by Tess Sharpe
Carol tugged down the glove the girl was wearing to check her pulse, and that’s when she saw the scars: deep grooves of damaged tissue ringing the right wrist.
That prickle in the back of her head grew stronger as she checked the other wrist and found the same marks, along with a bloody bandage slightly higher up on her wrist. Pulling it back carefully, she exposed a jagged wound and a small chunk of flesh missing from the girl’s forearm. It looked as if someone had carved something out of her.
The desperation in the girl’s eyes, the scars and wounds, the fact that she’d arrived alone, on a ship that was designed to be piloted by more than one person…
It seemed to Carol that she had a refugee on her hands, not an enemy.
Are you her? Did I find you?
Who was the girl looking for?
Sirens wailed around them as Carol retied the bandage on the girl’s arm. Looking across the river, she saw emergency response trucks parking along the street, and the familiar agents in suits already herding people away from the shoreline.
Alpha Flight would take care of getting the ship out of the water, which meant that she was good to focus on their visitor. Carol could put her in an ambulance, but decided instead to get her to the Triskelion, Alpha Flight’s headquarters, as quickly as possible. Somehow, that hole in the sky had been her doing— maybe the ship, maybe the kid herself—and it’d been unlike anything Carol had ever seen. Like the air was torn in two, with the darkness of space rippling behind it.
So she made a call to give the Triskelion a heads-up and scooped up the girl fairy-tale-princess style. Her eyes didn’t even flutter as Carol pushed off, the ship bobbing under the force of takeoff. Wind rushed in their faces as they spun upward, the smells of the city and the Hudson fading to crisp, clean air in just moments.
Flying with someone clutched in your arms is always a bit of a juggle and definitely not a skill they teach in flight school. But do it enough times, and you get the hang of it. You wouldn’t think it, but an unconscious person is easier to transport, since they aren’t screaming or clutching you in terror as you try to move them to safety.
Because Carol was fast. And she flew high.
She sped over the city, heading toward the complex that housed Alpha Flight—among other things. The series of gray buildings weren’t the prettiest, but they were secure. It was the closest—and safest—place to take the girl. The medical staff was experienced with a wide range of species. They’d be able to treat and identify her.
Carol flew over the water and circled around the perimeter of the island. The lack of moon tonight made landing a little trickier, but she ended up choosing to set down right in the middle of the copter bay’s red bullseye with a less-than-graceful thump. No sooner did her boots hit the ground than someone came bursting out the door leading to the buildings at full tilt.
She squinted, her grip on the girl tightening when she realized it wasn’t a guard as she’d expected. But she relaxed when she saw the riot of killer—literal and figurative—red curls.
Carol had never been much for monarchy, but the queen of the Inhumans was the kind of woman who redefined the word regal. Tall and graceful, Medusa was all piercing gazes and icy elegance. Her hair, the source of her power, tumbled nearly to the ground, and the mass of red tendrils coiled and re-coiled with each step she took toward Carol. Behind her, medical staff hurried out, pushing a stretcher, led by a doctor in a white coat, who had dark braids twisted up in a bun. Carol set the girl on the stretcher. “She’s been out for at least ten minutes,” she said. “Her ship was in bad shape, so she probably hit her head. And there’s a wound on her arm you’ll want to take a look at.”
“Thanks, Captain. We’ll take good care of her in the med center.”
Carol watched the medical staff hurry the girl away, taming her urge to follow.
“Where did she come from?” Medusa demanded.
Carol raised an eyebrow. “Do you know who she is?”
“I know the distress code that Triskelion picked up from her ship as she was crashing. Where are the rest of them?”
“She came alone. Is she Inhuman?”
Medusa let out a shaky breath that troubled Carol. “Let’s go inside.” Without another word, the queen swept past her, toward the door that led to the stairwell. That was the flip side of the whole regal thing—Medusa had a tendency to act like she owned the place, even when she didn’t. A little annoyed, but full of curiosity, Carol followed her. She caught up with her easily, her stride longer than the queen’s—plus, she was known to float down stairs rather than walk them.
There was something orderly and clean and just a little sterile about the Triskelion. Like an office, but super-charged and much, much weirder. You walked the ordinary-looking halls knowing that on the other side of a wall, an alien creature could be being inspected, or a super villain getting questioned, and technology that would change the world was being built. It was a place full of science, of wonder, and of danger. Of heroes.
She still preferred Alpha Flight Station, though. That had somehow become home when she wasn’t looking and she was more aware of that than ever, now that she was on leave.
After consulting the map in the hall, Medusa took the elevator to the fifth floor. Once they reached it, Carol walked past her, hooking her fingers on the handle of a door leading to one of the empty conference rooms. “In here,” Carol said. It was cool and quiet inside, the automatic blinds across the wall of windows already drawn for the night.
She flipped on the lights as Medusa muttered, “Very well,” and swept in after her.
Carol took a seat at the head of a long oak table, but Medusa remained standing, her fingers knitted together.
“Must have been some distress signal to get you here so fast,” Carol commented.
