“You should try being happy for your friend.”
“Hooray for corporate lackeys,” Iridium said, deadpan.
Night leaned in, the way he had the day he’d threatened to break her arm. “You need to be careful, Iridium. Some at this school are seeing entirely too much of your father in you.”
“And that’s a bad thing why, exactly? Heroes are supposed to help people, not pose and ape for money.”
Night shook his head. “You talk like him, but you’re not nearly as smart. The world turns on poses and public faces, Iridium. The sooner you realize that, the better off you’ll be.”
“With all due respect, sir,” Iridium said, stepping around him, “I hope I never do.”
Night didn’t reply, but she felt him watch her until she turned the corner toward the dorms, eyes cold and hard as a knife in her back.
CHAPTER 42
JET
Trainee heroes rely on us to mold them, to shape them and to define appropriate behavior for everything from eating to dating.
Night, in an interview for the Chicago Sun-Times
Jet knocked on the door—two perfunctory raps—before she let herself in.
The huge man seated behind the desk looked up from his computer and scowled at her. The metal pin connecting his left arm to his shoulder gleamed in the light. “My my,” Lancer said. “The darling of the Academy has come to pay a visit. Go away, girl. I’m busy.”
No longer the scared mouse, Jet ignored the hostility in his voice as she also ignored his words and shut the door. She needed him. He was the only one who could help her. Smiling brightly, she sat in the seat opposite the desk. “Thank you for seeing me, sir.”
His scowl pulled into a snarl. “Maybe you need your hearing checked. I said go away.”
“Sir, I’m here to ask for your help.”
Lancer sneered. “Why don’t you go ask one of the other instructors or proctors to give you what you need? With the way Corp’s been shining to you, and now with the city practically in your pocket, anyone would bend over backward to aid the little Shadow.”
Hearing Night’s name for her on Lancer’s lips made her seethe, but she quashed the feeling and instead turned up the brilliance of her smile. She’d been practicing. She knew that her smile was reflected in her eyes, even if inside she wanted to rip his prosthetic leg from his body. She was becoming quite the actress.
Night was very pleased.
Jet said, “But sir, you’re the best there is at teaching aggressive and defensive fighting tactics.”
Lancer’s eyes narrowed. “Flattery, girl?”
“No, sir. Simple truth. You’re the best martial-arts and street-fighting instructor the Academy has. I’d be a fool to turn to anyone else.”
And never mind that he was a washout who’d barely clocked three years with the Squadron. Jet smiled demurely.
After a moment, Lancer leaned back in his chair. “Well, I suppose I can hear you out before I send you on your way.”
“Thank you, sir,” Jet said, and meant it. “When I’m engaged in battle, my response time is too slow. I need to increase my reaction speed. Can you help me?”
“That’s just practice, girl,” he said, snorting. “More you do it, the better you’ll get. Or you’ll get yourself hospitalized, or dead.”
“I do practice, sir. I put in hours in the gym and on the mats, sparring with anyone and everyone. I know the forms, I’ve studied the moves. In the Academy, I’m fast. But out there, where it matters, I’m slow.” She took a deep breath. “Will you tell me what I’m doing wrong?”
He looked at her, his dark eyes searching for something in her own. Finally he grimaced and said, “When you’re out there, and someone approaches you, what do you do? First thing. Tell me.”
“I run through the ABCs of Peacekeeping. Analyze, bat-tlescan, confront.”
“Good. Next?”
“That’s just it, sir. I seem to be in the middle of reviewing battlescan when I get attacked. There’s not enough time for me to make a sound decision before I’m locked into combat. And then I’m forced on the defensive.”
“So you’re taking too long to determine next moves.” He shrugged. “That’s common at first.”
“I try to think of all the possibilities before dedicating myself to an action. That’s the logical way to move forward.”
“Sweetheart, there’s nothing logical about a dirty fight. On the street, you’ve got to survive.”
“But there’s honor to battle. Rules to physical engagement.”
