by Hayes, Drew
“We left it in his hands and he made his choice. All we can do now is respect that and hope the DVA proves me wrong,” Globe said. “If nothing else, I’m hoping Captain Starlight has seen enough to know the danger of working with someone so toxic and will keep Crispin locked away in the darkest, deepest cell they have.”
“Maybe. But even he isn’t going to be able to uncover every snake in his midst. Not without help, anyway.” Clarissa pulled out her phone and swiped over to a calendar app. Every entry on it was blank, but it still displayed a timeline of the upcoming weeks, and that was all she really needed to see. “George has been saying he’s close for a while now. If there’s any way you can push him along, this is a good opportunity. We’ve got someone at the top willing to listen to us. If we can find the proof and start things rolling soon, before anyone with split loyalty can cozy up to Graham, we might actually have a shot at getting the truth out there.”
“The most we can do for George is support him,” Globe replied. “He’s been working tirelessly, but the task is supposed to be impossible. Accomplishing it, even in a matter of years, is an astounding feat. Hopefully this present, and all the work that comes with it, will buy us some breathing room. If we can stop worrying about being found for a few weeks, George can focus on cracking the encryption. Maybe that will lead to the breakthrough we’ve been waiting for.”
Clarissa looked dubious at his optimism, an expression Globe was well-accustomed to seeing. For most of their time together, she’d been the realistic counterweight to his idealist nature. Working together, the two of them had always been a little faster, a little smarter, and a lot better than they were alone.
“You think it will go that well? My money says once Crispin tells the DVA he was captured by Globe, it will set off alarm bells all across the department. They’re going to want to know why you captured a fellow fugitive, and they’re definitely going to hassle Blaine about why we dropped Crispin off at his door.”
“It occurred to me that might be an issue.” Globe thought back to when he’d had his hands on the monster who had attacked Lander. There was a technique he took little joy in knowing and less in using, but this had been one of the few occasions where he deemed it necessary. Besides, not killing Crispin outright had taken a lot of self-control; there was only so much left to stay his hand on other methods. “I made sure our involvement won’t come up, at least not to anyone other than Blaine and Graham.”
“Oh? And what did you do to ensure that?” Clarissa asked.
“Let’s just say that Crispin can’t tell something he doesn’t know in the first place.”
* * *
Graham read the report once more, noting every detail and filing each away for further consideration when he had some free time. There wasn’t a lot there aside from the main thrust of the report. It didn’t surprise him, not really. No one stayed on the run as long as Globe had without learning to cover his tracks. More than anything, it filled Graham with a sense of loss. If everything Blaine said was true and Globe was innocent, then they’d been robbed of one hell of an asset. The fact that this little stunt probably didn’t even scratch the surface of what he could do made it all the more galling that he was stuck in the role of an enemy, rather than the ally he wanted to be.
“So he got wiped, huh?”
“Sort of.” The agent sitting in Graham’s office, the man who’d delivered the report, squirmed in his chair. “It’s not like what we see when Emerald Hydra handles an HCP failure or anything like that. It’s more like – and I’m quoting our medical team so forgive the speculation – but it’s as though someone destroyed the neural pathways in his brain where the last few weeks of memories were stored, then immediately healed them to prevent lasting brain damage.”
“Wouldn’t that bring back the memories?” Graham asked. Things had gotten so complicated as more and more powers came along. He missed the old days when strong punches and big blasts were the chief threats.
“No, sir. The tissue is fixed, but the arrangement of electrical impulses we think of as memory was lost. It’s a hard wipe; not even someone like Hallow could repair it since all of the actual damage has already been healed. There’s nothing physical to fix. He’s got no idea how he wound up in Dean Blaine’s home, every telepath on staff has confirmed that.” More squirming. This guy was going to have to learn to spit things out or end up reassigned. Graham didn’t have time for dawdlers. “On the note of Dean Blaine, sir, Crispin’s account of how he was treated upon discovery is a little worrying. Perhaps we should order a psych evaluation for Blaine.”
