Super World

by Lawrence Ambrose

  The Guardsmen shoved their way into the Coliseum and tried to bulldoze into the crowd, but the wall-to-wall people inside barely budged. Outnumbered 10 to 1 in both locations, and unwilling to use their weapons – to Jamie's relief - the soldiers simply couldn't move the mass of people. Some scuffles broke out, which ceased when Brian Loving's powerfully amplified voice rolled out over the stadium calling for restraint and peaceful resistance. From their perch in the sky, they could see some telekinetic exchanges going on – the telltale body flying, a dent in the advancing ranks of California Guardsmen as if they were running into a wall – but no signs of outright violence.

  The Guardsmen stood down. Jamie didn't hear the orders, but suddenly the pushing and jostling and shouting stopped and everyone seemed to relax. Brian Loving's calming words, humming like a lullaby over the stadium, seemed to have a soothing effect. Jamie zoomed her vision in, and could make out a number of earnest discussions going on between the Guardsmen and the event attendees. Maybe they'd become converts to Brian Loving's New Age gospel?

  Tildie drifted over and joined her in surveying the strange scene below.

  "I've never seen anything like it," she said. "A crowd stand their ground against that kind of police force. I'm sort of surprised someone didn't start shooting."

  "What would be the point? They could hurt each other more with telekinetics."

  "And the soldiers couldn't win that war." Tildie shook her head. "The world has sure become a weird place. It's like the changing of the guard, but who knows who or what the new guard is?"

  "I thought we were the new guard."

  "Then good freaking luck to us." Tildie shaded her eyes, gazing toward the ocean and the sun on its way to meet it. "At least the skies are clear - no one flying, thank heavens. The nuke must've scared them back to earth."

  "For the time being."

  Jamie called in the others, and sent half the group down for food and water and a change of clothes. It took energy to stay in the air even for flyers, and some augments still took sustenance the old-fashioned way. Jamie, Tildie, and Joy Kamada stayed sky bound, flying leisurely over the peninsula in a tight pattern.

  "Oh, crap!" Tildie cried, pointing at the AT&T Park stadium below.

  "Where?" Jamie traced her finger.

  "Center!"

  "Joy" – Jamie thrust her finger toward the center of the stadium – "crazy!"

  It was all she could think of to say – no time to even truly think – but Joy seemed to get the message, tilting her head downward toward the park in concentration as Jamie zoomed in on the crowd.

  One bearded man who was unslinging a huge backpack in a hurry stood out. He appeared woozy, almost drunken in his motions, dropping more than lowering the pack. Jamie punched the pack deep into the ground before turning her attention to the man.

  But the man was no longer there. Neither was the stadium or the people or light. As far as she could tell – from the dirt lodged in her nose and eyes – she was underground. Buried alive.

  Panic fueled her strength – and there was plenty of strength to fuel. The earth had no choice but to surrender as she started to burrow her way free. Except the dirt seemed to be getting warmer. Jamie stopped, taking a moment to push back the panic and take stock. She was probably underground, maybe in the side of a hill. The jihadist had done to her what she'd done to his backpack. I've been teleported into the ground. She made herself relax a bit more, clear her head. No big deal. She wasn't hurt and nothing here posed a physical threat.

  Jamie pushed the dirt outward from her until she was sitting in a small cave. Sitting. That meant gravity was beneath her and the surface directly above. So what are you waiting for?

  She burst through the surface – which included cement and steel rebar the last two feet – sending startled people leaping backward from her. A quick look around placed her just outside the AT&T stadium in front of a Häagen-Dazs ice cream shop. And yes, the encounter had shredded most of the rest of her clothes, as confirmed by the gawking men, women, and children. Jamie sighed.

  In a blink she was back in the air, hundreds of meters above prying eyes. She hovered over the stadium, spotting Tildie and Joy standing at the hole in the grass the backpack had left. Jamie summoned a whistle that sounded like a supersonic eagle. The two IED agents looked up.

  "What happened to you?" Tildie asked after rising with Joy to her.

  "He teleported me underground."

