The Ascension: A Super Human Clash

by Michael Carroll

  Joe said, “I’ve heard of the first three. They died in Anchorage. The others aren’t familiar. But sure they wouldn’t necessarily go by the same code names. You know any of their real names?”

  Roz shrugged. “Max might know them.”

  Suzanne said to Joe, “Daedalus, maybe?”

  Joe nodded. “Maybe. Roz, we have connections with Daedalus. I’m sure you’ve heard the name. He’s superhuman. Strong, fast, an incredibly brainy fella. He has some sort of weird intuition about you superfolks. He knows the powers inside out, back to front, and probably upside down as well.”

  Roz said, “If you’ve got him on your side, as well as Sl—Suzanne, plus you’ve clearly got lots of weapons and people, then…” She shrugged. “What are you waiting for? Why haven’t you attacked Krodin yet?”

  Ted simply said, “Anchorage.”

  Joe said, “Krodin lured all the known superhumans—good guys and bad guys—to Anchorage, and then detonated a cobalt bomb. Blew up the entire city. Everyone thinks Daedalus was behind it, but Ted was able to tell from Krodin’s speech at the memorial that he was behind it. If we move against him without a surefire way to stop him, there’s every chance he’ll do it again. Only next time he might pick an even bigger city. What if he did it in the heart of Manhattan? That’s one-and-a-half-million people gone right there.”

  “But if you don’t do anything, then…what right have you to call yourself the resistance? You’re not resisting. You’re hiding. You might as well not be here!”

  Suzanne said, “When the time is right—”

  “Really? When will that be? How long are you planning to sit on your butts and do nothing?”

  Joe raised his hands. “Now, hold on there, Roz! You’ve been here less than a day. You don’t know—you can’t know—what it’s been like for us.” He ran his hands over his hair and sighed. “The right time to attack Krodin is coming, very soon now. But we have to be certain of winning, because we’re only going to get one shot at it. With you and your friends here, and with Unity’s forces on the way, we’re stronger than we have ever been, but we’re still going to need more superhumans. Who else do you know who might have survived Anchorage?”

  “Impervia,” Roz said. “She’s here; I’ve already met her. She’s very strong, practically invulnerable, and she can fly. Her real name is Amandine Paquette.”

  “Ah,” Joe said. “Yeah, we know her. Number four on our list of enemies. You think we can turn her?”

  Roz shrugged. “She seems to be committed to the idea that Krodin’s way is the right way. I didn’t know her too well back home, but she was a lot more, well, peace loving. But if we can persuade her to join us, she’d make a great ally. She…” Roz stopped herself. “Number four. Krodin and Max are numbers one and two on your list. Who’s number three?”

  The others all turned to the older man, who until now had remained silent.

  He was absently stroking his dark beard as he stared at Roz. “You are.”

  CHAPTER 20

  THREE YEARS ago…

  A week after the attack on Anchorage, Krodin stood in the General Assembly Hall of the United Nations Headquarters in New York as he addressed the representatives of all 187 member states.

  “Good morning. If I could have your attention, please?” He waited a few moments for the representatives to settle down. “I’ll keep this brief. The President of the United States has appointed me to lead the investigation into the recent act of terrorism that caused the deaths of more than one hundred thousand U.S. citizens. I have been granted full per mission to use any means necessary to facilitate that investigation.” Krodin paused long enough for the translators in the gallery to relay the message to everyone present. “My first act is this: Effective immediately, and for the foreseeable future, the borders of the United States of America are closed.”

  An angry murmur rippled through the room.

  “Until we can determine the nationality of the perpetrators behind the attack on Anchorage, we have no choice but to recall our ambassadors from your countries and remove all non-U.S. citizens from U.S. territory.”

  The members were on their feet now, turning to each other in confusion, screaming their protests, reaching for their cell phones to contact their governments.