He snorted again. “Now you sound like you’re dating me. You want rules, Jet? Simple. First rule: Survive. Second rule: Don’t be your own enemy. Everything else is just practice, until your body knows what to do even as your mind is still processing the situation.”
“But—”
“No buts!” He slammed his fist onto the table, and Jet jumped in her seat. “Don’t try to rationalize it. Don’t paint the real world into pretty shades of pink. It doesn’t work like that. You go in there with your black skinsuit looking all slick, and your ideals about battle, thinking it should be glorious and chivalrous or anything other than staying alive no matter what, and you will get killed. Make no mistake about that, girl.”
Chagrined, Jet kept silent.
“Out there, the bad guys don’t give a rat’s ass if you’re doing a photo op because some stupid agreement with your sponsor says you can’t pass up an opportunity when the press is on the spot.” His eyes flashed, and a bitter smile played on his face. “If you think the world is going to accommodate your vision of it, think again. Arrogance is death.”
“Sir,” she said, her voice soft, “I’m sorry, I—”
“Shut it. Worse than arrogance is compassion. With arrogance, at least, you’ve got the right attitude. You’re a strong fighter, a warrior dedicated to protecting civilians from the scum of the earth.” His lips pulled into a sneer. “But compassion is death, girl. Far more so than arrogance. Compassion will get you a skinning knife in your ribs, a plasgun blast to your head. You want a mantra, Jet? Here’s one: They don’t matter.”
“Who doesn’t, sir?”
“Them. The enemies you’re fighting. Once you start thinking of them as people, your heart’s going to screw up what your head’s telling you to do.” He jabbed a finger at her. “Overthinking it slows you down. Overfeeling it will get you killed.”
“I see,” she said slowly, not liking the advice but appreciating that it held a note of ugly truth.
“No, girl. You don’t.” He barked out a laugh, a harsh sound that grated on her ears. “You think you know better. You think that you’re different, that you can go out there and be sympathetic and yet firm. It doesn’t work like that, sweetheart.”
“Then show me what to do.”
He paused. “Excuse me?”
She leaned forward in her seat. “Teach me. One-on-one. Show me how to fight the way a Squadron hero should fight.”
“You’ve got Fourth Year instructors for that,” he said, scoffing. “Madame Marvel and Fisticuffs, I believe. They can even hook you up with tips on how to smile for the vids as you take out a villain.”
“They’re not the best,” she said plainly. “I want the best, sir. I want you to teach me.”
“Bullshit,” he spat. “I’m not the best and I know it. I got taken out of the field in my prime because of a stupid mistake on my part. So tell me the real reason why you’re here, girl, and maybe I won’t shove a detention band down your throat.”
She lifted her chin. “You hate me, sir. And that means you wouldn’t hold back when we spar.”
“You want me to really fight you? To pull all stops? To beat you down if you don’t get it right?”
“Yes, sir.”
“And this would be in addition to your regular Peacekeeping and Defense units.”
“Absolutely, sir.”
He stared at her, his gaze merciless, his face set in stone. “You’re a filthy Shadow.
But you’ve got guts. And you’ve got gumption. You want me to do this, you make sure you sign a waiver and get it to your mentor and to Academy Records. When I break you in half, I don’t want the responsibility of paying your funeral expenses.”
“Yes, sir,” she said, grinning. “Thank you, sir.”
“Go ahead and thank me, girl. I promise you, tomorrow you’ll be cursing me. Five in the morning, main obstacle track. Every morning, rain or shine. You ever don’t show up, I’m done with you. We clear?”
“Yes, sir!” She stuck out her hand. “Thank you, sir!”
He stared at her hand like she was holding a steaming pile of dog turds. Finally Jet lowered her hand. It doesn’t hurt, she told herself, keeping the smile pasted on her face.
It doesn’t hurt.
“Tomorrow, girl. Don’t be late.” With that, he went back to his computer. He didn’t look up when she rose from her seat, nor did he acknowledge her final “Thank you, sir.”
Jet thought she saw him look up when she closed the door softly behind her, but she decided that she was mistaken.
CHAPTER 43
IRIDIUM
No comment.
