“You stir the music with the beat of your wings,” Kya’s voice sang from the speakers. “Snowy white, a drift of feathers on the wind. Watch me now, I’m a lady dancer.”
As the lyrics coursed through her spinning and tumbling body, the nondescript gray wall around the stage rippled like the surface of a river. Before everyone’s eyes, it transformed into a breathtaking mural of white doves in flight. Flocks of white birds appeared out of nowhere, flying through the hall in one swift wave. The audience stood, making ragged, gasping sounds beneath the hands they had pressed to their mouths.
Still on stage, she remained lost in the flow of music and motion. Her body dropped and spun and twisted and flipped with an accuracy that she had never before imagined. She savored every second while it lasted, relishing in every brush of fabric, stirred by her movements.
Watch me now, I’m a lady dancer.
When the last beat of the song died out, Sarina found herself crouched near the edge of the stage, stained with sweat and panting for breath. The massive event hall had gone utterly silent. When her aura contracted back inside her own body, and her reality was dwarfed back to normal, she became suddenly self-conscious. What had she done?
From nearby, a familiar voice said her name so she looked up. There in the front row, which had been occupied by hipster teens just minutes ago, was her entire adopted family: Mom, Dad, David, even Uncle Ben who had only just arrived from Australia.
She felt her knees weaken. How on earth?
She had been positive her family hadn’t been there when the song had started before her mind had turned into a dazed mess. But now here they were, wearing the same awestruck looks on their faces as everyone else, and Sarina couldn’t shake the feeling that she had somehow made them appear at her will. Desperately needing to hang onto something solid, Sarina stretched a hand out to her family. The noiseless crowd backed away in unison, moving as a single entity.
“Mom?” she whispered.
But before her mother could react, some woman forced her way to the front of the crowd and held up a child before Sarina’s out-stretched hand, going on about gods and blessings, not making any sense.
“Mom?” Sarina repeated in a small voice. Throngs of people were now forcing their way towards her, pushing her family aside as they reached up to the stage. An even bigger wave of people pushed its way toward the exits at the back of the hall.
Then someone from her crew—Danny? Stefan?—crouched beside her, rambling on about nothing in a soothing tone while a group of uniformed men made their way up to the stage. Two of the men were talking into their collars as they pressed small receivers to their ears.
Sarina knew what the uniforms meant. They would take her away, just like in the stories she had read about on the Internet. She would probably never be allowed to dance on stage again. Worse, she would likely never return home.
She desperately searched the crowd, but she wasn’t able to see her family anymore. Her vision blurred with tears. She was alone. Again.
2.2 Dancer
Boltigen, Switzerland
Tuesday, the 5th of June, 2012
09:47 a.m.
Dancer closed in on her opponent, letting her aura sweep across the charred remains of the village. All around her, the damage of the Pyromancer’s attack was undone. The grass regained its vivid green hue. Singed housetops were made whole again by unseen energy. Shattered windows were mended within seconds. And it was all thanks to her and her powers.
Dancer caught up to her nemesis on top of a small hill overlooking the area. He was clad in red leather and sported a voluminous moustache and a pair of glowing red eyes. He looked suitably evil, just how she’d imagined him. Of course, she was making him up in her head, but whatever. She was playing the scene out in her imagination for lack of better things to do. She had been practicing the perfect hero speech in front of the mirror for hours. By now, she was ready to unleash it on a coat rack if necessary.
She fired her prepared barrage of words while shooting finger guns at her mirror image. “All right, villain, don’t move! And don’t do anything stupid, either. It’s over!”
He didn’t respond, but that was okay. They both knew the end was inevitable.
“Now, tell me why you set those fires. Did you think of the families who lost their homes? Some of them have little kids!”
Dancer adjusted her grip on her make-believe weapon and slowly raised the barrel, the way she’d seen it done in a movie once. She didn’t need a weapon, of course. Not even an imaginary one. But it looked cool in the mirror, and it was a way to occupy her hands.
“For your crimes, I sentence you to lifelong imprisonment in the Thorberg underground facility where you can consider the consequences of your actions for the rest of your life!”
Dancer paused, pursing her lips. That sounded stupid. A real villain would need some sort of elaborate futuristic prison to prevent him from using his fiery powers to escape. She looked around at her humble surroundings. There was nothing futuristic about them.
She made another attempt. Glaring at her mirror image, she forced a threatening edge into her voice. “For your crimes, I will lock you in a prison of ice to douse your powers. Any last words?” She let the imaginary gun drop. “Yeah, well, me either.” She was left staring in the mirror, her hands hanging limply at her side.
A few years back, before Evolved humans existed, and before the Baumanns had come onto the scene to save her from her jumbled mess of a life, Sarina had often daydreamed about having the power to make people love and accept her. People like the junkie mother she hadn’t seen since child welfare services had taken her away as a young child, the cranky old lady who’d acted as the custodian at the juvenile facility where Sarina kept getting bounced back to, and the failed foster families who’d remained cool and distant as if they didn’t believe she was worth the emotional investment. She had imagined the ability to make these people love her a million times.
