New Olympus Saga (Book 1): Armageddon Girl

by C. J. Carella

  “Just so,” Thaddeus agreed. “The connection between the attack and the Chinese Empire will be made very quickly or has been made already. The stage has been set for the coming conflict.” He turned to Fuchida. “I’m sure you have the next steps well in hand.”

  Fuchida nodded. “My men are ready. They will not fail in their duty to humanity and God Almighty.”

  Thad had never quite understood how a Christian fanatic could command so much power in largely Shinto Japan, but there was no doubt that Fuchida always delivered. “Things are well in hand here in the US,” Thad continued.

  “Everything is going well,” Art Blood confirmed. The former Senator from Georgia was best known for his best-selling anti-Neo book, Mortals in Olympus, which in turn had led to the highest-grossing movie documentary in history. His political career had not been quite as successful, with no less than four unsuccessful runs at the Democratic nomination to the presidency, the last one ending with his accepting the role of JFK Jr.’s VP for what turned out to be the fiasco of 2012, where the Democrats had barely gotten 30% percent of the popular vote (that they edged out the GOP by over ten points had been cold comfort).

  While Blood had been a dud politically, his influence over public opinion was undeniable. His efforts had been instrumental in pointing out the clouds inside any silver lining related to Neolympians. One in every three Americans was convinced Neos were a clear and present danger to the country, in no small part thanks to Blood’s determination, aided by Thaddeus’ careful use of his media empire to drive home the message. Thaddeus wished the anti-Neo poll numbers were better, but it was hard to compete against the glamour of the costumed freaks and the rival media empires that worshiped and celebrated them.

  “We have enough votes in the House to approve additional troop deployments to the ROC,” Blood went on. “If we can get the Majority Leader to do his damn job, we’ll have the Senate too. The calls and letters are pouring in. That last movie about POW torture victims during the First Asian War has really gotten people stirred up.” Blood made an appreciative gesture towards Thaddeus.

  Thaddeus nodded modestly. He’d helped produce that little screen gem, and he thought Richard Gere’s portrayal of a heroic American’s torment at the hand of sadistic super-powered Chimps had been inspired. It was a pity that the starring role of the movie had been a fictionalized version of Daedalus Smith – he allowed himself to savor the irony for a moment – but that was all right. As long as the movie generated anti-Neo feelings, even if it only was towards other countries’ Neos, it still helped the cause.

  “You may stink at the news game, mate, but you can make a good movie,” Matt Braddock admitted ruefully. Braddock’s international news empire had been at war with Thaddeus’ for decades, but the two men agreed unconditionally on finding a solution to the parahuman problem. “I did my part, too. Public sentiment in Europe is with us. Same in the Pacific Rim.” The media magnate frowned. “But you knew all this, Twist. So for fuck’s sake, why did you call this meeting? Unless you’re planning to kill us so we don’t blab about our little projects,” he added with a chuckle.

  Thaddeus laughed politely at the joke. That was the kind of thing Neo super-villains did for any reason or none, and one of the few things that had kept them from amassing more power than they already had. Humans were more rational. “I have learned some new information that I knew I had to share with all of you in person. Something that will make the Third Asian War into little more than a sideshow when the history books are written.”

  Everyone at the table leaned forward intently. Thaddeus, ever the showman, let the silence hang for a couple of seconds before continuing.

  “I have discovered the source of Neolympian powers. And I have a plan to destroy it.”

  Face-Off

  Chicago, Illinois, March 14, 2013

  I woke up to pain.

  I was lying on damp concrete. My hands and feet were shackled and tingling painfully. Class III restraints fired electrical impulses to disrupt motor control and make concentration all but impossible. The electrical pulses felt like the proverbial pins and needles you get when your arm falls asleep, except the pins and needles were industrial size. They were expensive as hell and illegal as shit. And they would keep almost any Neo from moving their limbs at all or gather their minds enough to activate non-physical powers. These guys weren’t fucking around.