The queen was silent, and Carol propped her feet up on the tabletop, bracketing her fingers at the back of her neck, waiting her out. Strong and silent wasn’t always her style, but Medusa’s presence here so soon after the crash—and the way her hair was practically vibrating—put Carol on edge. Especially since the girl had the kind of marks on her that spoke of long-term imprisonment and abuse, even torture. Had she been in some sort of Inhuman prison? And how could she be important enough to warrant the immediate attention of the queen?
Carol didn’t want to think Medusa was capable of something like that. She knew there were times when the queen had clashed with the expectations of her people and government. In the past, the Inhuman way of life could be hard to reckon with—their caste system had been deeply rooted in genetics, and vestiges of it remained even now as they moved past it, and that bothered Carol. That was the righteous streak in her—she liked it when things were fair and equal. When people were free to make choices and help each other. An unequal system with no freedom of choice was one that would be broken by those on the bottom.
“There was really no one else with her?” Medusa asked, finally caving in their little game of chicken.
“Who did you expect?”
“I didn’t expect anything or anyone… to trust me.”
“Okay, time to fill me in,” Carol said, taking her feet off the table and leaning forward, because not beating around the bush was always her style. “Is this kid one of your people? She’s got scars on her wrists that look like she was shackled or something, and a fresh wound, deep in the muscle tissue. So, is she a prisoner? Did she escape? That ship has tech I’ve never seen. It’s certainly not yours.”
“She’s not a prisoner,” Medusa said.
“But she is Inhuman.”
The queen grimaced and then nodded her head, the fiery tendrils swirling around her face, agitated. “If she had that distress code, she must be… but it’s impossible.”
“You and I both know that’s a word that doesn’t much apply to lives like ours.”
“I’m inclined to agree with you today,” Medusa replied. “The code was given to a group of Inhumans who left Attilan many years
ago.”
“Why did they leave?”
“They didn’t want to live as we did,” Medusa said. “They had ideas that were… not compatible with our way of life. Some on the Genetic Council were displeased with the decision to let them leave, but I was able to convince the majority that letting them seek out a new world for themselves was the most compassionate solution.”
“Rather than, say, eliminating them?”
Medusa’s glare might intimidate most, but not Carol.
“How many people left?”
“Several hundred families.”
Carol had been expecting an answer more akin to a dozen. What she knew of Inhuman history told her there had never been many of them, but the Genetic Council had exiled hundreds of families? Was the girl in the medical bay the sole survivor? Carol’s questions multiplied with Medusa’s every reply—and the possible answers to those questions looked even more sinister.
“You never thought to share this part of your history with us?” She couldn’t keep the edge from her voice.
“Do you share all of Earth’s dark days and secret histories with us, Captain?” Medusa snapped, folding her arms across her chest. “They left on a ship over a decade ago. I had hoped that they had found an empty world to settle on, and they had no need to contact us or use the distress signal. That is what they wanted, and that is what I wanted for them. Unlike some of my people, I had no wish for bloodshed.”
“I believe you,” Carol said. “But I’m going to need you to stay here while I go talk to the girl.”
Medusa opened her mouth to object, but Carol kept talking. “I know you want answers, too. But she crash-landed on my planet. And she zipped past all of Alpha Flight Station’s security. I am the commander of Alpha Flight Station, even if I am on leave right now. So, Your Majesty, this is my territory.”
“I am quite aware that you prefer to use my title only when you’re being bossy, Captain.”
“And you prefer to use mine when you’re pissed at me.”
The queen’s eyes narrowed. “You are truly incorrigible sometimes.” It wasn’t intended as a compliment, which is why Carol took it as one.
“That’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me.” She had to hide her grin as Medusa practically shooed her out of the room. She didn’t dislike the queen. She was a useful ally. But when crossed, Medusa could also be a powerful enemy, and Carol was always aware of that line between them—she had to be, because the queen’s loyalty lay with her people. And if this girl was part of a faction of Inhumans who had abandoned Medusa’s people and their way of life? Watch out. Medusa might claim to have wished the ship that left Attilan well, but to believe her Carol needed to confirm it with another source.
She’d have to play this one carefully, because she didn’t know Medusa’s end game. Would she want to take the girl with her?
It was time to get the other side of the story.
“Captain, wait—Captain!”
Carol was only halfway down the hall when the voice stopped her. She looked over her shoulder as a man with seriously retro glasses—tiny and horn-rimmed—loped toward her. “Upstairs sent me,” he explained, a little breathless. “They asked me to tell you that the ship from the incident will be ready in the quarantine area in two hours.”
“I’ll be down to look at it and give my report when it arrives,” she said. “Until then, I’ll be in the med center with the pilot. I plan to question her once she’s awake.”
“I’ll let upstairs know.”
With her voice lowered so Medusa couldn’t hear through the door, Carol continued, “Can you make sure that Queen Medusa is kept away until my say-so?”
The man gulped nervously at the thought.
“Just request a few extra security guards outside the med center,” Carol said. “Tell them I ordered it.”
“Of course.”
He hurried off in the opposite direction toward the security sector, and Carol continued on her way to the medical center, taking the stairs and actually walking them to wear off some of the energy stirring inside her. But with each step down, her stomach tightened with an unfamiliar dread.
