Hero

by Robert J. Crane

  Dave stared at the screen. “Johannsen” was Morris Johannsen, public editor for one of the largest, most prestigious legacy newspapers in the US, one of arguably three that everyone in the journalism world looked to for guidance. It was the New York Times, the Washington Post, and Johannsen’s Washington Free Press. That he was all in on this …

  Well, Dave wasn’t going to bring up the rear in this one, was he? Hell no.

  KORY: This should be an easy lift. The public hates Nealon right now anyway. We just do a little push here, a shove there, and they’ll hate Revelen by association. The stage is set. We shape the narrative a little, and boom, everyone will be clamoring for this war.

  CHALKE: Perfect. We need to get Nealon out of the way and this is the perfect means to move the ball forward on everything. This Revelen group is looking to pose a problem in Eastern Europe, in general, and have exported trouble to our shores in the past. Getting them out of the way, however we have to do it, is a net good.

  Dave nodded along. That was true. Where was the bad in getting rid of a group as destabilizing as whoever was running Revelen? That seemed like an overall positive for the world, eliminating a little chaos.

  CHALKE: To that end, here’s another scoop we need to get out there—Revelen is being run by Sienna Nealon’s family. Specifically Hades, God of Death.

  Dave blinked, not sure he read that right.

  JOHANNSEN: Beg pardon?

  Beat him to the punch. It burned Dave that the Free Press editor might scoop him. He started to type even as he awaited a reply.

  CHALKE: Hades, the Greek God of Death, is alive and running a small Eastern European country. You heard it here first. Attribute to a “senior administration official” on deep background. Use previous suggestion of Berenger at DoJ to corroborate. Condition: make sure you tie this to Nealon heavily in your writing. Use phrases like “in cooperation with” or “cahoots” or something similar, but more sinister if you can. Furthermore, try and reflect nicely on the Gondry administration? Our man is doing all he can to deal with the situation, but this is obviously a heavy lift, what with Russia being involved and the general intransigence of the DoD.

  Dave translated DoD automatically—Department of Defense. Which he took to mean SecDef Passerini being a pain in the ass, the fossil. Didn’t he see what was at stake here? Maybe the next SecDef would be a little more willing to get with the program.

  JOHANNSEN: What’s the plan for dealing with Russia?

  The gap of time it took Chalke to respond would have been troubling if Dave hadn’t been busy formulating his story.

  CHALKE: We’re working on it. DoD has been readying for war with Russia for seventy years. They have drawers of plans.

  Dave blinked at that. That was probably true. This was what they did, after all, planned wars that they hoped they could get started, right? Right. This time, though, it was a worthy cause.

  BILSON: Okay, this should be an easy thing to set up. Let’s just make sure we all stay on the same page as we start stoking this fire. The war is going to kick off fairly quickly, as soon as DoD gets its pieces in place, which they’re already doing. The public needs to be ready for this fast, because they’re going to get their fill just as quickly.

  Taking that all in took a moment. Dave got the basics; when you were shaping public opinion, it was best to give them the news fast, the bitter part swiftly, then follow-up with a success within twenty-four hours, before they had much time to stew. Instant gratification warfare, a quick victory that could be sold as, “We’re winning!” and which would offset any small losses that accumulated in the first week. It was a lot like his strategy of content delivery, and since they synergized so well …

  Man. This war could be really good for Flashforce. That thought warmed Dave as he sat there, pondering the possibilities. Especially if he was one of two exclusive outlets getting the biggest news from the conflict first.

  It was all he could do not to rub his hands together.

  CHALKE: One suggestion, Russ. Maybe keep away from Senator Foreman from now on? I’m pretty sure the only damage he took in your last round was to his shirt when he got your blood all over it.

  Dave chuckled. He’d seen the playback of the Foreman/Bilson segment. It was brutal. He wouldn’t have wanted to be the one tasked with facing off with Foreman. The man had pounded the hell out of Harmon in a debate, and no one did that. Ever.

  BILSON: Oh, ha ha. Let me worry about former Senator Foreman and his thwarted ambitions. He’s a has-been, and out of the game. His influence is minimal.