  “This is not open for discussion,” Krodin said, almost shouting to be heard. “An unfathomable atrocity has been committed against the people of the United States, and we will stop at nothing to see that those responsible are brought to justice.”

  The Australian representative called out, “This is madness, Krodin! What evidence do you have that the attack wasn’t carried out by Americans?”

  “You want evidence?” Krodin shouted back. “Fine. Here’s the evidence!” He gestured to the screen behind him.

  The uproar was instantly silenced as every representative stared at the screen.

  “Most of you won’t know what that means. But there’s at least one of you who does. We can’t prove it. Not yet.”

  Krodin looked over the sea of guilty faces, then glanced at Max Dalton, who was standing at the back of the room, deep in concentration.

  The screen showed a photograph of a fire-blackened human skull. Earlier, Max had scanned the minds of every representative, and now he was coercing their minds into linking the disturbing image with their most guilty secrets. Each representative was now certain that his or her government had some connection with the attack on Anchorage.

  In the five thousand years since Krodin was born, one thing had remained constant: Politicians always had something to hide.

  Two months later, Krodin stood, arms crossed, on the plush carpet of the White House’s Oval Office.

  He thought that the president was starting to look considerably older than his sixty years. The man’s once-dark hair was peppered with gray, the lines on his face were deepening, and there was an edge to his voice that told Krodin all he needed to know: The president was desperate for a solution.

  “Krodin, this is not going to end well. Every nation in the world is beefing up its defenses because they’re afraid we’re going to invade. I can’t believe I let you and Dalton persuade me to go along with your plans. And you haven’t even found Daedalus yet! So what’s the deal there, huh? Is he smarter than you, is that it? More powerful? How is it that you and your think tank of geniuses have made absolutely no progress in finding him? Is this some sort of game to you? More than a few of my advisers are telling me that you’re playing us. They think you’ve been working with Daedalus all along.”

  “With respect, Mr. President—”

  “Shut up, Krodin—I’m talking here!” He sat back in his chair. “I mean, for crying out loud, you’re not even a U.S. citizen! You’re, what, Egyptian or Persian or something like that? Don’t answer. I’m still talking. We’ve given you everything you’ve asked for. We declared a state of emergency, closed the borders, quadrupled the armed forces. You’ve already cost us trillions of dollars! Taxes have more than doubled in some states. We’ve turned America into a fortress. No, worse than that, it’s practically a prison. Nothing in or out. You do know that the nation is going to grind to a halt without the oil from the Middle East?”

  “We’re not going to need oil for much longer,” Krodin said. “Solomon Cord’s work on photovoltaic cells is—”

  “Did I say I was finished? No, I didn’t.” The president tapped the thick, unopened folder lying on the desk. “And now you want to establish this private security firm of yours as, what, some kind of auxiliary police force? And you expect me to persuade Congress to go along with that?”

  Krodin said nothing.

  “Well? Answer me!”

  Let’s make him sweat a little more, Krodin thought, and slowly counted to twenty in his head. “If you’ll just read the report before you criticize it…”

  The president narrowed his eyes. “No you don’t. You don’t get to talk to me like that. Just because you’re some kind of immortal superhuman that doe
s not give you the right to disrespect me or this office. I could have you deported, you know.”

  Krodin sighed and sat on the edge of the desk. “You couldn’t. But I’m not here to make things harder for you. Read the report. It took my people a year to compile it, so the least you could do is…Forget that. I’ll summarize. The country’s law-enforcement structure—everything from the CIA right down to the average cop on the street—is a mess. You’ve got dozens of departments who barely talk to each other because they’re all either afraid of stepping outside their boundaries or they’re hoarding their wins like a greedy kid who still has all his candy two weeks after Halloween.”

