New Olympus Saga (Book 1): Armageddon Girl

by C. J. Carella

  “… eight hundred and eighty-three confirmed dead,” Kenneth Slaughter was saying. John blinked. He’d somehow blacked out for several seconds. Kenneth was wrapped in bandages, but he had insisted on attending the meeting. “Four hundred and thirty six people suffered severe injuries, and we have about six hundred others with light injuries. The main hospital was one of the facilities hit, so ninety-two critical cases were medevac’d to hospital facilities in Port Au-Prince. Ten Legion members were killed in action. In addition to Mind Hawk’s strike team, we lost Hailstorm, Medicine Man, Mesmer...”

  John hung his head as Kenneth read the casualty list. Most of the deceased had been acquaintances, good people but relatively new recruits. Mesmer – Jason Merrill – had been with the Legion for fifty years. John had been at Jason’s wedding and his son’s baptism. Jason had been a friend.

  He felt numb.

  “All losses, human and parahuman, are painful and regrettable,” General Xu’s hologram said, his clean-shaven face showing no trace of emotion. Xu was a recent entrant to the Legion, although he had been an active Neolympian since World War Two, best known in the Republic of China as Mao Zhe-Dong’s executioner. John had only a vague idea who Zhe-Dong was, but if you heard Xu tell the story, Mao had been as big a threat to the world as the Dragon Emperor. John had serious doubts about that. “I think we should concentrate on the paramount question, however,” Xu continued. “Who launched this unprovoked attack on the Legion?”

  “Unfortunately, the carrier vessel was thoroughly destroyed, and its remains scattered into the ocean.” Kenneth replied. “We have just started redeploying assets from search and rescue operations and tasking them to salvage what we can from the debris. The explosion that obliterated the vessel was in the twenty kiloton range, which means there is going to be very little to recover. The same teams are recovering as much radioactive material as possible. I will have a preliminary environmental impact statement ready for you later tonight.”

  “Before Doc here buries us in reports and graphs, let’s get down to the nitty-gritty,” Daedalus Smith broke in. Kenneth and Daedalus were equals in sheer genius and brilliance and near opposites in almost every other way. Where Kenneth was cool and reserved, Daedalus was flamboyant and irreverent. Kenneth led an ascetic life, dedicated to his scientific advancements and helping humanity. Daedalus managed to spend a good deal of his free time in the public eye, a notorious playboy seen with an endless variety of movie stars, singers and other notorious personalities, human and parahuman. They were not friends, and the best one could hope from their interactions was cold civility.

  “Long story short, the missiles are Chimp designs,” Daedalus continued, his eyes bright with anger. General Xu frowned – the slang term for ‘Chinese Imperial’ wasn’t exactly liked by the Republic of China – but said nothing. Daedalus absentmindedly pulled at his mustache as he continued. “We salvaged enough pieces from some of the cruise missiles that detonated over the island to identify them. They are designated C-755 types, three hundred mile range, pack a nice 100-pound enhanced explosive warhead, roughly equivalent to ten thousand pounds of TNT. From the video records from my suit, we can identify the flying carrier as a modified ACV-12. I’m sure that sometime between the environmental impact statement and our ‘fishing for radioactives’ operation we’ll gather enough big chunks of the ship to definitely identify it. But let’s get real, it’s Chimp technology. By tomorrow Doc will have enough evidence to convince a jury, but he already knows I’m right.”

  Kenneth Slaughter nodded, although he wasn’t happy about it. “The preliminary findings do point in that direction. But do let me emphasize the word ‘preliminary.’”

  “Of course, Doc,” Artemis said. She was cool and collected, but John could see the pain in her eyes. As the Public Affairs liaison for the Legion, Olivia had worked closely with most of the civilian staff at Freedom Tower, which had suffered the most casualties in the attack. Many of the dead had been close friends and colleagues of hers. “Still, it does seem clear the attackers were using Imperial technology.”

  Xu muttered something in Cantonese before speaking out loud. “Insanity! Why would the rebellious provinces attack the Legion in this manner? There has been peace between us for twenty years.”

