the drill well enough. As the door swung shut behind me, I began walking down the hallway, noting that it was warm enough inside for me to lower my body temperature.
Other than lights in the ceiling, the passageway appeared
to be empty. However, I knew with certainty that there were hidden cameras watching my every move, as well as weapons packing significant firepower surreptitiously tucked away behind the walls.
As I drew close, a door at the end of the corridor opened, revealing what appeared to be a small lounge. It contained a sofa, a couple of easy chairs, a coffee table, and a flat-screen television attached to a wall. Sitting in one of the chairs, watching television, was the person I’d come here to see.
My brother, Paramount.
Chapter 12
Technically, he was my half-brother, by virtue of us having the same father. Roughly two years older than me, Paramount had practically grown up in the limelight as the son of the world’s greatest superhero. Moreover, he had spent most of his life being universally hailed as the brightest star in the next generation of superheroes, and with good reason. Not only had he inherited our father’s movie-star looks and Greek-god physique, but also an impressive power set that included super strength, nigh-invulnerability, and an incredibly destructive ability known as the Bolt Blast.
Until very recently, Paramount had been completely unaware of our relationship. I had never sought him out, and no one – not even his father – had ever told him I even existed. To be honest, however, only a handful of people on the planet actually knew of my parentage. (Kid Sensation might be world-famous, but his pedigree was mostly a mystery, and that’s the way I liked it.)
Even if he had known who I was, I don’t think Paramount and I would have been fast friends growing up. My half-brother had been a brat and a bully, and on those few occasions when our paths had crossed, neither of us had gotten the warm fuzzy. Needless to say, our relationship hadn’t improved by him going completely off the rails the previous year, including putting together a Gestapo of sinister teen supers, blowing up Alpha League HQ, and killing a bunch of people. (He had even tried to kill our father.)
Since then, he’d spent most of his time locked up in some place off the grid. I hadn’t initially known or cared where he was, as long as they kept a nullifier around him (to strip away his powers) and threw away the key. However, an odd event had resulted in us reconnecting: Paramount lost his mind. Literally.
Basically, an explosion had occurred while he was in a nullifier, and as a result, the bulk of my half-brother’s skull (and brain matter) had been blasted away. However, once out of the nullifier, his body began to heal – even going so far as to regrow his missing brain tissue. But the new Paramount seemed to be a different person; all vestiges of his old persona were gone, including his memories. He was now kind, thoughtful, and considerate – unquestionably an upgrade over the jerk he’d been before. More to the point, when recruited to help foil an alien plot that would have killed billions, Paramount 2.0 had not only saved the lives of Smokey and Electra, he had helped save the entire planet from destruction.
Although skeptical at first that it was a trick, I was now convinced that the current Paramount was indeed a separate and distinct individual from the person I’d known before. Thus, I had mostly let go of the past and now treated him as my brother, even going so far as to visit him in the pokey (as I was doing now).
“Hey!” Paramount blurted out as he finally noted my presence, thereby bringing me out of my reverie. He practically jumped to his feet and began walking towards me, saying, “You’re back.”
“Back?” I muttered in surprise as we shared a brotherly hug.
Paramount nodded. “Yeah. You were just here this morning.”
I frowned. Paramount had been subject to random seizures since his injury. It was an indication that he still wasn’t fully healed, and his doctors had warned that the spasms could affect his memories. Based on the statement he’d just made (and the fact that my last visit had been weeks ago), it was possible he’d had an episode very recently.
“You don’t remember?” Paramount asked with a worried look on his face, plainly bothered by my silence.
“I guess it slipped my mind,” I stated with a dismissive wave, deciding not to worry about it. “Anyway, how have you been?”
“Same as I said when I saw you earlier: good. No issues. If this keeps up, they’ll probably put me back in a nullifier soon.”
I nodded in understanding. Paramount’s power set was what had saved his life after the explosion. (Medical science certainly wasn’t advanced enough to have helped him.) In order to fully heal, however, he couldn’t go back into a nullifier just yet. He had to stay “free” in that context until his health was back to one hundred percent (or close enough that it wouldn’t matter). Once that happened, however, the powers that be were likely to toss him into a nullifier cell and weld the door shut. (After all, he was still guilty of horrific crimes.)