  “That’s a gross oversimplification—”

  “Your turn to shut up, Walt,” Krodin interrupted. “I’m talking now. I’m not proposing a private security firm. What I’m proposing is that all the law-enforcement departments and every branch of the military be replaced with one organization. Not all at once, but certainly over the next five years. They will be the Praetorian Guard. And before you ask, the Praetorian Guard were handpicked bodyguards used by Roman emperors. They were the best of the best. They were utterly dedicated and absolutely incorruptible, just as our Praetorians will be.”

  “We can’t afford that. The training alone…” The president shook his head. “No.”

  “Yes,” Krodin said. “I’m not saying we replace the people, just the structures under which they work. I give you my guarantee that their efficiency will double every two months for the first year. As for the cost…Look at the bottom line.” He flipped open the folder and pushed it closer to the president. “This is your combined annual budgets for the police and military. Now look at the next page, the budget for the Praetorians.”

  The president reached out and turned the page. “It’s…less than half.” He looked up at Krodin. “This is real?”

  “Oh, it’s even better than you think, Walt. That’s just the first year, and it includes the cost of the changeover. The second year will cost you about a third of that. And that’s including equipment and training. America can’t afford not to do this. Think about it. You can divert the savings into education, welfare, whatever you like.”

  The president’s fingers were trembling slightly as he flipped back and forth through the report. “But an organization this size would be almost impossible to manage.”

  “Not for me and my team,” Krodin said. “Superhuman, remember? I’ll coordinate everything from the top down. Directly under me will be Max Dalton, Solomon Cord, and Casey Duval working out of my Chicago offices. With their brains and their abilities, we can get this started a lot faster than you might think. A couple of months at most.”

  “But you’re a civilian, Krodin…. You don’t fit into the political structure. You’re not a politician.”

  “So make me into a politician. We’re already under martial law. You’re the commander in chief. Create this new position and appoint me to run it.”

  The president pushed the folder away. He sat back, stared up at the ceiling. “I’m going to want to see a much more detailed report, get my own people to check it out, but…You could be on to something here. All right, let’s suppose we do it.” He leaned forward again, and smiled at Krodin. “You’d need a title, of course. Adviser? No, too vague. Overseer wouldn’t really work…. I know: You can be Chancellor.”

  CHAPTER 21

  ABBY COULD BARELY believe how much control James had over his flight. It had been only a few hours since he first learned to use shock waves to lift himself into the air, and he had found it exhausting. Now he was a master, carrying the two of them over the North Dakota landscape at a speed she couldn’t even begin to estimate.

  He’s a strange guy, she thought. Carrying a lot of weight on his shoulders. She guessed that could be because of his super-sensitive hearing. It can’t be easy, knowing so many people’s secrets.

  She was sure he had a crush on her. Why else would he have kept coming back to the diner? It certainly couldn’t have been for the food. I’ll just have to find a way to discourage him somehow, she thought, before he completely falls in love with me.

  Still, it was comforting to think that he liked her, even though he really wasn’t her type. Lance, too, had seemed to take an interest in her, but she didn’t expect to ever meet him again, so that was less of a problem.

  “They’re almost there!” James told her. “They’re going to reach him before we do!”

  “Warn him!” Abby shouted over the roar of the wind. “You can throw your voice, can’t you?”

  “It’s taking all I’ve got just to keep us moving at this speed.”

  “Then you need to go on without me—you’ll get there quicker!”

  “You sure?”

  “Do it!”

  “All right,” James said. “I’ll set you down on that hilltop. Don’t go anywhere—I’ll come back for you.” He paused for a moment, then added, “And if I don’t come back, you get away from here. Find somewhere to hide and lie low for the rest of your life.”

  Abby saw the small round-topped, grassy hill approaching. “Don’t waste time slowing down—just take me in close and let go—I’ll be OK.”

  They swept in so low over the grass that Abby could see it ripple from their wake. “Now!”

  James opened his hand and zoomed away.

  For a few seconds Abby remained on course, and then she began to drop. This is a lot faster than it seemed when we were up in the air!