  "Uggh. That would've finished me. Did you hit him?"

  "Nope. Just his package. Did you?"

  "Nope. Too many people. Though I think Joy dazed him a little."

  "There wasn't time to really get in his head," said Joy in a mournful voice.

  "I think it slowed him down enough for me to have a shot," said Jamie. "Too bad I didn't get both him and the backpack."

  "They must wonder how we're getting onto them so fast."

  "I have a feeling they'll figure it out."

  They floated in the air, staring at each other, Jamie starting to feel more than slightly self-conscious. All she was wearing was dirt and burn smudges and a few scorched scraps of underwear. Joy and Tildie weren't much better in terms of "wardrobe malfunction": they both resembled red lobsters wearing bandages.

  "Damn," said Tildie. "If this keeps up they might start calling us the rapidly naked nuclear response unit."

  THOMAS HAD to hand it to these people: they had big balls – or more faith than he had – sitting there praying when jihadists with nuclear bombs were running amok. He'd just gotten off the phone with one of his people over at the AT&T Park who said DIE agents had thwarted a terrorist attack there. He'd sent out feelers weeks ago to the Hibat Allah through some friends of a friend who claimed to be Al Qaeda – they were his brothers in Islam, after all - but got nothing back.

  Not that he believed he could work with them. All those crazy dirkas cared about was destroying the West. Thomas was a helluva lot more interested in ruling the West, as well as the East. And everywhere in between for that matter. You didn't accomplish that by blowing shit up, including your own damn self. Wasn't looking to be no King of Chernobyl, neither.

  Nope, the path to righteousness was controlling people, and he hadn't seen anyone better at that - besides himself - than the pretty white-boy longhaired motherfucker standing on the stage right in front of him.

  It was Steven's suggestion to bring Brian Loving into the fold, and as usual, Brainiac was right on. Loving had millions of people eating out of his hand. Millions of mostly dumb white people looking for a stairway to heaven. 'Cause this boy was the living, breathing white person's fantasy of Jesus. Any fool could see that.

  It was the late-afternoon intermission, and Brian Loving was leaving the stage with his small entourage. Thomas headed after him with his own small entourage: Harry Farwell, Hank Mueller, Selma Adams, Arnold Marlin, Tyler, and Steven. Bad asses all of them, in their own way. 'Course, he expected Loving would surround himself with bad-asses, too. And from what he'd heard and seen, Loving had some superpower shit going on himself. But none of that was gonna matter when they met face to face. Unless he's like Steven. If that happened, maybe they could work out some kind of deal. Or maybe just take him out. Have to see how it went.

  They followed him to his suite on the Oracle Level. A couple of tough-looking clowns bristled when they strode up, but opened the door and stood aside at Thomas's command. Brian Loving glanced up from his laptop with a mild look of question. Then he smiled.

  "I've been wondering if I'd be hearing from you," he said.

  What the fuck? Thomas's confident stride developed a hitch. Brian Loving closed his computer and stood up, offering his hand. Thomas stepped forward warily, ignoring the questioning glances of his people, and grasped his hand. In the past, when he was stronger than most people, he often added a touch of bone-crunching just to let the other man know who was boss. The advent of super-powerful augments changed that. Now his grip was light and cautious. You just never knew
if even some skinny-ass fool might be able to crush steel bars.

  Brian Loving's grip was light and measured as well.

  "Don't believe we ever met," Thomas said.

  "No, but your reputation precedes you."

  Thomas regarded him, flinty-eyed. Loving motioned him to sit across the serving table from him.

  "Your attempt to assume control of the U.S. Government. Orchestrating the riots. Assuming leadership of the Augmented Americans for Freedom." Loving spoke in a genial, explanatory tone, as though it all might be news to Thomas.

  "You're a mind-reader, then."

  "Yep."

  His grin was cheerful, disingenuous. Thomas's scowl was dark and pissed.

  "Stop reading my mind," he growled.

  "I'll try to be more circumspect about it."

  Thomas stared into Loving's gold-flecked brown eyes, all dominant menace, but the man showed no sign he felt dominated or menaced. Worse, he didn't show any sign of being voice-commanded.