  “Yeah, it’s probably not an official Chimp operation,” Daedalus agreed. “For one, they’d have sent at least a few Celestial Warriors along for the ride. The attack was launched by drones and vanillas.”

  “’Vanillas’ is an insensitive term, Mr. Smith,” Chasca said, her voice cold. “So is ‘Chimp,’ for that matter.” The Peruvian beauty was the youngest member of the Council at a mere forty-three years of age, but her forceful personality had made an impact since joining the Council four years ago. She was right, too; ‘vanilla’ was Neo slang for normal humans, and while not directly derogatory unlike other terms like ‘squishy’ or ‘normy,’ it wasn’t a compliment, either.

  “Sorry, my mistake. Drones and humans, with Imperial technology,” Daedalus said without a trace of remorse. “An ACV-12 has a crew of a fifty, but if its systems were automated, it could have been cut down to a handful people, or even remote-controlled from somewhere else. Even if there was a crew, I don’t think we’ll be able to identify any of them, since they were at ground zero of the explosion. Doubt we’re gonna find any pieces big enough to fit in a sandwich bag, and even those are going to be pretty crispy around the edges.”

  “So there is no evidence of parahuman involvement?” Xu asked.

  “Nothing conclusive,” Kenneth said. “The vessel had a very sophisticated stealth suite, which might be parahuman in nature. That explains how it was able to approach the island without being detected. Such stealth systems are not standard for any Aerial Carrier Vessel in the Empire’s arsenal.”

  “Yes,” Xu agreed. “If the Empire could deploy undetectable flying carriers, we would have known about it.” The Empire would have tried to start another short victorious war, John mentally translated. The Dragon Emperor’s territorial claims included all of China, and pretty much everything east of India up to and including Japan. He had never been content with the territory he controlled, which spanned all of Mongolia and several interior provinces of China. He had sealed those lands behind an energy wall five times as long as the original Great Wall of China. Twice in the last forty years, he had tried to seize more territory, leading to the deaths of millions.

  John had faced the Emperor a handful of times. Each time, even fighting side by side with such powerhouses as Janus and Hyperia, he had never been able to earn more than a draw. The man's power was godlike and was matched only by his ambition.

  “… should launch Operation Saint George,” Meteor was saying. “It’s about bloody time, I say. We’ve been planning it for decades, and all we’ve done is let the bugger consolidate his power.” Meteor had always been a balls-to-the-wall type. John had known him since the war. The British superhero had destroyed the city of Dresden in a firestorm that had killed thousands, and John had beaten him to an inch of his life afterward. He and Meteor did not care for each other, but in the ensuing three quarters of a century had learned to work together. John still tended to disagree with Meteor most of the time, and this was no exception.

  “That’s not going to work,” Daedalus said before John could voice an objection. “I wish it would. You all know I've got plenty of reasons to hate the Chi... the Imperials.” Back during the First Asian War, Daedalus had been captured by the Dragon Emperor. It had not been a good experience, and he managed to escape only because his captors had tried to force him to design weapons for them. It was never a good idea to let a Genius-type parahuman near a weapon workshop. “I’d love to see the Chief Imp’s head in a trophy case at the Freedom Museum. But even if Operation Saint George does go off without a hitch and we take out ol’ Draggy and his WMD arsenal, what do you think is going to happen to the Legion afterward? After we launch a surprise attack on a sovereign nation? ‘Cause the on
ly way Saint George has any chance of working is if we attack by surprise.”

  “Which is why we should strike now,” Meteor broke in. His eyes gleamed like molten iron. “We could bloody well do it tonight, they’d never expect us to react so quickly! The Legion is assembled and mobilized; we can launch Saint George in six, eight hours at the most. We can bring Janus in, and he can lead the way. He’ll do it too, there’s no love lost between him and the Emperor.”

  “Yeah, we could probably pull it off,” Daedalus said. “I’d say a seventy-five percent chance. Do you agree, Doc?”

  “If Janus could be convinced to join in, I’d say closer to eighty percent. However….”

