Human Superior

by C. S. Won

  “Please, do not blame Han for what happened. He was only trying to help.”

  “Help?” It was too much to bear. In the face of such a revelation, staying calm proved to be an impossible task. “Look at what’s happened since he tried to help. The world is on the brink of disaster. Madeline was—” Jae squeezed his fists even more, so much so that he thought he was going to break skin. “How is any of that helping?”

  “It wasn’t his intention. He had to work quickly or risk getting caught. If he—”

  “Then he should have left things alone!”

  “Madeline was in danger. He did what he felt he had to do to save her.”

  It took every last ounce of self-control Jae had to not put a hole into his wall. “Then he should have called me—something he already should have been doing in the first place—and tell me what was going to happen to Madeline.”

  “Would you have believed him?”

  “Why wouldn’t I?” Jae stood. “I can’t believe this. He never made any attempt to reach out to me, but for some reason he thought it was okay for him to turn my life completely upside down. How does that help? I never asked him to give me my powers. He never asked me for my permission. He just went ahead and did it without even thinking about the potential consequences. And now, because of his shortsightedness, I lost . . .” Jae bit his lip, the anger almost unbearable. Pax’s lesson about hard, ugly truths began to ring out in his head.

  Tobin closed his eyes, breathing in his pain. His face had grown paler. “He did it because he wanted to protect both you and Madeline.” He opened his eyes and looked at Jae. “He only had good intentions.”

  Before Jae could say anything further, Andrea entered the room. She looked distraught. “Jae, you need to see this.”

  “Not now,” Jae said.

  She shook her head. “I’m sorry, but this can’t wait.”

  Without a word, Jae went past Andrea and entered the living room, where he saw Clay and Marlowe sitting on the floor in front the television. The news was on, showing footage of the president stepping out of the White House, followed by several of his aides and secret service protection.

  “In an unprecedented attack . . .” a newscaster’s voice began.

  The president stopped before the Marine One helicopter, and turned to wave at the cameras behind him. Just as he did so, a portal opened up above the helicopter.

  “Oh my god,” Clay said.

  Half a dozen neo-humans slipped out of the portal. The last one out was a heavy-set man, and he landed on top of the helicopter and crushed it flat, killing the two pilots inside. The secret service agents stationed around the president cried out in surprise, scrambling away from the wreckage. Screams could be heard from the gallery of reporters gathered on the White House lawn.

  One of the secret service agents took his gun out, but paid the ultimate price for his defiance when a woman with claws the length of her arm impaled him right through his chest. The other agents quickly took up arms and barked out orders to protect the president. Another neo-human, pale as sun-bleached sand, brought both his hands out in front, and from his the tips of his fingers came ten searing, yellow beams of light. Each light perforated six different agents, creating smoking holes in their heads, chests, or stomachs. All fell to the ground unmoving, blood leaking from their bodies.

  Suddenly, only four agents remained. Two rallied close to the president, acting as his shield, doing their best to coax him back inside the White House. The other two were out in front, guns drawn and firing at a man who was running towards them while housed in what appeared to be some sort of glowing barrier. The bullets had no effect, bouncing off the assailant’s bubble harmlessly, and when the neo-human was close enough to the two agents, the barrier went away, and he palmed both of the agent’s foreheads. The agents stumbled back, surprised by the attack, and just as they were about to get their bearings, a smaller barrier suddenly appeared and encased their heads. The agents clawed away at the bubble, their eyes bulging out in panic and their mouths stretched open in a silent scream, then fell to the ground thrashing about wildly, struggling to breathe. So fierce was their effort that they were even tearing the skin off their fingers, struggling to break or scratch open the bubble swallowing their heads. But their struggles began to peter out, bodies slowly going rigid and hard, and soon the only thing moving was their mouths, opening and closing slowly in a last-ditch, futile effort for air.

  After witnessing what just happened, one of the agents escorting the president stayed behind to act as a deterrent, urging the other to hurry up and get to safety. He took a radio out and shouted that he needed more backup, but before he could finish a darker woman with hair coiling down to her knees appeared before him. She placed a finger on his forehead, and the agent recoiled away from her, dropping his radio clattering on the ground. He touched his own forehead, but found no wound. “What did you do?” the agent shouted. When no answer came, he trained his gun at her, but it clattered to the ground, his arm disintegrating into dust. For a moment the agent seemed perplexed, his brow furrowed in confusion, staring at the empty space where his arm used to be. But before he even had the opportunity to think on the matter any further, the rest of him collapsed into speckled powder. All that remained of what used to be a man was a pile of dust.

  A cry of anguish, and the president tried to run back to the men who had sacrificed their lives for him, but the last remaining agent pulled the president back and tried to wrangle him into the perceived safety of the White House. But the heavy-set neo-human made a great leap—a leap no man his size had any right to make—and landed right in front of the two, blocking off their path, his rotund figure casting the two in a wide shadow. The impact of his landing had the president sprawling backwards with his agent, both tumbling across the grass of the White House lawn.

  The agent cursed and rolled over onto his side, whipping his gun out, but it was the last action he would ever take. The woman with long hair was already on him, and with a swipe of her hand, the last of the president’s protection crumbled into dust.

  A portal appeared next to the president, and Edison stepped into frame.

  “What the hell is he doing there?” Clay asked.

  Edison bent down and gripped the president by the back of his suit collar, and hoisted him up as if he was a small child.

