Team Omega

by Christopher G. Nuttall

  “Shitty world,” Lane said. “That kid kills upwards of seventy gangsters and we offer him a chance that half the kids in America would sell their own grandmothers to have. And his mother ... bitch should have contacted us at once, the moment they developed powers.”

  Chester shrugged. He understood - but no one could undo the past. The kids’ mother would have to be dealt with, somehow, yet the real problem was cleaning up the mess. Retribution could wait.

  “It’s that or put him so far underground that he will never see sunlight again,” he said. Besides, the SDI was always on the lookout for more superhuman talent—and Jane Lofting, once she was a little older, would make a fine recruit for the covert team. They needed all the superpower they could get with Hope running amok in the Congo. “Besides...it isn't as if we’re recruiting Slaughter, or Jim Crow.”

  “The CIA did recruit Slaughter,” Lane reminded him. “Shitty world.”

  He pulled a packet of cigarettes out of his pocket and opened them, absently. “They said that my predecessor was eventually given a medical discharge for nearly drinking himself to death,” he added. “I know exactly how he felt.”

  Chester nodded. “We ride tigers,” he said, ruefully. Jack hadn’t seemed menacing, not in the prison cell. But who knew how he’d develop in the future? A frightened and angry pair of children could easily become monsters. “And the problem with riding the tiger isn't actually riding it, it’s getting off afterwards.”

  “My sister took the kids to see Oh-No at the zoo,” Lane said. “They made riding on a tiger’s back look easy.”

  “Of course it was,” Chester said. Oh-No was a shape-shifter who loved entertaining kids, to the point where he pretended to be a tiger in the zoo. The SDI had tried to recruit him, only to discover that he wasn't interested in covert operations. “He wasn't a real tiger.”

  “The kids couldn't tell the difference,” Lane said. His voice hardened, becoming a warning. “Are you so sure that you can?”

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Esmeralda Rodriguez—Sparky—hadn't been sure what to expect when she emerged from the portal into Kinshasa. All she’d known about the Congo came from publicity leaflets that had been handed out during an appearance the Young Stars had made for charity. As for Kinshasa itself, she'd thought it likely to be a city in ruins, with countless poor people struggling to survive, or perhaps a necropolis like Warsaw after the Russians dropped the bomb.

  Instead, the city seemed to be coming back to life, with thousands of natives selling goods in the markets and foreigners buzzing everywhere. Some of them were clearly aid workers; others were reporters or idealists, coming to see what Hope had made of the war-torn country. Her senses picked out electric lines, providing power to a city that had been virtually powerless for years. Most of the lines were poorly placed and would need to be replaced sooner rather than later, but they were helping to push the country back towards minimal living standards.

  The Congo’s currency had been worthless for years, yet judging by the throng surrounding the market something had been worked out to help the people buy food while hopefully not destroying local farmers. In a year, assuming that the country didn't collapse back into chaos, Esmeralda suspected that the country would be more than capable of feeding itself. And she noticed a mutant lecturing a crowd of reporters on the obscene waste caused by the civil war; the reporters listened attentively and actually took notes as to how local farms would be back up to scratch within a few months, ensuring they no longer needed to import food from overseas.

  They’d wanted her to spy, but as she looked around she realised that she had no idea where to begin. She’d reported to the recruitment centre that put superhumans—and a handful of volunteer soldiers from around the world—to work, only to be told that she’d be called when they had something suitable. It honestly hadn’t occurred to her just how limited her power was outside a First World city. Absent electric wires to draw power from, she was limited to what little electric power ran through her body. Enough to shock, perhaps, but not enough to fight.

  But then, the Young Stars had never been expected to fight.

  There were superhumans flying in the sky, more than anywhere, even New York. A handful were clearly providing security, watching the population from overhead, ready to intervene if something went wrong. Others were carrying massive loads from the portal station to the rest of the country, flying humanitarian aid from all over the world. The governments might have been reluctant to have anything to do with Hope’s grand plan to save the Congo, but many ordinary people were doing everything they could to assist. It almost made her proud, but she was guilty for what she’d agreed to do. But what could she tell the government that would convince them to forget what the other Young Stars had done?

  A hand tapped her on the shoulder. She spun around and saw one of the mutants. This one looked rather like a walking skeleton, with a bare covering of skin and flesh over his bones. Esmeralda had taken part in events intended to raise money for the mutants, but they had always made her uncomfortable, if only because a single twist of the genetic lottery could have had her turn out like that. The mutants were cousins to the superhumans, yet the superhumans preferred to forget they existed. But Hope had reached out a hand and invited the mutants to join him.

  “You are invited to meet Hope himself,” the mutant said. Esmeralda stared at him—and at the way the crowd fell back, unwilling to get too close to the walking skeleton. Now she saw it, she noticed that some of the locals didn't seem too enamoured of the superhumans flying overhead. “Please, will you come with me?”