  Dave wasn’t so sure about that. Foreman had received sixty million votes. That wasn’t nothing, and it certainly didn’t suggest his influence was nada.

  CHAPMAN: Strongly disagree. That segment is going viral right now, rocketing around social media and being shared with alarming frequency. We’re moving to quash, trying to keep the focus on Revelen and Nealon.

  CHALKE: Good. We don’t need any distractions from the narrative. Not right now.

  CHAPMAN: There’s something else we should discuss at some point. A certain video that’s now online.

  Dave stared, trying to suss out what that meant. What video was he talking about?

  CHALKE: Later. Right now we have more important things to deal with. Is the video under control?

  CHAPMAN: Almost zero traction.

  BILSON: Why haven’t you taken it down?

  CHAPMAN: Because that’d be a quick way to make sure it got traction. Leave it alone, let it get lost in the noise, and it’ll die. Take it down, it becomes a martyr and a cause célèbre. Let it drown without signal boost. Don’t give it oxygen. We’re monitoring it carefully. Will apprise if anything changes, but for now, we’re just burying it quietly.

  BILSON: Well, you know best. Do what you have to.

  Dave felt like he was hearing grudging agreement from Bilson on that, but tone was difficult with just the text to go by.

  CHAPMAN: Five by five.

  CHALKE: All right, you know what to do. Let’s make this thing happen.

  And the little flicker of a dozen people logging off kicked Dave back to the real world.

  Whew. A war. Crazy business behind the scenes. He felt little chills running up and down his forearms, and through the fine hair on his skin, he could see the goose bumps standing up. Was this how a war correspondent felt just before a big invasion? It probably was. He spun once around his chair, then bolted to his feet. He had marching orders to give.

  “Everybody huddle up!” he shouted across the room. It was time to get this thing really moving.

  CHAPTER FORTY-SIX

  Sienna

  The road to Bredoccia hadn’t seemed this long when I’d driven it with Vlad—Hades—and company. It wound down from the high plateau where the castle overlooked the city, atop its rock like a fat toad perched in the sun. There wasn’t a ton of traffic, and what there was seemed to be mostly military in nature.

  I drove with the window down, wind blowing through my hair as I tried to get a handle on the shit that was happening around me. I was no stranger to things going severely sideways, but this might have been a personal best for even me.

  I was wanted in the USA, and they were sending metahuman SWAT teams to retrieve me.

  I’d just escaped prison.

  I was in a country run by my long-thought-dead great-grandfather, aided by my slightly-less-long-thought-dead grandmother.

  And now I was on the run. Again.

  “Everywhere I go, people are always after me,” I muttered as I leaned the Humvee into an S curve down a hill. It wasn’t quite a hairpin turn, but it was close, and I gave the handling a good workout along with the tread on the tires. “Oh, to be unpopular for a little while.” I blinked. “Oh, wait, I am unpopular. Well, to be ignominious, then.” Wait. That wasn’t the right word. “Anonymous? To be less well-known and less well-hated. That’s what I’m aiming for, here. Do you think I’ve got a shot?”

  “Given your steady
appetite for causing chaos? No,” came a voice from the speakers.

  I let out a little shriek and almost wrecked the car into a steep cliff wall, regaining control only through my meta reflexes. “Damn you, Cassidy,” I said once I was back in my lane, the squeal of tires and a cloud of rubber behind me. “Can’t I even vent in private anymore?”

  “Just be glad I’m locking your new friends out of your car’s systems,” Cassidy said, “because they’re desperately trying to track you and kill the engine right now. You should have stolen one of the army trucks. They’re dumb; no GPS, no LoJack, no smart integrated systems.”

  “Well, they’re also not as pretty,” I said, running a hand over the smooth leather that was stitched over the Hummer’s steering wheel. “What the hell do you want from me?” I regretted the question as soon as I asked.

  “What you promised me,” she said. “Revenge.”

  “Right,” I said under my breath. “One-track mind. Okay, so complication—Vlad is actually—”

  “Your great-grandfather. Yes, I know.”