  “Citizens,” Edison said, his voice loud and clear. He pulled the president in closer. “Our time in this world has not been long, but since our inception, we have been treated like second-class citizens. We’ve done nothing to deserve such treatment, and yet our very existence incites intense suspicion and hatred. Through narrowed eyes and gritted teeth, you whisper hate behind our backs. Those who hold power have attempted to marginalize us. You unleash attack dogs and police and even the military against us, all because of what we are. A person can only take so much before they’ve had enough. All we’ve ever wanted was equal and fair treatment, but apparently such a notion is too much for some of you to bear. So if you refuse to listen to us, then we’ll make you listen to us.”

  “Jae,” Andrea ran into the living room. “Tobin’s not breathing.”

  Edison opened up another portal. Through the other end, a bird’s eye view of some unknown cityscape loomed before them.

  Clay stood. “Dear god. Is he . . . ?”

  “I tried to resuscitate him with my powers, but it was no good. We have to get Tobin to a hospital,” Andrea said.

  “You only have yourselves to blame for this,” Edison said.

  “Jae!”

  Edison tossed the president through the portal. Audible gasps and screams could be heard coming from the gallery of reporters. Edison let the portal linger, to show the viewing audience the president plummeting several thousand feet to his death, his figure growing smaller and smaller until it could no longer be seen amongst the grid of skyscrapers that awaited his arrival.

  Epilogue

  “What was Edison doing there?”

&
nbsp; Donnelly Stone turned the TV off. “Don’t you know why?” An unmistakable mocking twinge framed his tone. Han frowned at him. Donnelly clicked a button on a remote control, and the TV vanished inside a hidden slot in the ceiling of the room. “In an effort to allay rising tensions and violence, the president was set to meet with leaders of an emergent neo-human coalition. We couldn’t have that.”

  “Why not?” Han asked.

  “Because mediation is not the right way to deal with the issue that you have personally wrought upon us. If we are to prevent the future that you saw, then we have to cripple the neo-humans before they have a chance to consolidate their power.”

  “How does killing the president in any way achieve that?”

  “Because he was weak. Instead of pushing through an executive order to hinder the neo-humans, he opted to take a more laid-back, conciliatory approach. His vice-president, on the other hand, is more sympathetic to our cause, and will do whatever it takes to squash any foolish notion of a neo-human uprising.”

  “You’ve committed treason.”

  “We’re saving the world.”

  “You’re all fools. You’ve done nothing to prevent my visions from coming true. If anything, you’ve only accelerated its likelihood. The whole world will be roiling in chaos because of what you’ve done today.”

  “If the president had his way, he would have put us in a weaker position. Yes, all his simpering and appeasing would have brought peace, but it would have been short-lived. The neo-humans, with all the power they hold, will eventually wonder why they stand on equal footing with us. It is only a matter of time before they come together in cohesion, centralize their authority, then decide that they need to press their boots against our necks. We have to get rid of them.”

  “You’re dragging humanity into a battle they will never win. Morgan’s paranoia has doomed us all.”

  “Need I remind you that you started all this? If you hadn’t tampered with the Trigger in the first place, then we wouldn’t be in this position. But we can’t reverse what you’ve done, so here we are, doing what we can to clean up the mess you’ve created.”

  “How many times do I need to say this before you finally understand what I’m trying to tell you? There will be no winner with this war. We’ll both lose. The only way either of us gets out of his unscathed is if we come together and work things out.”

  Donnelly shook his head and sighed. “Naïve.” He walked around the room in a slow circle, taking in the cold, concrete walls that surrounded them. “I take it these accommodations are to your liking?”

  “How long do you intend to keep me here?”

  “Indefinitely.”

  “My brother—”

  “Is a remarkable man. I applaud him for his efforts in Virginia. To get that far . . . goodness, your brother can be frightening. But he won’t find you here. He never will. We’ve flushed out your entire network. There is no one in the outside world that can help him find you. He is alone, just as you are.”

  “He has Clay. He has all the information I’ve given him so far. He may not know where I am, but he can at least expose Morgan and—.”

  “We’ve already destroyed whatever evidence you gave him.”

  “You don’t think he has backups?”

  Donnelly shrugged. “Doesn’t matter. Clay has no credibility. His one and only source—you—is nowhere to be seen. Who’s going to substantiate his stories? Who’s going to believe his wild tales of alien gods and government conspiracies?”

  “People will believe.” Han was sure of it.

  “And just in case enough people actually do, then we have a contingency in place. By the time we’re finished, Clay will be utterly discredited. His character won’t just be assassinated; it’ll be thoroughly desecrated and left to rot in a ditch. Let me give you one example. Did you know Clay bought a gun so he could kill his wife?”

  “I . . .”

  “Can you imagine how damaging that will be if the public knew about that?”

  “Don’t do this.” Han went to his knees before Donnelly, and tugged at the sleeves of his shirt. “I beg you. It’s the wrong move. Open up dialogue with the other side. Get them to the table and iron out an agreement. Don’t shed blood just for the sake of shedding blood. Human and neo-human alike can get through this if we just work together. The future is not set in stone. War does not have to come to pass.”

  Donnelly shrugged him off. Han crumpled to the floor. Donnelly left to exit, but before leaving, he peered over his shoulder and looked at Han. “If you agree to resume your work on the Roswell project, then we’ll grant you some liberties. There is, after all, a lot of text still left to be deciphered and translated. You’ll work in isolation of course, in a different room away from the others, but it’s a far better prospect than spending the rest of your life in here, wouldn’t you say?”

  Han curled over until his brow kissed the cold concrete floor. He gave a soft groan.

  “Notify your guard if you do reconsider.” The door slid open, and Donnelly exited the small confines of the room.

  “You’ve doomed us all,” Han said. Tears welled in his eyes.