  Esmeralda nodded, wondering if it was something to do with the Young Stars. They might have been completely useless for working in the Congo, but their celebrity status might help to convince American public opinion to support the Saviours. Hope presumably didn't know that three of the team were in jail and the rest operated on a shoestring; in truth, Esmeralda wasn't sure if she even wanted to re-form the team. She could leave, couldn't she? It wasn't as if she didn't have enough money in the bank to live the rest of her life in idle luxury...

  Hope had set up his headquarters in what looked like an old mansion from Dixie, but unlike the former owner he had thrown it open to the public. Superhumans, reporters and mutants thronged around, trying to build up a picture of the Congo so they could begin assigning resources to fix the most serious problems. One screen showed trouble in the east, towards Rwanda; a handful of superhumans were already on the way to deal with it. Esmeralda couldn’t help but stare as she was escorted into the mansion and up to the top floor. The building seemed to be brimming with life.

  “In there,” the mutant said.

  Esmeralda watched him walk away and turned to enter the door. Inside, there was a small office—a handful of paintings had clearly been removed from the walls and stacked in one corner—and two people waited for her. Hope was instantly recognisable; his golden costume shined brightly, while the second person looked...attractive. Esmeralda had always preferred boys to girls, but the second person seemed to slide right past her defences and into her heart. She seemed perfect, too perfect. And then she realised just who she was looking at.

  “I shouldn't worry about it,” the Redeemer said. Even her voice was perfect—or was she telepathically projecting to Esmeralda’s mind? “I have that effect on everyone.”

  Esmeralda bit down the comment that came to mind. “Why don’t you show people your true face?” she asked. As far as she knew, there wasn't even a picture of the Redeemer anywhere in the world. But then, telepathic illusions couldn't fool cameras. “And why am I here?”

  “You’re a spy,” Hope said, flatly. Esmeralda wanted to deny it, but knew it would be futile. The Redeemer had probably ferreted her out the moment she’d entered the Congo. “I know, they forced you into serving them. Not the worst they’ve ever done, I assure you.”

  Esmeralda wilted, feeling violated. The Redeemer could have scanned her entire mind and she wouldn'
t have even noticed. Everything she knew, everything she’d thought—from the crush she’d had on an older superhuman to her first unsatisfactory experiment with a boy—was now public knowledge. Everyone knew...

  “They don't,” the Redeemer said, gently. “I only told Hope what he needed to know.”

  “I need you to pass on a message,” Hope said, flatly. “Earlier this morning, a sniper killed three of my people—and now you arrive, a spy with very vague instructions. The two events have to be connected. I suspect that you were intended to report back to them about our reaction to the sniper’s attack. Does that make sense to you?”

  Esmeralda didn't know what he was talking about.

  “She doesn't know,” the Redeemer said. “They were criminally negligent sending her here without a proper briefing—or indoctrination. It isn't as if they’re short of superhumans willing to do anything for America.”

  “I will send you back to New York the next time Gateway opens a portal,” Hope said, calmly. “When you’re there, you can contact your supervisor and pass on the message. I want the sniper and his support team handed over to face trial by telepathy. If the sniper is not handed over, there will be unpleasant consequences. You might also wish to inform him that the governmental refusal to supply aid is having dire effects on the Congo and I cannot allow it to go on for much longer. And yes, that is a threat.”

  Esmeralda shook her head. “I can't pass that message on...”

  “Yes, you can,” Hope said. There was no give in his voice at all. “They sent you here as a spy. Hopefully, sending you back will convince them of the futility of trying to undermine us. We are determined to save the world, no matter who gets in our way.”

  He nodded towards the door, which opened to reveal a pair of mutants. “Take Sparky back to Gateway and send her through the portal to New York when it opens,” he ordered. “And if she wishes to return afterwards, she is more than welcome.”

  Esmeralda said nothing as the mutants escorted her back outside, towards the open space that Gateway used for her portals. What else could she do?

  ***

  Matt Tracker hadn't been too surprised when he’d felt the gentle telepathic probe touching his mind. Most telepaths were natural voyeurs, assuming that they managed to assert enough control over their talents to avoid having to spend their entire lives in a mental institution; he hadn't seen any reason to assume that the Redeemer was any different. The files on her might have been thick, yet most of the information was pure conjecture. No one knew much about her, starting with where she’d been born. That wasn't too unusual among superhumans, who could often cross borders at will, but the Redeemer was an odd case.

  The papers the SDI had provided established him as a journalist for The Truth, an online newspaper blog that had a growing reputation for providing unbiased articles instead of the slanted news produced by the mainstream media. For someone who was effectively a walking lie detector, it was an easy cover to maintain; just ask questions and note when someone was lying. Even then, it could be informative; the lies someone chose to tell could tell a listener what they were trying to hide.