Response from Assistant Superintendent Neil Moore when asked if the Academy forbids same-sex dating among students
The tele blared a reality program about the Squadron. Darkmancer was fed up with Kinetic Lad’s recklessness and they were yelling at each other in the kitchen of the Squad House—the mansion financed by Corp and completely wired with cameras.
“How hard up do you have to be to do one of these programs?” Iridium asked. Frostbite and Red Lotus, sprawled on the sofa, paid her no attention.
“I don’t care if he is a Mental power, I’d kick Dark-mancer’s ass,” said Frostbite. “He’s a total prick. How does Kinetic Lad put up with that?”
Chen vaulted to his feet and struck a fighting stance, moving his mouth slightly out of sync to mimic a bad dub job on a kung-fu movie. One of the many things he and Derek shared, Iridium had noticed, was a love of flatfilm. “Only when you defeat me will you become the master.”
The door from the classrooms swished open, and Jet crossed silently into her room, studiously ignoring Iridium and the boys. Iridium stuck her tongue out at Jet’s back.
Frostbite jumped up and struck an equally ludicrous pose. “But my crane kung fu is strong! You will never defeat me!”
They began to wrestle, and Iridium clicked up the volume on the set to drown them out. Frostbite finally won over the smaller Red Lotus and pinned him to the ground, letting out a cowboy yell.
Hornblower stomped into the common room from the gym, sweat beading on his muscles, unshapely on his still-stubby teenage body.
“Fairies,” he sneered. “Misplace your wings?”
Iridium pushed a footrest into his path without taking her eyes off the projector, and Hornblower almost fell on his face.
“Watch it, you bitch,” he snarled, “or I’ll make sure you can never put that face on an endorsement poster.”
“I am shaking in my fashionable shoes,” said Iridium. “Why don’t you go drown in a vat of protein shakes, Tyler?”
He pointed a stubby finger at her. “You don’t get to use my name, bitch.”
“Stop calling me ‘bitch’ or I’m going to get irritated.”
“You’re going to get a smack across the face.”
“Oh, knock it off.” Frostbite sighed, standing and helping Red Lotus to his feet. “Everybody in here knows that the only reason you pick on girls is because your teeny, tiny, shriveled ’nads aren’t big enough to stand against someone your own size.”
Hornblower rounded on Frostbite. “You wanna start something, faggot?”
Chen winced, but Derek stuck out his chin. He’d grown every which way in the last year, and Iridium realized with a start that he was taller than Hornblower.
“I don’t start fights, Tyler,” he said. “But I’ll sure as hell end this one. So why don’t you go look at porn or pump iron or something, and leave us higher life-forms to our afternoon?”
Hornblower made a move toward Frostbite, but Derek stood firm, his hand in Red Lotus’s.
Iridium jumped up to join Frostbite and Red Lotus in their standoff. “Fuck off,” she told Hornblower. “Unless you want me to get Night and your uncle in here.”
Hornblower’s eyes flickered between the three of them, and Iridium knew he was weighing them up: Derek with his eyes nearly as bright as his hair, cheeks flushed, spoiling for an excuse to hurt Hornblower; Chen like a golden, trapped animal tethered by their intertwined fingers; and Iridium herself, her arms spread and palms up, the beginnings of strobes in each hand.
“Like any proctors would side with you people,” he sneered. “Rabids and queers.”
“Report this,” Frostbite said quietly, “and I will do things to you that will render you useless to everyone except the Janitorial division.”
Hornblower’s lip quivered, and he looked like a very small boy wearing a muscle suit. Then he turned and practically ran out of the room.
Red Lotus jerked his hand from Frostbite’s and stormed off into the boys’ dormitory.
Frostbite raked his hands through his hair. “Shit. Shit. Chen, wait!”
“Whoa, there!” Iridium grabbed Frostbite’s arm.
He spun around, and she saw ice-crystal tears imprisoned in the corners of his eyes. “Just leave me alone, Callie.”
“I don’t care,” Iridium said. “You need to know that.”
