"I would've thought you two would be best friends," Jane said. "You and Bedlam are so much alike."
Emily threw back her head in frustration.
"Don't you see? That's the problem! I'm like a cat. I don't want to be around another cat just like me," Emily said.
"There is nobody just like you," Titus said, entering ahead of Kate and the newly roped-in Bedlam. Jane nodded to the cyborg, who threw back a tough if friendly smirk. They hadn't had much time to talk, but Jane knew Bedlam had taken a beating for them in the breakout from the Labyrinth. She'd earned a place here.
"Any word from Billy?" Titus said.
Jane shook her head.
"I don't know if we will," Doc said. "Perhaps if our patient in the infirmary wakes up he can tell us how to communicate with Straylight, but for now, we just have to wait for him to return."
"We should get to work, then," Kate said. She sat in her usual chair and picked up one of the tablets on the table, taking command of the largest monitor in the room and closing Emily's Wikipedia search.
"I was reading that," Emily said.
"And now you're not," Kate said.
Doc ignored the bickering and stood up, taking position in front of the monitor. Kate retrieved a map of the United States with the three spots they needed to investigate marked in red.
"Three locations, three teams of two," Doc said. He looked at Jane for approval. "Sound good?"
"Who should go where?" she said.
Doc quirked an eyebrow.
"I want your input, Doc," Jane said. "You know more of the history of what's going on."
"Okay," he said and tapped the California location. "This organization, the Research Institute for Extra-Terrestrial Information, has been sending signals out to space for a long time. It's a civilian program. Their mission is to make informed, peaceful contact with new species."
"It seems odd that there'd be a civilian organization doing this, knowing what we've learned," Jane said.
"It's always been a moral quandary for us," Doc said. "We realize there's alien life out there. We're friendly with some of it, even. But the less the world knows…"
"Less chance to cause a panic," Titus said.
"Exactly," Doc said.
"It seems sketchy to me," Kate said. "I have trouble believing that's all they want."
"They've also been sending out different signals in recent months," Emily said, chiming in. "Slight variations to the 'we come in peace' message they've broadcast for decades."
"That's why I suggest Kate and Titus head there," Doc said. "You're our detectives. Sniff around, see if they're hiding anything."
"I resent that metaphor," Titus said.
"Sorry," Doc said sheepishly. "Unintentional."
"Dibs on Area 51," Emily said.
"Hang on," Bedlam said, speaking for the first time. "Where's that mark over the Appalachian Mountains? Why does that look vaguely familiar?"
"I was hoping you'd recognize that," Doc said. He motioned to Kate, who zoomed in on the spot. "After you escaped, did you ever do any research on the people who held you captive?"
Bedlam let out a hardy laugh.
"Oh yeah," she said. "I want to find those twisted bastards some day."
Doc smiled, not unkindly.
"I was hoping you might say something like that," he said. "That is the location of an old bolt hole for the Children of the Elder Star. A lab carved into a mountain."
Bedlam looked at Doc and then to Kate and back again.
"That's not the place Black and his squad ran to after you destroyed their island base, is it?" she said.
"It is," Doc said. "And it was supposed to have been empty ever since they evacuated it."
"So who's sending a bloody signal to space from it," Kate asked.
Bedlam looked at Emily, who stared right back at her.
"You can keep Area 51," Bedlam said. "I want to go there."
"Me too," Doc said. "I'm best prepared for any traps the Children might have left behind. Care to join me?"
"Absolutely," Bedlam said through gritted teeth.
Emily slapped her hands on the table.
"Area 51 for me!" she yelled.
"It's not really Area 51, Em," Jane said. "But there's something there, and I'm going to check it out, and your big genius brain is going to come with me to help me figure it out."
"Aces," Emily said. "Field trip."
"Then we have our assignments," Jane said. "Neal?"
"Yes, Designation: Solar," the AI said.
Bedlam's eyes wandered around the room at the sound of Neal's disembodied voice.
"I know you guys explained him to me before, but that is still creepy," Bedlam said.
"I apologize for upsetting you, Designation: Bedlam."
"Neal," Jane said, interrupting. "You will contact us the second you hear anything from Billy, got it?"
"Of course, Designation: Solar."
"Hey Neal?" Titus said.
"Hello, Designation: Whispering," the computer said.
"You should probably ping us if anything troublesome falls from the sky," Titus said.
"I will remain on high alert, Designation: Whispering," Neal said.
"Thanks," Titus said. He looked around the room, as if, Jane thought, he were solving a very long math equation in his mind.
"You okay?" she asked.
"Doc can teleport, and you and Emily can fly," Titus said. "How are Kate and I getting to California?"
Kate stood up dramatically, tapping away at her tablet, sending coordinates and details to the three teams.
"I found something in the landing bay we can use," Kate said.
Titus stared at her. "Found something. In the landing bay," he said.
"Do not be concerned, Designation: Whispering," Neal said. "Designation: Dancer has been approved to operate the vehicle. You will be perfectly safe."
"You always say that," Titus said. "And I'm never fully convinced."