  Daedalus cut him off. “Yes, however. The UN would blow a gasket. At the very least, we’d lose our seat in the Security Council. Come on, matey,” he told Meteor. “You know that plenty of people have been bitching about a non-governmental organization having so much influence, pretty much since we got our seat back in ’46. We are always getting accused of being a US puppet, or part of a secret conspiracy to set up a Neolympian world government, sometimes both. We take out the Chief Imp without asking for permission first, and we become the villains of the piece.”

  “Which we would be, if we acted unilaterally,” Chasca said. “Our charter allows us to operate only in countries that expressly grant us permission to do so, or when enforcing an official UN resolution. But that is not a problem. If we have evidence the Empire is behind this, the UN will act on it.”

  “Sure,” Daedalus replied, his sneer clearly visible. “It would only take a couple of months of debating the matter. The French would threaten to veto any resolution until we dotted every ‘i’ and crossed every ‘t.’ You were here when I said Saint George only works as a surprise attack, weren’t you?”

  “That’s enough, Daedalus,” Olivia said.

  “Hey, I’m just pointing out the facts here. And I already said we couldn’t go with Saint George. Talk some sense into our limey pyromaniac friend over there.”

  “Somebody needs to teach you some manners, Mr. Smith,” Meteor said.

  “ENOUGH!”

  The shout was loud enough to make the room shake and the holograms flicker. Everybody froze and looked at John, who was as surprised as everyone else. He had been listening quietly; an eye blink later he was on his feet, the echoes of his voice reverberating in his ears.

  He couldn’t just stand there looking like an idiot, so he kept talking. “There is no point in debating an attack on the Empire right now. If we find enough evidence linking the Empire to the attack, we can discuss our options. Fair enough?”

  “I strongly second tabling any discussion involving an attack on the Empire,” General Xu said. “For one, my nation would view such an attack with the utmost concern.”

  “As would mine,” said Darkling, the Korean Mistress of Shadows, who had been quiet throughout the discussion so far. “Another war with the Empire would bring death and destruction throughout Asia, and perhaps the whole world. So let’s try to keep the macho posturing down to a dull roar, okay?” Meteor definitely resented the remark, but he kept quiet. Even Daedalus didn’t come back with a smartass remark. John’s loss of control had shaken everyone up, with good reason.

  Normal people could afford to lose their temper once in a while. Even heads of state had that privilege, at least in private. A man who could shatter buildings with his fists had to always keep his emotions in check, however.

  The Council agreed to keep the entire Legion on full alert and postpone any discussion on retaliation until more evidence was available. The meeting ended quietly. John had been ready to leave himself, but caught the look in Kenneth’s face. We need to talk was written all over it. Their planned dinner for that evening had not happened, of course. John remained in the conference room with Kenneth. Olivia stayed behind as well.

  “I know,” John began as soon as the three of them were alone. “Something is seriously wrong with me.”

  The relief in his friends’ faces was almost insulting, but he could understand it. “The press conference,” Olivia said. “I saw how close you were to reacting violently. Whatever is happening, it’s been building up for some time, hasn’t it?”

  John nodded. “And it’s more than my temper.” He described the blackouts and nightmares. “What do you think, Doc?” he asked Kenneth. “Have I got Neo Psychosis?”

  “You know that term is nothing more than popular slang,” Kenneth said. “You may simply be experiencing shell shock, like we discussed earlier.”

  “Even if that’s all it is, that’s no joke,” John said. “My temper’s fraying like never before. And I don’t understand why it’s happening now.”

  “The timing is suspicious,” Kenneth agreed. “But it’s happening, and we have to deal with it.”

  “So what do you think I should do? Resign from the Council? See a shrink? Now, when the Legion has been attacked directly for the first time in over a decade? They gutted us, Kenneth. A dozen dead Legionnaires in one day. We haven’t suffered losses like that since the Second Asian War. I can’t be sidelined now.”

  “Why not wait until we know what we are facing?” Olivia said. “It was good advice for dealing with the attack, and it’s a good idea here, too. Let’s get somebody trustworthy to evaluate you, find out what is wrong, and then we – you – can decide what to do.”

  “Sounds like a plan. Any suggestions as to who to see?” John asked. The idea of meeting with one of the Legion’s counselors did not appeal to him.