  "Touch your nose," said Thomas.

  Loving reached up and touched his right ear. He smiled. Cracker's messing with me. Loving's smile broadened.

  "You were going to make me a proposition, Mr. Mayes."

  Thomas searched for an angle, any angle, to recover his dignity, his sense of control. It was like he'd walked into a funeral dressed for a rave party. Complete disorientation. He hadn't even considered the mind-reading possibility. Now he was an open book. Worse, an open book with no command power. And worse yet, this fucking Jesus freak white boy was laughing at him.

  His only thought was that he had muscle with him. Enough muscle to wipe the smile off this pretty boy's face. He straightened his shoulders, preparing to give a command. But then Steven was beside him, giving a subtle shake of his head. He could almost hear his words: Play it cool, my brother. Not that Steven would ever use those words.

  "I met one of your disciples the other day," said Thomas. "Nice girl. Real affectionate."

  Brian Loving was no longer smiling. Probably seeing what I did with her. Now it was Thomas's turn to smile.

  "I think we could help each other," he said. "I'm real good with people, too."

  "So I see."

  "You might not like some of my methods, but it's for a good cause. You want to make the world a better place, don't ya?"

  "No," said Brian Loving. "I'm not of this world."

  "What are you sayin'? You an angel?"

  "More like an emissary. With no interest in improving or saving this world. I am interested in improving or saving each individual person's world."

  "What does that mean, exactly?"

  "I mean to prevent a great tragedy," said Loving. "All the people on this planet will die soon."

  Thomas straightened up in his chair, every nerve in his body tingling. "What the fuck you talking about? An asteroid? Nuclear war?"

  "I'm talking about mortality. In one hundred years, give or take, not a single person alive now will be alive. An entire world's population will have ceased to exist."

  "Huh? Jesus – " Thomas stopped himself with a disgusted shake of his head. "I thought you were talking about some kind of horrible disaster or something."

  "But I am. Think of it this way: What if nearly the entire world's population was destroyed in a war or by some natural event? Wouldn't that be a terrible tragedy?"

  Thomas rocked backward, trying to find some space to think. It should be easy to smash apart such crazy talk, but he couldn't seem to find the right argument. All he could think of was: "Boy, you are out of your cracker mind if you think those are the same thing."

  "What's the difference?"

  "Some of the people would get to live a full life in the non-disaster scenario," Steven broke in.

  "A full life? Can you imagine how 'full' your few decades would seem to someone who's lived for hundreds or thousands of years? Then imagine how even they would look to someone who's immortal. Wouldn't they look at us and say we'd only just begun to live?"

  "White lace and promises," Selma sang in a scornful, smoky contralto. "A kiss for luck and we're on our way."

  The men stared at her, puzzled. Harry Farwell snickered.

  Thomas waited for Steven to reply – of course, he'd be able to tear this pretend-Jesus to pieces with his relentless logic – but Steven merely frowned and looked thoughtful.

  "You came in here with a proposition for me, Thomas," said Brian Loving, a gentle gleam in his smile, "which you were prepared to force on me. Now I have a proposition for you, and no force will be involved. You must choose it of your God-given free will."

  "What choice that be?"

  He extended his hand across the table. "Take my hand and tell me you fully accept God into your heart. Repent your sins and choose life everlasting, and I will open the doorway into eternity for you."

  "You God's special travel agent or something?"

  "You could say that."

  Thomas shoved himself to his feet, his chair clattering across the tile floor.

  "You think I'm gonna let some whiteboy make-believe Jesus forgive my sins?"

  Brian Loving slowly lowered his hand.

  "Just say the word, boss," said Harry Farwell in a whispered growl.

  "Inadvisable," said Steven.

  Thomas and the others stood on the precipice. The air was alive with powers being stoked. No one moved, but that just increased the vibe of violence in the air. Brian Loving sat there with a half-smile and his hands relaxed in his lap, but Thomas had been around enough super-augments to feel the power rolling off him. It might be three Class 1s to one, but who was to say he wouldn't be the first the Choirboy would blink out of existence? Who was to say he couldn't blink them all out of existence? That was the unnerving thing about Super World: you go to the OK Corral with pistolas and some slick son of a bitch shows up with a quantum defibrillator or something.