  Condor and Kestrel were lying next to me, also chained up, still unconscious. Lester Harris was bound with cheap and mundane duct tape. He was awake. “Face-Off! Are you all right?” he whispered.

  “I’m just dandy,” I growled, and tried to sit up. It wasn’t easy, with my arms dead from the shoulders down, and legs likewise from the knees down, but I managed by crawling up to a wall and leaning on it. “Thanks for the set-up, by the way.”

  “I didn’t know they were following me!” Harris pleaded. “I followed all the counter-surveillance procedures I knew.”

  I sighed. “These guys clearly have the best toys. You probably were being tracked six different ways. Not your fault. Sorry.” No sense making Harris feel bad, considering he wasn’t going to live to see the next sunrise. None of us were.

  “I’m sorry too. I didn’t think they were going to do something this blatant.”

  “Did they get Christine?” I asked Harris. The thought of her enduring the tender ministrations of the Russian mob made me sick with fury.

  “No. She managed to get away. She flew right through the warehouse roof.”

  Christine could fly? She really was full of surprises. And she had gotten away, that was the important thing. Except she would be alone and without any resources in a strange city in an alien world. Still, maybe she would make it. Her chances were better than ours.

  We were fucked.

  Kestrel was stirring. She looked at me, then at Condor. “Condor! Kyle!” she called to him. They had taken their helmets off, so I could see her face clearly. I’d never seen that expression on her before. She was afraid and concerned. She usually acted as if she didn’t give a shit for anybody but herself and her little pleasures, and it mostly wasn’t an act.

  “He should be all right,” I told her. “Whatever they zapped us with doesn’t seem to last very long.” My featureless head was back to normal, for one, which made me feel a little better despite the situation. I had felt naked and defenseless without it.

  “He’d better be.” She turned to me. Her eyes filled with rage, a more familiar sight; she glared at me. “This is all your fault, dragging us into this mess.”

  “Nobody held a gun to your heads, baby. You should be thanking me; you’re in for a full night of all the bondage and sadomasochism you can take, and more.”

  “I’m not into snuff,” she replied. “At least not with me on the receiving end.”

  Yeah, Condor was a lucky guy. “We’re not dead yet,” I said.

  “No thanks to you.”

  “Has anybody told you you’re beautiful when you get bitchy? Because if they did they were lying their ass off.”

  “Can you two shut up and let me suffer in peace?” Condor said.

  “Kyle!” Kestrel dragged herself over to her boyfriend and cuddled next to him as best she could. I guess she’d found her mate, and harpies mated for life.

  “Hey, Mel,” Condor said, looking around. “Guess this time the bear ate us.”

  “So much negative thinking,” I said, despite the fact I felt the same way. I’d rather fake some optimism than admit defeat, just to be contrary. “We just got hit with a new hyper-gadget. We’ll figure something out. What would your buddy Ultimate do?”

  “He’s not my buddy, and he’d have wiped out those mooks in three seconds or so. Captured them alive to boot.”

  “I’m not so sure. Those backpack blasters disrupted our powers somehow. They might have done a number even on a Type Three.”

  “There’s that. I hadn’t even heard that was possible. Did they actually disrupt our powers, though
? I know they knocked me out, but plenty of things can do that.”

  “Trust me,” I told Condor. “For a few seconds before I went down, I got my old face back. That’s never happened before.”

  “Shit.”

  “The question is, where the fuck did the Russian mob get a Neo power disruptor?”

  “Where else? They get all their high-tech toys from the Doms,” Condor replied, using the slang word for agents of the Dominion of the Ukraine.

  Shit. Well, at least we had a clue who was behind the manhunt for the Lurker – and the hunt for Christine, for that matter. With the Russian and Ukrainian mobs, you never know if they are just trying to make money like any other criminal or if they are running a caper for the Dominion. But if they had that kind of firepower that meant their metal-headed overlord or one of his lieutenants was involved. In other words, it was safe to say that we were well and truly fucked. You can try to make a deal with criminals, but you need more cards than we had to make a deal with the Doms.