Chapter 13:
Insignificant
When he and Dude left Earth, Billy thought the journey would be an adventure, flying past planets, dodging meteors, swooping in to check out comets as they passed by.
Turns out, outer space is a vacuum and there's not a lot to see. They almost wiped out a news network's satellite, sure, and Dude had, reluctantly, let Billy take a low-altitude flyby across the surface of the moon, but after that, Billy thought, there wasn't much more than darkness and stars.
It didn't help that Dude's powers kept Billy entirely insulated, too. Not that he was complaining—he'd have died instantly, of course—but he didn't feel any differently than he did on Earth, surrounded by the pale protective shielding that guarded him from injury planetside.
On the more exciting front, Dude was able to help them move far faster outside of Earth's atmosphere than he was within it. He explained it to Billy, or at least attempted to, but Billy tuned him out and just kept asking if he could call it hyperspace.
It's just so empty out here, Dude, Billy thought.
That's why your people call it space, and not stuff, Dude said.
Did you just sass me? Billy thought.
It's annoying when someone else does it, isn't it, Dude said.
Billy's disappointment at not seeing Mars—he had asked Dude specifically to find a way for them to fly by the red planet, and the alien refused—was only matched by finding out the Solar System's asteroid belt was mostly empty.
Let me know when we're getting close to the asteroid belt, Billy asked. I'll take out my iPhone and snap a few pictures.
We're already in it, Dude said. We're passing through right now.
There are no asteroids, Billy thought.
It's mostly empty. Your Earth fiction paints an inaccurate—
We've flown out past Mars, Billy said. We're further than any human being has ever flown before. And you're telling me there's no asteroids in the asteroid belt?
Perhaps you should listen to Emily more, Dud
e said. We're not far from Ceres if you'd like to see the biggest object in the belt…
No, never mind, Billy thought. This whole trip is ruined for me.
Although if Billy were being honest, the trip itself was ruining the journey for him. Infinitely far from home and helpless, he wondered if this was what drowning felt like.
I ever tell you about the time I almost drowned? Billy thought.
Several times, Dude said.
Billy's family didn't get to the ocean much. They worked too often, spent too much time hammering out an existence to get to the shore. But once, when he was young, they packed up the family car and headed to the beach. Billy, with the bravery that teeters on stupidity all children have, dove into the water, unaware and unfamiliar with how dangerous an undertow can be. He resurfaced far from where he should have been, his back to the shoreline, looking out into the blue and black emptiness of the sea.
And for a split second, he felt completely adrift. Nothing but sky and ocean and the feeling of currents hovering around his ankles. Young Billy Case at the end of the world.
His dad found him, scooped him up in strong arms and carried him to shore, scolding him for wandering off, repeating the word undertow over and over again. Billy kept looking over his father's shoulder, though, at the void, the emptiness beyond him, as if he might tip forward and disappear forever.
Space travel, Billy thought, more to himself than to Dude, is a thousand times worse than that.
His journey with Dude became a cycle of talking too much—asking questions about astronomy and space travel or just recycling old stories Dude had already heard a thousand times before—and long periods of silence, where human and alien said nothing at all, flying into the black, the infinite sensation of emptiness overwhelming and cold. Time felt out of sorts, something Dude explained had to do with moving as fast as they were.
Y'know, Dude, Billy thought, finally. The least we can do is slow down long enough to let me see one planet. I may not survive this. Think it'd be okay if I get a look at one of 'em before it's all over?
The stars stopped moving, and Billy felt that eerie forward momentum he'd been experiencing cease. Suddenly he was adrift in space, weightless, directionless, staring out into a blanket of stars.
He turned his head, and Saturn rose to great him.
The gas giant overwhelmed his vision, a vast circle of cream and gold. The plant's infamous rings were like grooves on the surface of a vinyl record, hypnotic lines spinning soundlessly before them. Dude had brought them to a stop close to the moon Titan, which hung in space like a lonely globe, cast in silhouette by the Sun.
Billy felt his throat swell. His heart skipped a beat.
This is the most amazing thing I'll ever see in my entire life, Billy thought.
You'd be surprised how many amazing things you'll see, Billy Case, Dude said.
I'm some kid from the City who never even saw stars properly until last week, Billy thought. And now I'm looking at Saturn and it feels so close I could almost reach out and touch it.
Are you alright? Dude asked.
Not even a little bit, Billy said. I am not okay at all. I feel…
Insignificant, Dude suggested.
I feel really tiny and meaningless, Billy thought.
That's what… never mind, Dude said. You are not meaningless. You are going to save your world.
Yeah, Billy thought. We'll see how that goes.
Billy could sense a change in Dude's demeanor as well. Maybe he was feeling the same sense of astonishment. Maybe he was feeling nostalgic. Billy knew now that Dude had come from the stars, and that he'd been on Earth a long time. Maybe he used to see things like this all the time. Perhaps, under the shadow of all those big, pointless buildings, Dude had forgotten what it was like to be here, looking out onto something too mighty to feel real.
And then both human and alien jerked out of their melancholic reveries as they saw a shadow creep along the far edge of the planet.
Dude, is that . . . ? Billy thought.
Be cautious, Billy Case, Dude said.