  I frowned. “Then why are you still trying to enlist me in killing him?”

  There wasn’t even a pause, and I wondered how much caffeine Cassidy was operating on right now. “Because you basically want to kill everybody, especially the people who piss you off, and Vlad?” Another beat. “I’m guessing he pissed you off if you had to jump out a high castle window to get away from him.”

  “It was less Vlad and more one of his lackeys on that one,” I said, “but I take your point. Look, I was supposed to be the crown princess here, but let’s just say I’m already starting to question my patriotism for Revelen thanks to the general in charge of the armed forces. That does not translate into desire to kill Hades, but—hell, I don’t know where it actually lands me. Other than up shit creek again.”

  “You do have a talent for pissing people off,” Cassidy said. “I would advise you to avoid turning that talent in my direction, at least right now.”

  “Look, I’m trying to be square with you,” I said, taking another turn, “I’m obviously in a jam right now. I know you want your revenge, but I don’t want to kill my great-grandfather or my grandmother.”

  “Then I think we’re about to have a problem,” Cassidy said, as the car engine died suddenly. “Because I want them dead. Immediately, if not sooner.”

  I coasted the Humvee to the side of the road. “Don’t do this, Cassidy. Please. They didn’t kill Simmons. Stepane did, and he did it because he wanted to prove he was the best.”

  “But they empowered him to do so.” Cassidy’s voice was cold and emotionless in spite of the lightning-fast whip of her words. Caffeinated, frigid, focused on her goal above all else. “Gave him the abilities. Tormented him until he became obsessed with the Darwinian model of being strongest … And they were the ones who captured my Eric.”

  “I’m not denying any of that,” I said as the Humvee came to a stop and I shifted it into park. “I’m just …” My head sagged, lurching forward, my neck muscles just tired of holding up the weight of my head, let alone everything else that was on my shoulders. “Don’t push me in this, Cassidy. I might have to kill Hades just because the course of events seems headed that way … don’t try and apply any more torsion to me right now.”

  “Why not?” She sounded pretty serious.

  I lifted my head, suddenly empowered by a hot rage that flooded through me. “Because I am getting dangerously close to my limit with everyone on the damned planet right now, and on the planet is where you live, unless you’ve relocated to outer space.”

  “Not yet, no,” Cassidy said, and there was a hint of give in her voice. “All right. Fine. I have a deep suspicion that whether you like it or not, you’re going to come in direct conflict with Vlad himself by the time this is all over. I can afford to be patient, let events play out. It seems you’re going to be thrust into a battle with the forces of Revelen in the meantime anyway. Escalation is inevitable.”

  “Why …?” I croaked. “Why can I not just … catch a break? An honest-to-goodness break? Why couldn’t I come to a peaceful Eastern European country, with beaches and a friendly president who was like, ‘I dig your style, Sienna’? One that everybody loved—like a male Grace Kelly, who had such good relations with everyone that nobody wanted to even bother coming after me. And I could have spent like a hundred years working on my tan and keeping my nose out of trouble and—who knows, maybe being a queen, but not because of hereditary reasons—”

  “If you’re queen, there’s usually some heredity involved—”

  “Shut the hell up and let me indulge in a moment of fantasy that might help see me through the shit that is about to go down here, Cassidy,” I said. “Because I am at my limit, okay? Years of this shit. I have been through years of this shit, and I am—so tired.” I thumped my hand against the steering wheel and it creaked a little, underneath the leather. “I just want—a—break.”

  “Well, you’re not getting one now, so suck it up, buttercup,” Cassidy said, and the engine roared to life again. “You might want to get into Bredoccia before they get their own drone force up. Ditch the car before they start scouring for you.”

  My shoulders sagged as I placed my hands back on the wheel. “Cassidy … I’m not going to kill them, okay? Just get that out of your head now.” I put my foot on the pedal and goosed it gently. It spat gravel, and I was back on the road, fishtailing lightly.

  “We’ll see,” Cassidy said, and she was back to being way too happy. If she had any more to say on it, though, she kept it to herself, and I followed the winding road down the rest of the mountain as it flattened out, running straight into the old-town section of Bredoccia.

  CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN

  I slid into the quiet streets of Bredoccia sleek as a … well, a Hummer doing about fifty along quiet avenues. It was an interesting town, reminding me again of Edinburgh. Bredoccia touched the mountain only at the edge, and it looked to me like Vlad had done some work with the local zoning board to keep anyone from encroaching on his castle. As a result, Bredoccia stretched in the other three directions like mad, but downtown stayed pretty close to the cliff face below the castle rock.

  The biggest skyscraper downtown, the Dauntless Tower, was just ahead, the mix of old and new buildings heading into downtown lending the city an eclectic air. The tall buildings breaking out of the mostly four- and five-story European apartment blocks gave Bredoccia a quality of old clashing hard with new. I’d have found it ugly but I had more pressing problems than aesthetics.

  “They’re tightening the net around you,” Cassidy’s voice piped up from the radio. “They know what you’re driving, and there are troops on the streets. They’re going to have eyes on you shortly, because I can’t keep ArcheGrey out of her own grid for long.”

  “Maybe I’ll hit the freeway and burn out of town before they get their shit together,” I said, gunning my engine as the lights ahead started to go red.

  “There’s not really a convenient freeway to anywhere but Canta Morgana and the port there,” Cassidy said. “And even that doesn’t stack up to that road we took from Florida through Alabama. Which interstate was that?”

  “I don’t know and I don’t care,” I said, looking ahead. Every light had gone red. It looked to me like Arche was taking some action to slow me down. Too bad she didn’t realize I didn’t give a fig about traffic laws.

  “You’re not going to make it out of this country if they don’t want you to,” Cassidy said. “They’re going to force a confrontation.”

  “My whole life is confrontations,” I said, looking ahead, then checking my mirrors. No cars, no trucks in sight—yet. “I’m getting a little sick of them.”

  “Who do you think you’re kidding? You love confrontations,” Cassidy said. “The only reason you’re flinching at this one is because it’s your family.”

  “Yes, feelings are a complicating thing,” I said. “Not that you’d know, what with being on a mis
sion to avenge the boyfriend who constantly cheated on you while you were together.”

  “You don’t know that much about me.” Cassidy’s voice was clipped.

  “But I do know that.”

  “Well, where’s your boyfriend?” Cassidy fired back. “Huh? Ditched you back in the Dakotas, didn’t he? When you started to do things he didn’t agree with?”

  “In fairness to him, I can be kind of disagreeable,” I said, keeping my voice even. Hell if I knew where Harry was now. Somewhere safe, hopefully, and well out of trouble. “I’m a handful. Maybe two handfuls.”

  “Stop bragging about your bra size and take a left ahead. There’s a military truck two blocks up about to turn onto your street.”

  Whatever my grievances with Cassidy, in this I took her advice, taking a left onto a smaller avenue, a one way heading … hell if I knew which direction I was going.

  “I like that you unquestioningly did what I asked there,” she said. “If you could just get in the habit of that—”

  “I’m not your slave,” I said. “I’m following your directions of out pure self-interest. When they cease to be in my interest, I’ll stop following them.”

  “Hm. Fascinating. Why would you assume I’m not steering you into trouble to precipitate a confrontation that benefits my interests?”

  “I assume you are, actually,” I said, looking either way. “But I’ve ruled out getting out of town without confrontation. Now I’m just looking for a way to make it … survivable.”

  “Another left. There’s an alley.”

  I turned into the alley. It dead-ended, and the brick wall of a three-story apartment building waited in front of me.

  I sighed. “So … confrontation now?”

  “Probably shortly,” Cassidy said. “I estimate only a five percent chance this Humvee survives, and they’re less than a block away, so I’ll make this quick. There’s a gas main three feet under the street, an electric box to your right on the wall, a fire escape a story up on your left, and a dumpster you could probably lift in a pinch against the far wall. The soldiers in the truck have powers, of course, but I don’t know what kind. Bet on a mix of the classics—Gavrikovs, Hercules, maybe some unique ones in there. They also have guns.”