XGeneration, Books 1-3: You Don't Know Me, The Watchers, and Silent Generation

by Brad Magnarella

  The landlord, who seemed to be arriving at the same realization, pushed out a heavy sigh.

  He clicked off the bedroom light and came trudging out, past the small icebox and gas stove. He didn’t see Reginald, who had stepped from behind the door, until they were only feet apart. His protuberant eyes gave a violent start, and he threw a meaty fist to his chest.

  “Mary, Jesus, and Joseph — you scared all hell outta me!”

  Reginald stared at him. “What are you doing in here?”

  “Oh, I, ah…” The landlord peered around to the bedroom and scratched his stomach. “I didn’t hear you come in earlier. It was late, you know. I started getting worried. I look after my tenants, you know.”

  “What were you doing in my dresser?”

  “Naw, I wasn’t…” He stammered for a moment before chuckling. “Naw, you see, the last tenant was complainin’ about them doors sticking. Just thought since I was in here, I’d, you know, check it out. Make sure it wasn’t a problem. That’s what I’m tellin’ you. I look after my tenants.”

  “Or maybe you prey on them.”

  The landlord’s brows drew down over his jaundiced eyes. “You accusing me of sumptin’?”

  Reginald limped toward him, anger climbing his neck. “Yeah. I am.”

  “Y-you listen to me, now,” the landlord stammered. He smelled of cheap wine and unwashed clothes. “I’m a man of the Lord, I—”

  “No,” Reginald cut in. “You’re a man who rents out shoddy rooms to your brethren, tellin’ yourself and them and anyone who’ll listen that you’re looking out for them. All the time you’re slipping in and out of their rooms like a greasy polecat, relieving them of loose bills or the wristwatch they happen to leave on their dresser.” Reginald limped a step nearer. “Isn’t that right?”

  If there was one thing Reginald couldn’t stand, it was a filthy opportunist.

  The landlord chuckled as he waved his hand. “I don’t got time for your senile clap-trap.”

  Reginald grabbed his wrist as he tried to push his way past and bent it back.

  The landlord cried out and twisted around. “What the hell you think you’re doing?”

  “I catch you in this room uninvited, or any of the others” — Reginald raised his eyes to the ceiling — “and I’ll personally see to it you’ll never use these hands to pilfer again. You understand me?”

  “I tol’ you, I was just checking on you.”

  Reginald bent his meaty wrist back further.

  “Ow, goddammit! I-I done tol’ you, I—”

  “Do you understand me?”

  “Ow! Yeah, yeah!”

  Reginald released his wrist and the man hurried to the door. When he was safely over the threshold, he peeked around the half-closed door. “I’ll get the police in here. I’ll throw your crazy ass into the street!”

  Reginald’s anger leaped up a notch, but he talked it back down. He’d already taken a big risk manhandling his landlord. He couldn’t afford to get the police involved, not without identification.

  The landlord shrank away when Reginald limped toward him. “Wait, hold on there a sec,” Reginald called, his voice milder suddenly.

  The landlord paused.

  “Would you take a five spot for that paper in your back pocket?”

  Wariness etched the landlord’s slick brow. “F-five dollars for a section of newspaper?”

  “Today’s edition already sold out.” Reginald dug his hand into his pocket and returned with a billfold. The landlord eyed it hungrily. “I had a point to make, and I done made it.” Reginald peeled a five from the wad and held it out. “But there’s no reason we can’t wrap up tonight’s talk like gentlemen. You take the five, I take the newspaper, and everyone’s contented.”

  The landlord licked his lips. “For real?”

  “For real.”

  The landlord plucked the five, as though Reginald might change his mind, and stuffed it into his pants pocket. He pulled the newspaper from the back of his trousers, and pushed it into Reginald’s hands.

  “I thank you, sir,” Reginald said, bowing his head slightly.

  The landlord’s yellowing eyes jittered around. “G’night, now?”

  “Goodnight.”