Then coke became her superpower. It made her feel good about herself for once. Good about her life. Whenever she was high, her boyfriend was perfect and all his friends were witty and awesome. So long as she’d been high, life just didn’t feel so hard. It was like she was a superheroine who could finally solve her own problems. And then she’d been embraced by her new family, who had shown her how to solve her problems for real.
Since then, whenever she’d fantasized about being a hero, she concentrated on others who needed saving—not herself. That was a nice change. When Shanti had transitioned a few months ago, Sarina had immediately admired her the way other teenagers idolized pop stars.
She raised her finger gun again. “That’s right, Pyromancer. Shanti and I are working together now.”
The ping of an incoming message distracted her from her make-believe setting, delivering the promise of social interaction. She lowered her hands and turned away from the mirror.
After the loneliness and confusion of the last few days, she was eager to chat with just about anyone. After her life-changing performance, the security guards had kept her in a back room until the army had showed up to drive her here—empty military barracks on a secluded Alp in the middle of nowhere. So far, the only visitor she’d been allowed to receive was Queenie, the Covenant heroine assigned to her case.
Other than that, she’d spent her first thirty-six hours in custody, alternating between sobbing fits and staring at the ceiling numbly. She had soon come to hate her ugly basement room with its gray walls and tiny window panes. At least it was more spacious than a prison cell.
Getting Internet access on her second day there had been a godsend. She could talk to her family over the webcam, but those chats did little to cure her homesickness. They were probably monitored, too, along with all her Internet use, but Sarina didn’t care. If she couldn’t enjoy any social interaction, then she’d go insane before long.
Sarina ran the few steps to the computer desk, her socks gliding to a halt on the smooth parquet floor. Sh
e hastily sat down in front of the gunmetal gray desk.
A small chat window was displayed in the upper-left quadrant of the desktop monitor. There was one message written in English. Morning, Dancing Queen. How’s the government treating you? Jasper’s avatar picture, a blue-and-red fox wearing large white headphones, was displayed next to the words.
Sarina smiled. She’d met the twenty-something British rogue Evolved over a message board two days ago. Since then her chats with him had been the highlights of her dull superheroine life. She had her daily family web chats, but those always ended too soon.
Her fingers were already typing a response before she’d positioned more than half of her butt on the vinyl seat of the stiff army-issue office chair. This was one of the rare occasions when she was grateful for the English she’d picked up from the Scotts, the British national foster parents she had for three years before they had changed their minds about her and returned to England. Fortunately for her, the Baumanns had stepped in to legally adopt her.
Bored, Sarina typed into the chat window. Not for the first time, she wished she could Skype with Jasper. But Queenie had been clear: web chats were reserved for family members only. Sarina pressed ENTER and waited for Jasper’s response.
As usual, she only had to wait a few seconds. What, they don’t have you off on some secret mission somewhere? he typed.
Sarina smiled and thought about how to word her response. Cheeseland is too neutral to do anything except sit around and argue about law changes, she typed. I’m a new problem. They don't have any idea what to do with me.
A ping sounded a couple seconds later. Jasper was a fast typist. Apply for asylum in the UK? He ended the question with a smiley face emoticon.
Then we could go save the world together? Haha. The sound of the old keyboard was amplified by the bare cement walls.
Jasper’s reply came twenty seconds later. My government doesn’t let me do much, either. There are hordes of scientists who analyze my music, but the Covenant doesn’t need me to use those tracks. So yeah, saving the world with you sounds like a great plan to me.
Sarina typed a winking smiley face and hit ENTER.
She couldn’t deny that the idea of saving the world with Jasper, aka DJ, had more appeal than her current situation. Besides, he was a music composer, and she’d always liked hanging out with quirky and fun creative types. It would be fun to change the world with him.
There was just one problem. Her neutral Swiss government probably wouldn’t let her cooperate with any other organization or individual without month-long negotiations. Suffocation by red tape was a common condition where she was from. Not to mention the fact that no one—least of all herself—understood how her power worked, which didn't help. She hadn’t even succeeded in activating it since they’d brought her here. At first she’d held out hope that maybe she hadn’t really transitioned after all, that it was all some sort of mistake or hallucination, but the fact that thousands of people had witnessed how she’d teleported her family—and a whole flock of doves—to the event hall had made it hard for even her to deny.
So she was an Evolved cripple. A wild card, as Queenie called her. Which, she assumed, was why she was being held in this underground facility. Wild cards were Evolved who couldn’t be assigned to any of the UNEOA’s power classifications. Still, it would have been nice to meet some of the heroes from the European Evolved Union. Aura, the Union’s Empath, was a little younger than Sarina, and seemed really nice in the Youtube clips Sarina had watched.
The ping of another incoming message drew her attention back to the screen. You just might be the only one who can do something about the Sleepwalker.
Sarina gawked at the blinking cursor, at a loss for how to respond. Just thinking about the Sleepwalker made her body inadvertently shiver. People caught in the monstrous rogue Evolved’s aura died gruesomely or were driven to insane bloodlust. If even the Covenant couldn’t figure out how to kill that thing, how was she supposed to know what to do?