But in the meantime, his need to recover from his injuries had made guarding him problematic. Keeping him out of a nullifier meant that he’d have his full slate of powers and could break out any time he liked. Thankfully, our father had called in a few favors, and the end result was that – while he was being held at a black ops site – Paramount wasn’t required to spend any time in a nullifier. (It probably helped that he was – as I understood it – a model prisoner as well. It was a sure bet that the second he gave his handlers any trouble, the deal was off.)
“So what happens after that?” Paramount asked as we walked back towards the easy chairs.
“Hmmm?” I muttered as we sat down, not understanding his question.
“When they put me back in the nullifier,” he explained, “what happens then?”
I felt deep-rooted anxiety emanating from him, a tight ball of apprehension and concern. He was really worried about this.
“You won’t have your powers,” I explained. “You’ll be like a normal person, but it’s not so bad. Billions of people manage without super powers every day.”
Paramount let out a depressed sigh. “I’m not worried about that. I can deal with not having my powers. It’s not like I’m using them anyway.”
“Then what is it?” I asked, plainly curious.
He stared at me for a moment, and I sensed him struggling for words as a deep-welled sadness grew within him. After a few seconds, he lowered his eyes and softly said, “If they put me in a nullifier, I probably won’t get any more visitors.”
I blinked, caught by surprise but now understanding what was bothering him. He had no issue with being put in a nullifier himself, but that meant that anyone visiting him would have to enter a nullifier, too. In other words, if it was a super, visiting Paramount would mean willingly giving up their powers (if only temporarily).
The thought was disturbing, to say the least. For most supers, their powers are an intimate part of who they are; losing your abilities is like losing a limb. Moreover, from my personal point of view, having my powers stripped from me would leave me vulnerable in a way that I had a tough time contemplating – especially since it had happened to me before. (And I had vowed to myself that it would never happen again.)
I glanced at Paramount, who was watching me with sorrowful eyes. His expression made me wonder if my misgivings about being in a nullifier were an overreaction, so I spent a moment reflecting on what Alpha Prime and Electra would do in that situation. (To the best of my knowledge, they were the only other people who ever came to see Paramount, but because of some obscure rule about super-powered visitors, only one of us was allowed on the premises at any given time.)
I already knew that Alpha Prime, who had raised Paramount as a single parent, would enter a nullifier without hesitation to spend time with his son. Likewise, I felt the same was true of Electra; as an orphan adopted by the Alpha League, she and Paramount had grown up like brother and sister. She, too, would have no qualms about visiting Paramount in a nullifier. That left me as the odd man out.
Paramount was still looking at me with a melancholy expression, and empathically I could sense a pool of dread in him as he waited for me to say something. He was clearly more astute than I’d given him credit for, because
he was vividly aware of how difficult it would be for me to socialize with him in a nullifier. In essence, he plainly expected me to say that I wouldn’t be visiting him after he got better.
Surprising myself, I laid a hand on his shoulder and said, “Look, I can’t say that I like the idea of visiting you in a nullifier. The very idea makes my stomach flip. But that said, I don’t plan to stop visiting you. You’re my brother, so I’ll find some way to make it work. I promise.”
Paramount’s eyes practically lit up and I picked up something like exhilaration coming from him. Somehow, however, he kept his voice even and simply said, “Thanks, Jim. I’d like that.”
Chapter 13
I stayed with Paramount for about half an hour, splitting the time between general chitchat and watching television. For a guy who was likely to spend a good many years in the clink, he seemed to be in relatively good spirits for the most part – even cracking a couple of jokes. It was something I had trouble envisioning the old Paramount doing, and reinforced the notion that the current version of my half-brother was an entirely different person.
When it was time for me to leave, we parted as we had met – with a fraternal hug. Then, after promising to visit again soon, I left via the door and hallway by which I’d entered.
Upon exiting the building, I was immediately hit by a frosty wind and once again raised my body temperature in response. I was still wearing the jacket I’d brought from home, but it had essentially been just for show – so that I wouldn’t look even more out of place at the checkpoints than I did by simply being on foot. I realized then that – during my visit with Paramount – I hadn’t even taken the jacket off. It had probably given the impression that I hadn’t planned to stay long (or didn’t want to). However, I seriously doubted that Paramount had noticed or cared; he was just happy to have a visitor. Still, I made a mental note to take my jacket off next time and then teleported.
Replication: A Kid Sensation Novel (Kid Sensation #6) Page 8