“Dean Blaine has one of the most educated, experienced psychiatrists in the world at his school, one who specializes in Heroes and the burdens they face. I assure you, he’s in good hands. As for the rough treatment, he didn’t do anything that can’t be healed. Given what Crispin did to Blaine’s campus and the body count his attack left behind, I’d say Blaine was a picture of control. Most men I know would have done far worse. I should add that Crispin’s capture, every detail including who found him and the condition he was in, has been deemed extremely classified until we learn more. So I wouldn’t spend too much time worrying about Blaine, and I certainly wouldn’t turn those concerns into gossip if I were you. Clear?”
The agent was settling down a little, despite Graham’s firm tone. “Perfectly so, sir. If I may be so bold as to ask, do you have any theories about what happened?”
“Plenty.” Graham didn’t consider this a lie, because while he might know who delivered Crispin to them, he still had no idea how Globe had pulled it off. The man was wily, powerful, and dangerous – and hopefully on their side. “But for now all I care about is putting the capture to good use. Are we ready to move on the remaining Sons of Progress?”
“A task force is assembled and will deploy within the hour. If we hit the chief targets at once, we can get them all before they know we’re coming.”
Graham set down the report and rose from his desk. As the head of the DVA, this wasn’t the sort of thing he planned to sit in his office and wait to hear results on. He was too old to be in the field, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t still be in on the action. “Take me to the room where they’re coordinating everything. I want to watch this go down with my own eyes. It’s about time these bastards paid the bill for what they’ve done.”
229.
“I’m surprised you haven’t just killed me outright already.” Ralph was scared, terrified really, but he’d been in bad spots before and knew there was no sense in losing his head. Dean Blaine had him dead-to-rights; panicking or begging wasn’t going to change that.
“It was tempting. Very tempting. You’ve made some serious errors, and I won’t pretend your love of tearing down Heroes wouldn’t add an extra level of joy to destroying you. But for all your faults and failures, you did come through when it mattered. When those kids were on the verge of throwing their futures away, you gave them another choice. That act – and that act alone – is why we’re having this meeting, Ralph. Because under it all, part of me suspects that you might not be all bad. I think you’re a damaged man who takes his pain out on what he sees as justifiable targets, a man who makes poor choices to chase his goals, and a hypocrite who holds others to a high standard of law while excusing his own actions. In short, I think you’re a piece of shit. But there’s a large gap between that and a man who would knowingly allow a school to be attacked. So tell me, right here and now, did you know Nathaniel was going to come after Lander?”
There was no way to tell if any telepaths were listening in; Dean Blaine might have forgone his negation powers to allow Ralph’s mind to be probed. Whether they were or not was largely irrelevant. It had been clear at the outset that Ralph’s only hope of making it through this was brutal honesty.
“No,” Ralph said. “But I knew he would do something. That’s why I had the forms ready, in case the kids were compromised in public. I never imagined he would try to assault Lander directly. It s
eemed crazy to think one nutjob would be able to pull off something like that. That was before I knew about the Sons of Progress, of course.”
“Of course,” Dean Blaine echoed, his tone dry and harsh. “I will give you the benefit of the doubt that you didn’t think Nathaniel would go after our campus. Given that no successful or even nearly successful attack on an HCP had ever occurred, it would have been unthinkable. Even my fellow deans and I never truly imagined it would happen. But you knew he was after Nick Campbell, and you knew he was escalating his attacks. You are culpable, Ralph. Your hands are stained with the blood of those we lost.”
For the first time, Dean Blaine moved from his chair, rising smoothly to his feet. Ralph started to mirror the move, but a withering glare made him sink back down into his seat. Methodically, every step chosen with intent, Dean Blaine made his way around the desk until it was to his back, with Ralph seated only a few feet away from him.