After resting her fingers on the keys for a few seconds, she typed her response. I think dealing with that huge lake in Africa is more my speed. She added a smiley face before hitting ENTER.
She’d read about all those poor farming families who’d lost everything or drowned in Monsoon’s flood. She wished there was a way she could restore the world to the way it was before power surges happened. Except I don’t know how to do anything with my power, she thought, frustrated. Sure, she could daydream about being able to help people. But given her current situation that was all she could do.
Another ping sounded. Hey, I’ve been meaning to ask you how you changed the music to something the Maag event hall didn’t even have on record. I’d love to know how to do that!
Sarina gave a bemused little laugh. Yeah, I wish I knew, too. The white coats and the military had given her a secure room filled with a bunch of monitoring equipment to use as a dance space. But even after hours of trying, she hadn’t been able to trigger her powers again.
I don’t have a clue how I did it, she typed. I still don’t know how my power works … if it works at all. She pressed ENTER.
What does Queenie say? came Jasper’s immediate reply.
Over the past two days, Sarina had kept Jasper filled in on her experiences at the holding facility. It felt good to have somebody to confide in, even if her correspondence was being monitored.
She visited yesterday morning. She said that the Covenant thinks my power is basically one of two things: useless, or a ‘game-breaker.’ They aren’t sure which. Her fingers flew across the keyboard. She hadn’t really understood what Queenie had meant last night, and she was anxious to get Jasper’s take on it.
It took him several minutes to respond, which was unusual. Their previous chats had always moved along very quickly. Finally the ping arrived. She used the term ‘game-breaker?'
Sarina wrinkled her nose, trying to remember. Her English was good, but not perfect. Yeah, I’m pretty sure, she typed. What do you think that means?
There was another long pause before Jasper’s reply arrived. She probably meant that most of what they thought they knew about powers doesn’t apply to you. The next message came only a few seconds later. They thought the maximum range of powers was something like a hundred meters. But your parents were how far away? A mile? That’s crazy, especially since it was just your transition. That’s almost like an instant surge your very first time … heh. Two smiley faces.
Sarina thought back to all of the life forces she had sensed during her transition. There had been tens of thousands of them scattered across Zürich’s downtown, and the scientists had been surprised by her report. Her parents had still been on Route 4 when they’d suddenly appeared at the Maag. That alone indicated her abilities were far beyond the range of other Evolved.
Yeah, that is crazy.
Sure, the Traveler teleported himself across the globe, but he couldn’t take anyone else with him. And most Evolved with comparable abilities only moved or affected people and objects in their field of vision. Right that moment, she wanted nothing more than to trigger her power and teleport her family here. This whole quarantine deal was getting old fast.
If my power stays useless for long enough, maybe I can go back home, she typed.
You’ll figure something out.
All of a sudden, she wasn’t sure if she even wanted to figure it out any more. Saving the world sounds cool, but I miss my family. This time, she added a sad emoticon before pressing ENTER.
As she waited for Jasper’s reply, she leaned into the edge of the metal desk until it cut into the thin cotton of her t-shirt. She struggled to suppress that annoying burning tingle in her eyes, knowing full well that she’d never get a chance to use her power for good if she couldn’t get over her crybaby self. Superheroines don’t cry, and they never get homesick, she reminded herself.
The chat messenger finally gave another ping. She rubbed her nose with the back of a hand before glancing at th
e monitor. Maybe this will cheer you up, Jasper had typed.
There was a file attached to the message. She double clicked it without hesitation, watching her screen fill with the image of a brown-haired guy in his early twenties. Jasper, she presumed. Around his neck he had a set of white headphones just like the ones his fox avatar wore. He was posing with a King Kong action figure balanced on one upturned palm. His face, only inches away from the miniature ape, was scrunched up in a hilarious grimace of mock horror. The figurine’s position made it look like the ape was swinging its monstrous fist at a large clock tower in the background.
Most surprising of all, an image of Sarina breakdancing had been edited into the cityscape near the base of the clock tower. The way the image was set up made it look like her extended leg was about to kick King Kong from the picture. The photo had a caption: DJ and Dancer saving London.
Sarina couldn’t help but laugh at the silly mashup. It was cute how much effort he’d invested to cheer her up. She leaned over to take a closer look at the person who’d become her friend. Jasper had that modern rugged look that was in fashion with guys nowadays. His short brown hair had been styled in a rough-and-tumble, artificially tousled fashion which nearly covered his blue eyes. He wasn’t super hot, but kind of cute.
You’re funny, she typed. Where’d you get that picture of me? I never sent you one. She added a smiley face so her message wouldn’t sound accusatory.
This time, he quickly responded. They’re everywhere. You didn’t google yourself?
The thought made her pause. She’d been so busy, trying to learn about other people’s transitions, that she hadn’t even considered researching herself. Besides, she’d never been all that interested in computers, the Internet, or all that social media drama. All the other kids her age were addicted to their smartphones, but she preferred reality. There was no substitute for hanging out with real people.
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