  Kinshasa struck him as soon as he walked out of the portal area. Unlike the more powerful superhumans, Matt’s powers were completely sensory; he’d spent the first two years of his life as a superhuman in a mental hospital until he’d learned to cope with the barrage of information that had threatened to overwhelm him. It didn't seem fair that superhumans like Hope or America could have stable relationships when he was too aware of his surroundings to miss the moment when a girlfriend wondered just what the hell she was doing, but the universe had never been fair. Besides, he could walk through the city and pick up the vibes to a far greater extent than any other superhuman.

  His first impression was that the city was on the mend; his second was that it was largely illusionary. That wasn't too much of a surprise; Hope and his team simply hadn’t been in the Congo for more than a couple of weeks. They’d had time to start fixing some of the most dangerous problems—and removing the warlords would have helped the locals start recovering all on their own—but many of the problems they faced were simply too large to be fixed quickly. An influx of doctors from the First World had started new programs for saving children from the worst killers, yet they’d started to run out of supplies. Matt rolled his eyes as he walked on, listening to one of the doctors complain to a nurse. Hadn't it occurred to them to build up a stockpile of medical supplies before they’d moved in?

  He pushed the thought aside as he walked out of the city centre and down towards the poorer parts of town. People chattered away in several different languages, but Matt had always been good with languages, if only because he’d often been able to see a person’s intended message behind their words. Some of them seemed to love the newcomers, something that didn't surprise Matt too much; others seemed to hate and resent them. Hope hadn't just saved them from a man who had practically enslaved them; he’d told them that their old way of living would no longer be tolerated. Those who had been powerful—big fish in a very small pond, always subject to waves washing over the rocks and changing everything—wanted to keep their power. Tribal leaders knew they needed to keep the tribal system operating if they wanted to remain powerful; religious leaders didn't want to preach tolerance when tolerance meant an end to their power. It didn't help, he realised fairly quickly, that a number of women had left, in several cases taking their children with them. The old society would have hunted them down and brought them back. Now...

  Matt found it hard to disapprove of what Hope had done. The women in the Congo had always been on the receiving end of the worst violence—and not just from the warlords. Their husbands had beaten them, taking out their helplessness and frustration on their wives, who were expected to do nothing, but take the beating and give thanks to God that it wasn't worse. But women weren't semi-intelligent creatures who could do nothing, apart from cooking, cleaning and breeding the next generation of children. The smarter ones had realised they could leave...and they’d done so. Hope’s allies could settle them on the other side of the Congo or even outside the country, preventing their husbands and fathers from ever tracking them down. They couldn't even seek to terrify the ones who had remained after the superhumans had killed a handful of husbands and fathers for beating their wives and daughters. Matt sensed their feelings and realised they felt emasculated.

  The cold dispassionate part of his mind didn't care how they felt. Anyone who needed to beat on his wife to feel like a man was a monster, plain and simple. Hope was right; there was no justification for such criminal acts, and the only way to get the message across to people so set in their ways was to make it clear that there would be disastrous consequences.

  But at the same time, the sullenness infecting Kinshasa would make it harder for Hope to galvanise the population into reclaiming their country and their pride in themselves. Perhaps it would come to an end in a year, once it was clear that the country was feeding itself and that the warlords would never be allowed to return, but it was equally possible that the Congo would fragment. Who would take over once the foreigners returned home?

  He kept walking, absorbing as much as he could from the surroundings. Some were planning a revolution, although Matt doubted that they would do more than hurt a few people before Hope and the Saviours took them apart. Unlike him, they couldn't hide their thoughts from a telepath. But it would add to Hope’s frustration as he failed to produce the quick change he wanted—needed—to prove that he was right. Matt wasn't so convinced. The world was a more complex place than most superhumans realised, if only because most humans didn't have superhuman powers. Fixing what was wrong with the world would take decades—and the Saviours didn't have the time to make it work.

  His walk eventually took him to the prison camp, established at the edge of the city. Some watchdogs had questioned the living conditions of the men who were held in the camp, something they’d rarely done for the prisoners of the warlo
rds in the Congo, but Matt couldn't see anything particularly wrong with their treatment. They might have been prisoners, fed on limited rations, but they weren't being tortured to death. Some had even volunteered to help work on recovery projects aimed at rebuilding the country. But then, the worst of the prisoners had long since been removed and executed. Matt knew that the rest of the world was still reeling over the invasion, let alone the executions. What government could consider itself secure if a handful of rogue superhumans could overthrow a foreign government and make it stick?

  The reporters had been housed in one of the safer skyscrapers rather than being allowed to bring their trailers and living supplies through the portals. This had probably accounted for a number of the angrier stories in the media; Matt had yet to meet a reporter who didn't consider himself a very important person. Still, it was something he approved of; it would do them good to have a taste of what life in Kinshasa had been like for the average person, before Hope had brought a taste of a better life to the local population. But how many of them would accept it?

  His laptop had been left where he’d placed it, untouched by anyone. There were no bugs in the room, nothing to keep an eye on the reporters—but then, Hope was a true idealist. He wouldn't spy on the reporters, merely trust them to report the news without fear or favour. Others in his team would know better, yet what could they do? Hope was the driving heart of their team.