  “Doctor Martin Cohen from Chicago,” Kenneth said without hesitation. “He’s a very skilled empath and an authority in parahuman psychology. He is the man who convinced me that using surgery to remove violent tendencies in criminals was a terrible mistake, even before the side effects became apparent.” Kenneth’s regret managed to seep through his seemingly unemotional tone.

  “Ah.” Doc Slaughter had used his skills as a neurosurgeon to make alterations in the brains of forty-six convicted criminals in an effort to ‘cure’ them from their criminal tendencies. In all fairness, they all volunteered to undergo the procedure in return for reduced sentences. The operations had been successful, inasmuch as forty-four of the patients had never committed a crime again. The two exceptions had turned into brilliant criminal masterminds of near Neolympian ability. The others… the kindest thing one could say was that they had done very well for several years. Within a decade, however, all had been struck with a wild assortment of mental problems and ended up institutionalized for life. Doc had discontinued the program long before that happened, thankfully, or the toll would have been much worse. The press hadn’t really caught on at the time, although back in the 1980s Rolling Stone magazine had published a scathing exposé, which in turn had sparked a flurry of lawsuits and a Congressional investigation. It had taken decades for Kenneth to live down his mistake.

  “He is the man to see,” Kenneth continued. “Very discreet, and not directly affiliated with the Legion, although he has received some grants from us in the past.”

  “Okay,” John agreed. “Is he going to be able to get a read off me?” All parahumans were fairly resistant to psychic powers, and the resistance seemed to be a function of the parahuman’s overall power level. Most telepaths and mind-controllers couldn’t touch him.

  “Probably not, or at least not a detailed one,” Kenneth said. “But he does not rely on his powers to diagnose problems. He is a skilled therapist.”

  “Guess he has a new patient now,” John said resignedly. Anything, even confiding in a stranger, was better than this slow dance with madness.

  Chapter Ten

  Christine Dark

  New York City, New York, March 13, 2013

  After they had made their plans to fly to Chicago – to be more specific, to fly to Chicago in a home-made, non-FAA certified aircraft that was over thirty years old – Condor and Kestrel had left for some private alone time, which Christine expected would involve whips, chains
and edible underwear. Face-Off had led Christine to Condor’s rec room. It was big and high-tech like the rest of Condor’s Lair, with lots of screens, something that looked like a cross between an X-Box and a military-issue flight simulator seat, six large reclining armchairs and half a dozen lesser game consoles. The room was dominated by a flat screen TV big enough to be used as a dinner table.

  “Guess Condor likes to watch his stories in full life-size goodness,” Christine commented.

  “Yeah, the guy’s a big movie buff,” Face-Off said. “He’s got a big library of laser disks, and just about every pay channel there is. So if there is anything you’d like to watch, I’m sure I can get it for you. Well, stuff from this planet, at least. No John Travolta movies, sorry.” He had a mental grin on as he said that. Christine could pick the invisible smiles automatically now. “Or if you want to get some rest, I’ll show you to your room and you can catch some Z’s.”

  “Maybe later, it’s still early and I spent the last day or so unconscious, so I’m slept out right now.”

  “No problem. Can I get you anything to drink? I’m going to grab another overpriced foreign beer.”

  “Another Diet Coke would be great, thank you. Or a regular Coke, I guess.”

  Christine sat on one of the armchairs. She noticed there was a keyboard and game controller attached to one of the arms. This was a gamer’s dream setup. She wanted to open a World of Warcraft account and see how this universe’s version stacked against hers. If they turned out to be the same, she’d freak out. It was freaky enough that the same game existed in both worlds. Sure, Monopoly and chess would be around, since they predated the appearance of the zany guys in latex, but computer games from the last decade? Maybe there was some sort of telepathic communication between the two worlds, and some ideas got passed on through the collective unconscious or some weird Jungian crap like that. Come to think of it, that might explain why people all of a sudden started creating comic books with costumed heroes in a world where they didn’t exist. Maybe the comic book guys and computer nerds from her universe got some sort of visions or psychic seepage from Earth Alpha. If anybody was going to receive messages from another universe it would be geeks.