  Twenty yards from the crest of the hill she hit the ground hard and slid across the long damp grass on her side. She tried to dig her hands into the dirt to slow her speed, but instead it caused her to start tumbling and rolling.

  She reached the crest of the hill and suddenly there was nothing beneath her but three hundred feet of empty air, and, below that, an abandoned quarry littered with jagged fragments of shattered rock.

  “James! Help me!”

  But even as she called out, she knew it was too late: James was long gone, his attention focused on reaching Brawn as fast as possible.

  The unforgiving ground rushed toward her.

  “I was with the patrol searching for Brawn,” Max Dalton said, leaning back against the side of the truck with his arms folded, “and then we intercepted a call from the warden at Oak Grove.”

  “Whose side are you on, Max?” Lance asked.

  “Mine, of course. Lucky for you it’s also your side.” He sighed. “I’m not going to turn you in, Lance. Your escape is considered a low priority. They’ve got Brawn to worry about, there’s a huge man hunt out for Roz in Manhattan, plus Abby and Thunder destroyed one Raptor in Midway and another in Minnesota. So what have you done today, aside from getting yourself arrested?”

  Lance shrugged, and gestured to the truck.

  Max gave him a slow hand clap. “Wow. You’re a genius.”

  “Well, what have you done?”

  Inside Lance’s head, Max’s voice said, “I’m the Vice-Chancellor, Lance. I can’t exactly keep a low profile. Come on. Into the Shrike.”

  Lance looked over at the flying craft. “So where are we going?”

  Inside Lance’s head, Max’s voice said, “As far as anyone else knows, you’re being taken into Praetorian custody for interrogation.”

  “Where are we really going?”

  “Just think the thoughts, Lance. You don’t have to say the words. And don’t worry about all those memories coming to the surface of the times you called me a jerk. I’m well aware of that. But maybe you’ll think differently now that I’m getting you out of here. You owe me.”

  You still owe me for saving your life back in Windfield, Lance thought, but Max didn’t respond, so Lance couldn’t tell if he was listening.

  As Lance climbed the ramp, the pilot turned around and nodded to him. “Good morning, sir.”

  “Good morning to you too,” Lance said.

  Max got in beside Lance. “Take us to the Citadel, Brandon.”

  “Certainly, Vi
ce-Chancellor.”

  The door beside Max hissed shut and the craft surged into the air, then Max hit a switch on the panel behind the pilot’s seat, and a screen rose up separating the cockpit from the rest of the craft. “We can talk safely now,” Max said.

  “Thanks for picking me up.”

  “Don’t thank me yet. If the Chancellor finds out, he’ll come gunning for both of us.”

  “What’s this Citadel we’re going to?”

  “It’s a palace Krodin’s having built in Manhattan, in Central Park. But that’s not our destination—just somewhere for the pilot to aim at until we can decide what to do next.”

  “We?” Lance asked. “A few weeks ago you barely acknowledged that I existed.”

  “I had a lot on my mind back then. Still do, in fact.”

  “Do you know how to reverse what happened to us?”

  “No. I’m not saying it can’t be done, but I don’t know how to send us back.”

  “Well, do you know why it happened?”

  “Not quite,” Max said, “but I do have a few ideas. The Praetorians’ technology is much more advanced than ours. Why that is…well, I’ll get to that in a minute. In theory they should be on pretty much the same level that we are.” He slapped the door of the craft. “Take this Shrike, for example, and the Raptors. They fly through some kind of gravity-nullifying system. We’re decades away from that. Centuries, possibly. From what I can gather, most of the technology is the brainchild of one man. We need to find him before we can answer all the questions.”

  “Who is he?”

  “Solomon Cord. Otherwise known as Paragon. The trouble is, the Paragon from this reality is gone, replaced by the one from our reality. Just like you replaced the Lance McKendrick from here…. You don’t have any of his memories, do you?”

  Lance shook his head. “No. But if we’re here, where did they go?”