“Right now, Graham DeSoto is listening to and evaluating the confession of Crispin. He is carefully determining which parts will be deemed classified and which will be used as evidence. There’s a lot to sort through; it really was an extensive recording. The portion mentioning your and Nathaniel’s dealings, however, is unique. Nothing in it is necessary to the case of Crispin or the dismantling of the Sons of Progress. If he marks it as classified, then you’ll survive. If he doesn’t, your career is nothing but ash. But as I said, he’s not the one making that call. I am. Funny how many people seem to trust my judgment these days, even as I find myself second-guessing so many of my choices.”
“What do you want from me?” It was time to cut to the chase. Dean Blaine had demands, clearly, so better to get them into the open and start negotiating… assuming Ralph could manage enough leverage to negotiate at all.
Dean Blaine leaned forward from his desk, looming over Ralph. “If I asked you to recant every testimony you’ve ever given, free or reinstitute all the Heroes you’ve punished for their mistakes, unmake all that you’ve done, what would you say?”
“I’d say you should call your goons to come grab me, because I’m going to jail.” Ralph wasn’t sure if this was what Blaine wanted to hear or not, but he’d decided on brutal honesty and that was the tactic he was going to use. “My mistakes are my own, and I’ll pay for them if I have to. That doesn’t change the fact that I took some reckless, dangerous people out of positions of authority. I’m never going to give ground on that, so if it’s what you want then let’s save the time and get me a cell.”
“Dangerous people? You mean like Mr. Reynolds,” Dean Blaine replied.
“No, I mean real, proven threats. And you can hate me all you like for leaning hard on Vince, but we both know I could have leaned harder. More importantly, the world at large isn’t going to be nicer than I am. You can all act like having a villain dad and a dangerous power constrained by an experimental procedure doesn’t make him any different all you like. The world won’t see him that way. At least now he knows that, and he’s ready for it.”
“Such a noble act on your part, turning the screws on a scared student.” Dean Blaine paused, examining Ralph – every freckle on his nose and every drop of sweat on his brow. “You’re still a piece of shit, but at least it seems like you have some integrity. I’ve been looking over your record for a good chunk of the night, and while you’ve been too enthusiastic at times, I can’t say you don’t choose appropriate targets. And believe it or not, some of us agree that Heroes need to be held accountable. With our abilities, handing over unchecked authority on who lives and who dies is dangerous. I know firsthand how tempting it can be to abuse that power.”
Slowly, Dean Blaine straightened back up and walked over to his side of the desk, retaking his seat. He slid the folder before him over to Ralph and motioned for him to open it. With little other choice, Ralph complied. He’d barely revealed the pages within before Dean Blaine began to explain what he was looking at.
“That, Agent Ralph Chapman, is a full confession of everything Crispin implicated you on. There are currently two options before you. Sign it, and I tell Graham to deem both the document and that part of the recording classified. Refuse, and we prosecute you the hard way. Although I don’t think it will really be that hard, given the recording of Crispin and the one from this office.”
Scanning the pages, they seemed to line up with what Dean Blaine said they were, not that he really could have slipped something much worse in there. “Then what? You own me for the rest of my life? You make me back off when one of your buddies screws up and I start sniffing around?”
“You’ve got the part about me owning you right,” Dean Blaine agreed. “The rest, not as much. To be blunt, the Hero system needs retooling. Corruption has taken root: it’s time to start yanking it out. Doing that will require the right implement. Someone with a reputation for being stalwart, for chasing a case no matter how unpopular it may be, someone accustomed to being hated. I want you to do what you’ve always claimed to devote yourself to, Ralph. I want you to find and expose those who have used their power to circumvent the law. Only now, I’m going to guide you to better-hidden targets.”
“You expect me to believe that? You clearly hate me, Blaine. There’s nothing subtle about it. So why would you be willing to work with someone you detest?”
For a moment, Dean Blaine broke eye contact, and Ralph caught the first sign of something other than fury in his gaze. It was… sadness, and regret. Guilt, maybe? When he turned back, most of it was gone, though a few traces still lingered.