  The only feature in the concrete box we were in was a reinforced steel door. It opened noisily and a man entered, not tall but athletic, with blonde hair and a mean-looking Slavic face. He was followed by a big bull-necked badass type, his head shaved, prison tattoos sneaking out from under his black turtleneck’s collar and sleeves. He’d been the Neo swinging that ball and chain at us during the attack at the warehouse, and he looked like he’d bounced back from the beating I gave him. Behind him two other thugs stood at the ready, one with an A-75 blaster, the other with one of the backpack guns that had ruined our day.

  The thug-in-chief moved warily through the room. We might be chained up and helpless, but people have learned to worry about being in an enclosed space with hostile Neos even when we’re supposed to be under control. We’re like tigers that way. He quickly placed himself so his henchmen had a clear field of fire from the doorway, and then knelt in front of me, staying at a safe distance in case I tried to go for a head-butt. In the mood I was I in, I might just have tried it.

  Blondie went right to the point. “Where is the Lurker?”

  Ask a stupid question… “Have you checked with your mother? Last I heard he was giving it to her pretty good.”

  Blondie stepped away and Prison Tattoos kicked me in the face hard enough to send me spinning away. I felt my face bone crack under the impact. Blondie grabbed me by the scruff of the neck and dragged me back against the wall with one hand, demonstrating he also was Neo strong. A couple of Type Ones with delusions of grandeur, I figured, not that they weren’t plenty dangerous when dealing with three shackled Type Twos. The Russian gestured towards the door. His flunkies briefly moved aside and another guy came in with an acetylene torch. Just the thing to mutilate Neos past the limits of their regeneration abilities.

  When you make it your business to hunt down murderous sociopaths, there’s a damn good chance you’ll meet a gruesome end sooner or later. One of the worst things that can happen to you is to get tortured for information you actually don’t have, because there is nothing you can say that will stop the pain. All you can do is wait for a chance that will likely never come while praying the interrogators fuck up and manage to kill you sooner rather than later.

  I tried to change my face to mirror Blondie’s. Some guys get creeped out when torturing someone who looks exactly like them. I wasn’t expecting that would stop him, but maybe it’d give him nightmares afterward. It’s the little things that mean so much. I couldn’t quite make it, thanks to the shackles. My face rippled and Blondie’s face emerged for a second or two before my concentration broke and I went back to being me.

  Blondie smiled and punched me a couple of times to make me mind my manners. “I will ask you again. Where is Lurker?” His Russian accent got thicker, either because he was getting pissed off or excited by what was going to happen. Probably the latter. You don’t have to be a sadist to work with the Mafiya, but it sure helps. He smiled at me and waited for an answer.

  “He’s touring Vegas with Don Rickles. And your mother.” I know, not the best crack. I needed better writers.

  The grin on Blondie’s face got bigger. He gestured to Prison Tattoos, who leaned over and grabbed Kestrel.

  “You touch her and you’re a dead man,” Condor said in his most threatening growl. Prison Tattoos ignored him and forced Kestrel face down on the floor. She didn’t struggle or say anything. I caught her eyes; they had gone flat and distant. Blondie walked over, produced a switchblade and used it to saw through the back of Kestrel’s costume. It took some effort – the flexible material was both bullet- and knife- resistant – but he managed to cut through it and the skin beneath it as well. The shallow slashes on her back bled for a few seconds after he was done, then closed up and disappeared, leaving nothing but bloody smears behind. Her regen was better than Condor’s or mine, which under the circumstances was a mixed blessing at best. Kestrel’s breathing accelerated minutely while she was getting cut up, but other than that she elicited no reaction. Boris grabbed the blowtorch and started fiddling with it.

  She was tough, she got off on pain, and she was brave. But when the metal-melting jet of flame started doing its thing, she would break eventually. We all would.

  “Stop,” I said.

  Blondie turned to me.