Derek blinked. “You don’t?”
She lifted one shoulder in a shrug. “Why should I?”
Frostbite slumped back on the sofa. “In case you missed it, Corp’s not keen on the love that dares not speak its name. Especially when it’s between heroes. You know how many ‘retirements’ over the past ten years have been Corp quietly getting rid of us?”
“Screw them,” she spat. “You’re my friend. Hell, I was best buddies with the girl voted Most Likely to Hack Somebody Up and Mail the Parts to Their Family.” She smiled thinly. “I think I can handle you making out with guys instead of chicks, Derek.”
“If anybody finds out …”
“No one’s going to, not from me,” said Iridium. “Now go talk to Chen. I’m sure it’ll be okay.”
Frostbite sniffled again. “He was the only one … in my entire life. What if I’ve blown it, Iri?”
“Not possible.” She reached over and ruffled Frostbite’s spiky hair. “You know, Derek the Dork, you turned out pretty irresistible. Chen would have to be some kind of idiot not to see that.”
He smiled and brushed the frost away from his face. “Thanks, Iridium.”
“Go,” she said, putting her feet up again and changing the channel on the holo. “And tell Chen the two of you make a cute couple.”
“You’ll be the only one we can tell,” Derek muttered. “The sneaking around puts a cramp in the romance, let me tell you.”
“Well, at least you don’t have to find a date for the graduation formal,” said Iridium. “I can see it now … matching tuxes, corsages, a floatlimo … are you going to get a hotel room? Chen will slap you around if you get fresh.”
Frostbite’s smile was less rigid this time. “You’re crazy. Corp would have a heart attack. Night would probably fall right out of his creepy cowl.”
“Worth it for that alone,” said Iridium, grinning.
Frostbite started to go into the men’s bunkroom, and then turned to face her. “You’re a good friend, Iri.”
“Thanks,” said Iridium. “I guarantee, you’re the only one who thinks so.”
CHAPTER 44
JET
If you don’t override your pain, you’re dead.
Lancer to his first-year students in Basic Defense Techniques
Jet knelt in the Academy confessional, trying not to play with her sling as she waited for the priest to slide open the screen and signal that she should begin confessing her sins.
Top of the list: pri
de.
Her left shoulder throbbed, and she grimaced. Lancer hadn’t been kidding when he’d said Jet would be cursing him. She’d done that, quite loudly, when he’d gotten the best of her and had dislocated her shoulder just a few hours ago.
She shuddered, remembering the impact as she’d hit the ground hard—and the acute pain that had accompanied it. Lancer had stared down at her, his gaze implacable, as she’d writhed on the floor.
“You’re dead,” he’d said coldly. “Next time, don’t bother with the pretty follow-through. Bad guys don’t give a shit if your form is correct. Guard your left. Now get your whining Shadow ass down to Infirmary.”
The staff nurse had given her a local, even though Jet had adamantly said no. At fifteen, Jet was still a minor, and so the Academy had the final say on her medical treatment—and that meant all patients were anesthetized when treating severe injuries. Jet had wanted to feel it when her shoulder had been popped back into its socket. Maybe that agony would help remind her of Lancer’s lesson today.
Instead, she’d gotten a sympathetic smile, a brightly colored sling, and a mandatory pass from physical activity for seventy-two hours, then moderated physical activity over the next four weeks. Lancer had scoffed and called her a pansy … but he agreed to keep working with her once Medical approved.
Small favors. Dejected, Jet sighed. She was a lousy excuse of a hero.
You’re a filthy Shadow, Lancer told her.
Jet closed her eyes, told herself to let it go. That it didn’t hurt.
Jehovah, she prayed, why am I a Shadow?
But instead of some invisible god, it was Night who whispered: You understand the power of the Dark.
Yes. But she hated it. Despised it.
Feared it.
You’ll learn to use that fear, Night crooned. Let it do your work for you.
Her heart danced; sweat beaded on her brow. Her throat constricted as she grappled with an idea that kept trying to slip out of reach.
How could the Dark work for her? It utterly terrified her.
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