She was a woman who trusted her gut. Being a pilot was about skill, for sure. Knowledge. But it was also about instinct and split-second do-or-die decisions. If you couldn’t trust your gut up there in the air, you were as good as gone in a battle. And useless to your fellow soldiers.
Every part of Carol screamed that this girl needed protection. She just wasn’t yet sure from whom—or what.
She pushed the door leading out of the stairwell a little too hard, and the hinges rattled in protest. Stopping short, she took a deep breath, trying to gather herself. But that didn’t work, so she kept walking, down the hall and through the double doors that led to the pristine white sprawl of the med center. The girl was in the quarantine area, at the end of a long corridor, and Carol spotted a figure standing at the door. For a jolting second, she thought Medusa had somehow snuck another Inhuman down here, but then she caught a glimpse of a shade of green skin she recognized.
“Mantis?”
5
MANTIS SMILED. “Hello, Carol.” The woman’s black hair swung against her deep-green skin, her antennae sprouting from sharply cut bangs. Her dark clothes—a black T-shirt, a leather jacket in deep burgundy over that and darkwash jeans tucked into biker boots—were a stark contrast to the white of the med center’s halls. Every few seconds, muffled beeping from the machines inside the patients’ rooms would sound.
Carol hadn’t seen the empath in quite a while, but she’d always felt a sort of affinity with her. Mantis had her own history with the Kree—different than Carol’s, but she too had had her life changed because of them. They had wiped her mind after her training with the Priests of Pama, and Carol always felt a twinge of familiarity when Mantis spoke of it. Of that time of confusion, of not trusting one’s own mind or body or memories.
She remembered a time like that in her own life, those months after she’d emerged from the Psyche-Magnitron, where she didn’t understand what was happening to her. What she had become. Who she had been made. How she had been changed. It had been terrifying, and she hadn’t had to deal with unraveling false memories like Mantis had. Those Priests of Pama did not mess around. Carol had just blacked out all over the place as her powered personality took over. It had taken some sorting to get steady again, to bring the halves that made up Carol and Ms. Marvel together. But she’d made it work, just like Mantis had made it work.
“It’s been a while,” Carol said. “I didn’t realize you were on Earth, otherwise I would’ve called you up for dinner. Are the rest of the Guardians with you?”
“No. I’ve been traveling on my own.” Mantis turned back to the observation window cut in the wall.
The Inhuman was still unconscious—or doing a great acting job. They’d cleaned her up a bit—washed the dried blood from her face, and fresh bandages covered the arm wound and the cut on her head.
She seemed better. Still all harsh angles and skin that looked like it hadn’t seen the sun often, but her face was easier. Like somehow, she knew she was finally safe.
“I came because of her,” Mantis said. “My ship picked up her distress signal and when I went to investigate, her pain screamed to me across space. I had no choice but to follow and make sure she was given help.”
Carol looked at the girl, pale and gaunt against the dark sheets of the bed. The scars on her wrists were old—she’d been chained up for a long time. And if Mantis had felt such a strong connection with her, that meant some serious pain.
Carol had always had a great deal of respect for empaths—and maybe a little wariness, especially because Mantis in particular could read minds as well as feel and manipulate others’ emotions. But to feel what others were feeling, to experience pain and joy and grief that were not your own, seemed to Carol to be both a blessing and a curse.
She wanted to know what had happened to this girl, and wh
ere the rest of the Inhuman refugees were. And Carol worried if she didn’t wake up soon, Medusa might push her way in and try to control the situation.
Mantis might just be the ally Carol needed.
“She’s Inhuman,” Carol explained. “Or at least, that’s what we think because of the distress signal she used. Medusa’s upstairs, ready to tear me a new one for banning her from coming down here and questioning the kid. According to her, the girl comes from a group of Inhumans who left Attilan a decade ago, searching for a new world.”
Mantis pressed a hand against the glass, staring at the girl. “If her injuries and her fear are anything to go on, that new world wasn’t a good one.”
“Other than pain, did you glean any insight from her thoughts or emotions when you were up in space?”
Mantis sighed, ignoring her question. “She’s young.”
“I don’t follow.”
“To have that much pain in you, so young…” Mantis met Carol’s eyes, a leveling look that sent a chill through her. “Whatever happened to her, it’s very bad.”
“I think so, too,” Carol said, grateful for the backup.
“You spoke to her? The doctor said you brought her here.”
“She was really shaken up when she got out of her ship,” Carol explained. “She asked me if I was her. If she had found me.”
“So she’s looking for someone.”
“Seems so.”
“Medusa, perhaps?”
“I’m not sure.” Carol didn’t think so. If that were the case, wouldn’t she have used her name? She remembered the girl’s stunned expression as she said those words… as if she were seeing something imaginary suddenly become real. She knew the whole flying thing was impressive, but for some reason, the awe on her face as Carol floated above her twisted into her like a corkscrew. There had been something different in the girl’s eyes, a fear that wasn’t about being scared of Carol, but rather, being scared for her. It soured something in her stomach.