  “You got me. I don’t know where the Lurker is right now, but I know where he will be later tonight. We were supposed to meet with him.” All pure BS, of course, but when in doubt, lie your ass off. Buy some time, hope the camel learns how to sing. “I’ll tell you where and when if you leave her alone.”

  “Shut up, Face!” That was Condor, backing my play. “They’ll kill us when you tell him.”

  “Da,” Blondie said. “You are all dead. You should be smart enough to know death is the thing you should be hoping for.” He nodded to the guy with the torch. “Mind the spine, Boris. We want to keep her alive.”

  Prison Tattoos – Boris – nodded. He was the happiest guy I’d seen in a while, except for Blondie, who also looked like a kid at a birthday party. Boris leaned over Kestrel with his torch, and there was a clearly visible bulge in his pants. “I’ll be careful, Vladimir. All meat, no bone. Yes.”

  “Wait! I said I’d talk, motherfucker!”

  “Da. You will. This is just a demonstration.”

  Skin and flesh sizzled, a sickening sound. It lasted for fifteen seconds before the screaming began.

  Chapter Sixteen

  The Invincible Man

  Somewhere Not Quite Real

  “If you had been serious about keeping your identity a secret, you would have worn a mask,” Linda Lamar said as she lit a cigarette. She considerately blew the smoke away from his face. “Take the Lurker and his gas mask. Nobody has any idea who the man really is. Or the Dreamer and his Greek Theater face mask, ditto. If you don’t want your name to be in the papers, you need to cover up your mug. Dummy.” Her smile took the sting out of the words.

  “I didn’t think – “ John Clarke began to say.

  “That’s right, you didn’t. Did you really believe that silly fake mustache and changing the way you part your hair were going to fool me for a second after I got a good look at you? Darling, you had your picture on the front page of the Post wearing that ridiculous circus acrobat costume with the cape and the boots. Half the bullpen knew you were Ultimate the second they saw that picture, and they told the other half lickety-split.”

  “So that’s why everyone has been staring at me all week. I kept wondering about that.”

  “Yes, everyone knows your big secret. It wasn’t because I told them,” Linda said. “I’ve known for over a month but I sat on the story, and it wasn’t easy, let me tell you. The story of the year, it would have been.”

  “I think the European war is going to be the story of the year,” John said sadly. “The identity of yet another mystery man isn’t such big news anymore, is it?” John glanced around the eatery, wondering if their conversation had attracted eavesdroppers. People
at Gino’s Diner were good at minding their own business, which was why a lot of the reporters from the World Journal used the place to conduct discreet interviews. At the moment no other reporters were in sight, but John was beginning to think having his first date with Linda there had not been the best idea.

  “Damn the war, and damn Hitler, too,” Linda replied hotly. “That overstuffed chimpanzee and his Aryan Supersoldiers! Did you hear about those poor Polish lancers and the Teutonic Knight?”

  John nodded. They both read the same wire reports, after all. The Knight, a hulking brute going by the name Panzerfaust, had faced an entire regiment of Polish cavalry and destroyed it single-handedly, killing the helpless soldiers almost to the last man while laughing at rifle and machine-gun fire, as well as a heroic but futile mounted lance charge. Panzerfaust had been such a hit with the Nazis that a couple years later they would name their version of bazookas after him. A part of him wanted nothing more than to wipe the arrogant smile off that Hun’s face.

  And he had done just that a bit over four years from now. An image of Panzerfaust collapsing lifelessly at his feet somewhere in France flashed through his mind.

  He shook his head. France? Why would I be fighting Nazis in France? And a bazooka is a musical instrument, not any kind of weapon. Bob Burns plays it.

  “Are you all right, darling?” Linda asked.

  “Just a stray thought,” John said, dismissing the weird images from his mind. Here he was, with the girl of his dreams, the girl who not only had agreed to go on this date but who had protected his secret identity even though her life’s work was to reveal such secrets. He should be lost in blissful happiness. Instead he was experiencing false memories from the future. What was the matter with him?