They flew in closer, using the shadow of Titan to hide their blue-white energy signature. Billy felt his vision sharpen in that superhuman way his Straylight powers allowed. This wasn't a single shadow they'd seen moving past Saturn. These were many shadows. Ships. Long, ugly ships, casting irregular silhouettes, barbed and crooked and irrational in their forms.
Billy let himself drift away from the moon, not flying so much as floating on his own momentum, watching the armada. And that was truly what it was, a fleet of warships, aggressive machines, moving surely toward Earth.
They don't look like metal, Dude, Billy thought. They look like muscle and shell. They look alive.
The Nemesis fleet is alive, Billy Case, Dude said. Their ships are their weapons of war, and they are their children. Their armada is a living, moving hive.
Billy tried to count the ships, but the darkness and the tight formation they traveled in made it impossible. They were different sizes—huge warships and little scouts, big-bellied carriers and others that didn't look like ships at all.
We have to do something, Dude, Billy thought.
We will. We'll get home and prepare. There is nothing you can do alone here. Not against the entire fleet.
Billy felt a rage building up inside him, and fear. He knew Dude was right.
Okay, Billy thought. How can we do this without being spotted?
I'm plotting a trajectory now, Dude said. If we use the sun to mask our escape…
With horrific silence, one of the small, jet fighter-like appendages of the fleet turned slowly toward them.
Don't see us don't see us don't see us, Billy started chanting in his head.
The craft started moving toward them. Two others peeled off the fleet as well, like wasps.
What do we do, Dude? Billy thought, panic rising in his interior dialogue.
We run, Dude said.
Chapter 14:
The angriest flowers
in the world
Titus hated flying.
He'd always hated flying, and the fact that the Indestructibles home base was, basically, a floating block of non-aerodynamic flying saucer didn't help with things. Neither did the frequent trips they took on the Tower's collection of hover-bikes, open-aired flying machines he and Kate had to use to get around when Emily wasn't there to transport them up to the floating headquarters.
So when Kate showed him the vehicle she and Emily found that would get them to California and back without help from one of their more aerial teammates, Titus felt waves of nausea crash over him.
"I'm not flying in that," he said.
"Yes, you are," Kate said, tapping a button and opening the craft up. It was about the size of a large car, and looked like something out of an old sci-fi pulp fiction story—silver metal, not quite streamlined enough to look like it should fly, a bubbled cockpit with seating for two side by side, and a third fold-down seat behind those. The domed glass over the cockpit rose up on hinges facing forward to allow them to climb inside onto oddly out-of-date cream-colored pleather seats.
Kate slid comfortably behind what was clearly the pilot's seat. In full Dancer uniform, she wore a pair of sun-canceling goggles she explained would cut down on glare as they flew.
"Do you know how to fly this thing?" Titus said.
"Just get in," Kate said.
Titus sat down in the copilot's seat, buckled himself in, and took a deep breath as the canopy closed.
"You're not going to keep your eyes closed the entire flight, are you?" Kate said.
"Maybe," the werewolf replied.
* * *
Kate never told anyone, but she loved to fly.
Her father had been a hobbyist pilot, renting time in small aircraft on the weekends. On those rare days when she wasn't practicing or rehearsing, he'd take her flying with him, letting her take control of the craft for a little while, teaching her about all the instruments. The
older she got, the harder it became to recall her father's voice, but she remembered his hands on hers as they drifted over the landscape and the sense of freedom and joy her father felt when they left the ground.
She missed him. That kind of sadness rarely weighed her down—Kate was nothing if not talented at pushing emotions to the back of her mind—but here, in this cockpit, watching clouds drift lazily below them, she missed her father, and her mother. She longed for the times of doing joyful things.
The Tower was full of old gadgets and machinery none of which the Indestructibles fully understood. Many of these devices were left ignored for the most part—better to not push buttons on alien technology if you don't know what that button did—but Kate and Emily had stumbled across this vehicle months before in storage in the hanger bay the team made frequent us of, under a dusty gold tarp.
Late at night, Kate had talked with Neal, asking the AI, what he knew about it, how it worked, what it was fueled by, and whether she could use it. The AI was a fount of background information, explaining how it had been acquired by one of Doc's teammates early on and used sporadically over the years. With no weapon systems and only room for a few riders, the old team hadn't needed it much, but Henry Winter stored it away carefully just in case.
So Kate took it out for test flights when no one was in the Tower. The only one who ever caught her was Emily, who seemed, the way Emily always does, to understand what Kate was doing. She kept this all to herself, though she did insist to Kate that they name the aircraft the Indestructicar. Emily found this profoundly funny. Kate never got the joke.
Faster than a conventional airplane, the miniature jet carried Kate and a very stressed out werewolf across the country in a few hours, technology that hadn't been invented yet in this timeline allowing the craft to remain invisible to radar. Kate leaned back, enjoying the sense of weightlessness, the quiet hiss of the machine's propulsion systems, and wished her companion simply could do the same.
"You know, if you fell out of the sky, you'd still heal," Kate said.
Titus looked at her, visibly confused.
Like A Comet: The Indestructibles Book 4 Page 7