  "Okay, Jesus-boy," said Thomas. "You go on livin' in your dream world. While you're doing that, I'll be taking care of business in the real world."

  JAMIE COULD hardly wait for this day – night now - to be over. In an hour, Brian Loving would exit the stage and his three-day "prayer vigil" – more like a séance, Jamie thought – would at long-last end. His followers would claw their way back onto the freeways and honk and jostle out of the Bay Area in a convoy of bumper cars. But that blessed event was still at least an hour away. She could only pray that Loving didn't do encores.

  Kim-Ly hadn't added much to her original prediction. She was no longer sure about it, but she hadn't withdrawn it, either. Team Two roamed outside the Coliseum walls, alert to even the smallest appearance of impropriety, while her team wandered around, through, and above the crowd inside the stadium.

  A grim mood, shared by Jamie, settled over her people. It took a toll even on super-beings to be on constant watch for something that could kill them all in a nuclear flash. The bearded jihadist could arrive anywhere at any instant. She believed he'd try inside the stadium – pop up right in the center of the crowd to both screen and protect himself – but a blast just outside the Coliseum would surely kill everyone in the area, too.

  "This is bullshit," said Jake Culler, encountering Jamie in the walkway. "We should find out where the ragheads are hiding and take the battle to them. This way they have all the initiative. If we aren't perfect, they win."

  For once, Jamie agreed with him. "I guess we'd better be perfect, then."

  People in the grounds area showed little interest as she and Tildie drifted into the air above them in their fresh change of uniforms. Brian Loving seemed to be bringing his eternal life sales pitch to a close.

  "The philosopher-scientist Blaise Pascal once said that betting on the existence of God was the best bet," his mellifluous voice rolled out softly over the stadium, "because if you're wrong you suffer no penalty, but if you're right you stand to gain eternal life.

  "In the end, we must all make that wager. You may guide it by reason, but ultimately it must be a leap of fai
th. That's what I'm asking from you today. Take the leap of faith. Choose eternal life."

  The crowd roared "Hallelujah!" and flung their arms into the air. It was so loud that Jamie hardly heard Tildie shout: "He's here! The roof, east end!"

  Jamie traced her trembling finger to the east side of the stadium. A slim, clean-shaven man of apparent Middle Eastern descent levitated to the roof just above the uppermost seats. Jamie started to unleash a telekinetic smack down, but noticed he wasn't wearing a backpack or showing any kind of weapon. Jamie sensed everyone was about to let him have it, but as yet he'd committed no crime.

  "Does he do anything?" Jamie called to Tildie, who shook her head.

  "He just shouts a slogan and flies away."

  At that moment, the man opened his mouth and a voice that might've been amplified by a fifty-foot megaphone thundered down on the crowd.

  "Death to Infidels! Praise be to Allah!"

  The ecstatic cheers of the crowd dwindled to a worried murmur. The man launched into the night sky.

  "I'll get him," said Jamie.

  Easier said than done. Following a speck traveling hundreds if not thousands of miles per hour at night required either faster reflexes or better night vision than she had. Jamie lost sight of him in seconds. She rejoined Tildie in the air over the Coliseum.

  "No luck?" Tildie asked.

  "I lost him."

  "Was he part of Hibat Allah or just a lone protestor?"

  "Good question. He's a Class One flyer, if that means anything." Angry frustration broiled over in Jamie's words.

  "Maybe they're just taunting us." Tildie frowned. "Or it's a distraction."

  If Brian Loving was disturbed by the interruption, he showed no sign of it, his mellow baritone settling over the people like a balm.

  "We have nothing to fear from those who follow the path of violence and anger," he said. "They have no power to stop us from a relationship with our father. They cannot take away your right to eternal life. Only you can do that, my friends. Only you have the power to worship hatred and material things. To attach yourselves to the ugliness around us."