  Reginald closed and locked the door behind him. At the table, he spread the paper out, scanning the headlines until he found what he had glimpsed when the paper had occupied the landlord’s back pocket: the president’s name. Now he read the entire headline:

  EISENHOWER TO DELIVER FAREWELL ADDRESS TO NATION

  Reginald read the article, mentally highlighting the pertinent facts. Tuesday, January 17. 8:30 p.m. White House. Televised. He focused on that last item. Televised. Which meant for the thirty-odd minutes the president would speak, a ring of men would be aiming lights and cameras at him.

  What if one of those men was aiming something else?

  For the first time in more than a week, a grim smile haunted his mouth. Who knew? Maybe the landlord hadn’t been bullshitting him: maybe he was a man of the Lord. After all, the man’s intrusion had delivered the means by which Reginald could carry out his final act.

  He peered toward the loose panel that concealed his cache of weapons.

  Now to find that camera team.

  16

  Gainesville, Florida

  Monday, July 22, 1985

  6:00 a.m.

  “Thanks for reporting earlier than usual,” Director Kilmer called as he appeared from a side room.

  Janis and the other Champions-in-training stood at one end of the Barn in their matching yellow jumpsuits. Gray rubber tiles stretched away from them for one hundred yards, the floor empty save for an orange flag dangling from a ten-foot-tall pole at the room’s far end. An identical pole stood at their backs, but the group had been too bleary-eyed to speculate on its significance.

  Even now, Janis had to stifle a yawn.

  “Phase one, which by all accounts has gone very well, has ended. You’re faster, stronger, and in better control of your abilities.” Kilmer paced to the center of the floor in another one of his black government suits. “For the next five weeks, we’re going to move you into the second phase, which will involve more team training. It’s your team trainer, in fact, who summoned you here early. We’re going to conduct a pre-test.”

  Director Kilmer nodded toward the room he had emerged from. The temperature seemed to drop by five degrees, but maybe that was in Janis’s head. For the past minute, a cold foreboding had been sidling up beside her. She eyed the open doorway as the clipped cadence of boots sounded. The figure that emerged wore a dark blue uniform and sheared platinum hair.

  “I believe we can forego the introductions,” Kilmer said.

  An ice pick landed in Janis’s chest, and she struggled for her next breath.

  Behind her, Jesse grumbled. Creed’s own breathing became excited, as though he were about to blow his lid. “If the pre-test is shredding her to pieces,” he cried, “then plan on a perfect score.”

  Director Kilmer held up his hands. “Now, now, let’s be grownups here. Need I remind you that you’re still in your provisional period?”

  “Bunch of shit,” Creed muttered.

  “I understand that there might be certain … conflicted feelings, but the sooner you get past them, the better. Agent Steel is your team trainer.” He turned to where she had stopped beside him, her pale, frostbitten eyes staring back at the group. “She’s the best at what she does, and for the next five weeks that will be getting you to work together, coordinating your abilities so that the whole becomes mightier than the parts. That’s what being a team means.”

  For an instant Janis saw Agent Steel as she had seen her last: stripped to her underwear, pale legs kicking the empty air, face the color of eggplant, blood-red spittle hanging from her chin.

  “But what could she possibly want with us?” Janis asked. “I mean, after…”

  Director Kilmer started to answer, but Agent Steel stepped in front of him
. “It’s all right, I can speak for myself,” she told him. “The difference between where I stand and where you stand, Janis, is that I am a professional. In the event of victory, I consider what could have been improved. In the case of defeat, I consider what should have been avoided. In neither case do I allow emotion to prejudice my judgment. My sole aim is to help the six of you do the same.”

  Yeah, right, Janis thought.

  For the first time, Janis noticed the brown discoloration around Agent Steel’s neck, and she experienced a jolt of shame. The faded bruising shifted colors beneath the fluorescents.

  “If there are no further concerns,” Steel said, staring at Janis, “let us begin. I chose a task with which you are all familiar: capture the flag. The objective is simple. Obtain the flag at the far end of the room. That’s it. But, you must prevent the other team from obtaining your flag.”

  “Other team?” Scott said.