“Yes, Ralph, I’m willing to work with someone I detest. You made mistakes that led up to the attack on Lander, but I failed to keep my students safe. You don’t deserve the finality of a jail cell, just like I don’t deserve to forgive myself for that failing. We’re going to try and atone for our mistakes together. We’re going to take the hard path of effort and pain to try and make this world, and our Hero system, the littlest bit better. Because while redemption may not exist, we can at least make sure those people didn’t die in vain. We will force ourselves to push on in their memory. You can refuse to sign and be done with all of this. You can have the peace of a jail cell. Or you can prove that you truly believe in the shit you spout and cowboy up to try and help us. You’ve made plenty of bad choices already, don’t let this be another.”
With a grunt of effort, Ralph leaned across the desk and grabbed a pen, then wrote his name on the blank at the end of the confession. Dean Blaine nodded and pulled the folder back, tucking it carefully into his drawer.
“Welcome to the side of the Heroes, Ralph. Tread carefully from here on out, because we’ll be watching you. Closely.”
230.
By mid-afternoon, the news was on every station and splattered across the internet: The Sons of Progress had officially been fully dismantled following the capture of the group’s leader. Reactions were largely positive, to no one’s surprise, although a few other fringe groups were treating the revelation as a call to arms to step up their own activities. These were subdued, though, as seeing the Sons of Progress entirely wiped out was enough to give even the most zealous of potential replacements pause. After all, the Sons had been so good they pulled off the only successful attack on an HCP campus, and it had taken the Heroes less than a year to jail them all in retribution. It was a good reminder that anyone who stood against the DVA and the Hero system should be prepared for war, because that was what would be waiting for them.
On Lander campus, classes were canceled. It was already close to the weekend, and the administration knew how powerful the announcement would be to their students. For so many who’d lost friends that night in May, this offered some sense of closure. It would never be enough to heal the wounds from those losses, but at least now they knew it was over. But in the HCP, classes went on as usual. Heroes didn’t have the advantage of taking time away from their job, and more often than not they had to learn to live without that closure.
Nevertheless, at the c
onclusion of the senior’s gym period that day, Dean Blaine was waiting for them with an offer for those who wanted to follow him. The entire class did so, taking the lifts down past all the other nooks and secrets of the HCP to the bottom floor where the stone wall filled with names lived. Sasha’s family had blamed this place for her death, and in their hearts no one was sure they were wrong, so they respected the wishes to stay away from her grave. This wall, and her name, was their place to mourn her. Even if her remains were elsewhere, this was the place most believed her spirit would dwell.
One by one, they went to the wall. Some spoke a few soft words of farewell, or triumphantly told her it was over. Others said nothing, at least not out loud. With Dean Blaine there, no telepath would know their thoughts, not that anyone would have been so crass as to listen anyway. Tears were shed by many; some even managed a few laughs in their turn at the wall, reminiscing on some inside joke that had been lost along with Sasha. There was no judgment; they all understood that they had to grieve in their own way. And that they each had to find a way to grieve.
Because as much as this moment was about Sasha, it was impossible not to notice all the other names written along the wall. All the former Lander Heroes who were already lost. Names alongside which their own names would dwell, one day. They might be the Class of Nightmares, but they were still mortal. Every one of them would die, and for some of them it would happen in the field. For those who remained, there would be more ceremonies, more tears and stunted laughter, more goodbyes that came too soon. This moment, in a horrible way, was part of their training. Perhaps the most important part. The ones who couldn’t learn to cope with this loss and grief would be torn apart by it.
It had happened to stronger Heroes before them.
* * *
Casper was not a man accustomed to waiting, but for once he didn’t make a fuss about it. There were few people with whom money couldn’t buy influence, and the head of the DVA was at the top of the list: partly because of that position, and partly because he was Captain fucking Starlight, the man whose merchandise never went out of style. His net worth probably dwarfed Casper’s own, and that was with all the charitable contributions he’d made through the decades. Thankfully, the wait wasn’t a long one. Graham DeSoto entered the room, still on his phone, barking a few brief orders before snapping it shut.