  At that moment, six people in white body gear trotted out and assembled beneath the opposite flagpole. They held what looked like plastic carbines, the weapons padded at the butt ends. Helmets with reflective shields hid their faces. Janis guessed them to be members of Agent Steel’s assault team.

  “You have one minute to strategize,” Agent Steel said.

  Janis took a final look at the team opposite them, then turned to her own teammates.

  “All right,” Scott said, his helmet under one arm, “we’ll need to split up into offensive and defensive units. How about—”

  “Excuse me,” Margaret said. “Who made you leader?”

  Scott stammered for a moment. “Oh, well, I just thought—”

  “Leadership is typically assigned by seniority,” Margaret continued, her eyes shifting to a deeper shade of green. “And as the most senior member of our class, I think I should be the one…”

  Janis sighed and turned her back on her sister. “You were saying, Scott.”

  “Janis,” Margaret protested.

  “Begin!” Agent Steel called.

  “Hey, that wasn’t a minute,” Janis cried. She spun to find three members of the opposite team trotting forward in a spread formation while the remaining three hung back to defend their flag. For their part, the Champions-in-training were huddled like a pack of startled turkeys. “Quick, Scott, get your helmet on! Who’s on offense, who’s on defense?”

  Scott fumbled to pull the helmet over his head. Still dazed from his confrontation with Margaret, he mumbled something incomprehensible.

  Great.

  Janis helped him secure the chinstrap before taking a quick assessment of her teammates in soccer terms. With Jesse, they probably didn’t need to keep three all the way back. He could defend the flag with his height and girth, not to mention his superhuman strength. She and Margaret could play midfield positions, Janis anticipating the attackers’ moves, and Margaret dissuading them through mental suggestions. That left Creed, Tyler, and Scott on offense. Scott, who looked to be recovering his wits, could coordinate the capture.

  As the three advancing opponents reached the middle of the Barn, carbines at chest level, Janis called out the plan. Her teammates shifted into position. All except for Creed, who grinned malevolently.

  “Sounds like a grand plan, Annie,” he said. “But I’ve got me another idea.”

  “Wait!” Scott called.

  Creed took off in a yellow blur. He threaded the advancing team before they could react. The far defenders tightened around their flag.

  “Watch and learn,” Creed called back.

  A wall pistoned up from the floor in front of him. The collision shook the entire room.

  “The floor’s programmed,” Scott said as medics appeared and carried Creed’s moaning body away. “I might be able to reprogram it to our advantage, but it’s going to take a minute. The system’s surrounded by a serious fire wall.”

  “Um, I’m not sure we have a minute.” Janis pointed to where the approaching opponents had raised their carbines to their visors. Red dots danced over Scott and Tyler. In the reflection of Scott’s visor, Janis caught a third dot performing a similar dance over her own torso.

  “Scatter!” Scott shouted.

  Janis dove away from the others. Laser fire zipped through the air. Walls pistoned up around them. Janis scrambled behind one. Panting, she looked back for Scott and Tyler. They had taken refuge behind two of the other walls.

  “What’s going on?” Janis cried.

  “Stun beams,” Scott answered.

  No one said anything about stun beams. Janis looked at where Agent Steel stood against the near wall, her arms crossed. A hint of a smile pulled on her scarred lips. Oh, I get it. Suzy’s revenge.

  Tyler waved toward Janis. “Your sister’s down.”

  Janis began to stand, but laser fire forced her back behind the barrier. Two medics disappeared behind a wall that obstructed Janis’s view of her team’s flagpole. A moment later, the medics reappeared with Margaret supine on a stretcher. Anger knotted the muscles in Janis’s neck.

  “They’re advancing.” Scott called.

  Janis turned in time to see Scott set his jaw and fire off a bright red pulse. A white bolt cracked from Tyler’s hand. Scott fired twice more, then, swearing, he ducked down as their opponents returned fire.

  “We’re slowing them, but that’s about it,” Scott said. “Suits are absorbing our blasts. Tyler, can you do anything about their weapons?”

  “I tried,” he said. “The guns don’t have any metal. Nothing to conduct my electricity.”

  More laser beams ripped past their walls.

  “Jesse’s still in position,” Scott said, craning his neck to peer back. “He pulled a couple of tiles from the floor to use as a shield, but that’s only going to buy him so much time. If I occupy them with my blasts, think you two could flank them, advance on their flag?”

  We can try, Janis thought, but the Ice Queen’s probably been planning this for months. Anticipating our moves, preparing an arsenal of countermoves…

  Tyler shrugged as though to say, It’s either that or surrender.

  That decided it. Janis had no intention of surrendering to Agent Steel.

  “We’ll give it a shot,” she said.

  Scott nodded, but before he could fire off another blast, a white-suited opponent appeared on the other side of his wall. Janis opened her mouth, but not before the opponent drove the padded end of his carbine between Scott’s shoulder blades. Scott sprawled forward, his helmet popping off and rolling toward her. The opponent righted the carbine and aimed downward.

  “Watch out!” Janis cried.

  Scott stiffened from the point-blank shot, his back arching up, before he flopped flat.

  Make them fear you. Make them feel pain.

  Janis gritted her teeth and pushed with both hands. The force blasted the man from his boots. She listened to him clatter into the wall as she turned toward Tyler’s barrier, where another of the white suits had appeared. Tyler and the man were struggling, their grips locked over his carbine. Tyler swayed back as the man went to head butt him. Janis concentrated and blew the man’s face shield to pieces.

  He fell backward, his gloved hands pawing at his face.

  Tyler knelt for the man’s carbine, but a streak of laser found him first.

  Janis wheeled toward the shooter who had ducked back behind a wall. Beyond him, two of the three defenders were jogging forward to join the assault. Aiming her arm, she pushed against the barrier. The three-foot-by-three-foot wall rattled then came loose in a spray of bolts. The wall slapped the man behind it to the ground. Janis turned the wall horizontally.

  Blood is good.

  She grinned at the thought of whipping it through the final three men as though they were bowling pins.

  In her peripheral vision, she caught Agent Steel punching something into a wall panel. Around the room, red lights began to flash. An alarm sounded, its high-pitch wail penetrating Janis’s mind like insanity itself. Hands clamped over her ears, she
dropped to her knees. The wall she had been suspending fell to the ground. The downed man regained his feet and recovered his carbine.

  Can’t concentrate…

  Something stung her left shoulder and abdomen. For a second, every muscle in her body locked up in a seizure, then she was on her side, her sensation tingling back by degrees.

  She tried to raise an arm, but her muscles felt like pudding.

  Though the red lights continued to flash, the alarm had subsided. Boots thudded past her. She managed to turn her head enough to witness Jesse’s last stand.

  He swung his floor tile into the first white suit, sending the man into a backward tumble. But Jesse left his body exposed. Lasers flashed. Jesse staggered to one side, then plopped onto his ample bottom, shaking the flagpole. One of the three white suits still standing ditched his carbine. Climbing Jesse, he stood atop his shoulders and reached for the orange flag.

  With a tug, the flag came free. The man waved it overhead to applause from his teammates.

  * * *

  “Dismal,” Agent Steel said.

  They were sitting around a table in what Director Kilmer called the strategy center. It was similar to the conference room in the command and control facility, but smaller.

  “Pathetic. No planning, no strategy, no leadership. When the going got tough, you scattered. Every Champion for himself. It took your opponents ninety-one seconds to capture your flag. Let that sink in for a moment.”

  In the silence, Janis glanced around. Her teammates looked glum, especially Scott, whose shoulders were rounded, his head hung. They were all still recovering from the laser blasts, no doubt — or, in Creed’s case, his collision with a wall — but the air in the room was sick with failure.

  “Oh, what bull,” Janis muttered.

  Agent Steel’s head turned. “Do you find something disagreeable?”

  “Planning?” Janis said. “You gave us, like, ten seconds. Strategy? How could we strategize when you kept changing the rules of the game? And despite that, your men were as good as wasted until you activated that little alarm. Ninety-one seconds? I would have finished them off in nine seconds.”