The Ascension: A Super Human Clash Page 7

  Beyond the craft were three others, identical except for the numbers stenciled on the sides.

  “They’re called Raptors,” Max’s voice said. “I have no idea how they work—it’s a propulsion system like nothing we’ve ever seen. I think it might be something to do with the white lights on the underside, but I won’t be able to tell for sure until I can pick the brains of someone who knows more about them.”

  Roz thought, Max, where’s Josh?

  “He’s safe, back home in Manhattan. We have to find a way to get him out of the city without drawing too much attention. I’ve been in touch with Paragon and Abby—they were dragged over to this world too. They’re in Midway right now.”

  Roz hurried to catch up with Agent Paquette, and Max’s voice said, “So Impervia’s still around…. Aside from those of us who crossed over, she and Brawn are the only other superhumans I’m sure are still here.”

  Yeah, but what happened to the others? And there’s something familiar about this place. Where are we?

  “East Rutherford, New Jersey,” Max’s voice replied. “This used to be a stadium, the home of the New York Giants. Apparently football has been outlawed in this world—along with every other form of mass gathering. So many people in one location is considered a major security risk. Roz, I’m going to tell you something and I want you to remain calm, got it?”

  OK. Ahead, Roz could see a door opening in the black building. Her brother walked out, flanked by two soldiers.

  “On the way here I was contacted by a man with the code name Daedalus. A superhuman, I think. He’s working with the resistance and they’ve got spies everywhere. He says that almost every other country in the world is terrified that Krodin is going to start expanding his empire. They’ve banded together and formed what they call Unity.”

  So they can help defend each other? Roz asked.

  “No. So they can perform a preemptive strike. They’re planning to attack America before Krodin attacks them.”

  Roz felt the bile rush to her throat again, and had to clap her hands over her mouth so she wouldn’t throw up. No…That’s crazy! Millions of people would be killed!

  They had almost reached Max now. Inside Roz’s head, his voice said, “That’s why we’ve got to get to safety. We’ll talk more later. Just remember what I said, OK? Stay calm. You don’t know anything about this.”

  Agent Paquette stopped in front of Max and saluted.

  Max nodded. “Agent Paquette.”

  She arched an eyebrow. “So formal, Vice-Chancellor Dalton?”

  “We are on duty,” Max said, smiling. He nodded toward Roz. “See you found my sister. Walk with me, Amanda. We need to start putting this together. Figure out what happened.”

  How can he be so casual about everything? Roz wondered. She followed Max and Agent Paquette into the black building—this close, she could see that it wasn’t painted at all: Its entire surface seemed to be covered in three-inch-square black panels.

  “Some type of photovoltaic cells,” Max’s voice said. “Supposed to be close to one hundred percent efficient—that’s way better than anything we have back in our world. If we ever get back, I’m taking all this technology with us.”

  Max, we have to do something! We can’t just—

  Max looked at her, and thought, “Roz. Let it go.”

  She took a deep breath, held it for a second, then let it out slowly. OK, she said to herself. We’re not in any immediate danger. We play this game until we see a chance to get away.

  Inside the black building was a wide stairwell leading down. Max chatted to Agent Paquette as they descended, and Roz knew from experience that Max was probing the agent’s mind, asking key questions to bring specific memories to the surface.

  The steps led down to what appeared to be a long, wide corridor—but as they reached the bottom, Roz realized it was a single large room.

  Roz swallowed. Oh wow…

  The room was almost the size of the disused football field above. Hundreds of technicians were working at large benches, assembling countless suits of polished steel armor. The suits were bristling with powerful-looking weapons, and many of them were being fitted with large jetpacks on the back.

  Agent Paquette noticed Roz’s reaction. “You haven’t been here before, have you? This is the first proper phase of the Jetman project. The prototypes have been a tremendous success. If we’re going to have any chance of stopping Daedalus, this is it. The factory in Minnesota has just shipped the rest of the pieces. There are still a few bugs to iron out of the system, but we already have Jetmen accompanying patrols in sensitive areas.”

  Max exchanged a quick glance with Roz, then, to Agent Paquette, said, “This is how we’re going to win the war against Unity.”

  “We have eight hundred here, another ten thousand ready to go into production for phase three.”

  “Very impressive to see them all in one go,” Max said. “What do you think, Roz?”

  “I, uh…” She forced a smile and walked over to the closest bench. “Any chance of getting one of these jetpacks for myself?”

  Inside Roz’s head, Max said, “Now we know how this universe’s version of Paragon has been keeping himself busy.”

  Lance McKendrick didn’t know what else to do: He went to school.

  It’s not fair—it’s summer break! I shouldn’t have to go to school. And what’s with the note? A permission slip to be allowed out on the street…How could the world have turned into this?

  When he’d left the house, he had been surprised by how quiet everything was. There were no pedestrians and there was almost no traffic. Cameras were everywhere, on lampposts, attached to the eaves of houses and stores, strung on thick cables across the streets. You wouldn’t want to scratch your butt in public, Lance thought.

  On the next block he passed the small drugstore where he bought his comics on Wednesday evenings—it was closed. Even the twenty-four-hour laundry next door had its shutters down.

  A humming noise approached Lance from behind, and he turned to see a black-uniformed man heading toward him on what he first took to be a motorbike. But as the man reached him, Lance saw that the vehicle didn’t have wheels. Instead, it hovered over the ground at a height of about four inches.

  Oh man, I want one of those!

  The officer was wearing thick black leathers, a helmet that would have looked more at home on a fighter pilot, and slim dark glasses.

  “Papers,” the man said, his voice laced with boredom.

  Lance handed over the permission slip.

  The officer glanced at it, handed it back. “Unexpected illness?”

  “Felt a bit sick,” Lance said. “I’m over it now, though.” He slapped his hands together and in a cheery voice said, “Eager to get back to school and hit the books.”

  The officer stared at him, unmoving.

  Not exactly a world-class party animal, are you? Lance thought. “Uh…Is that it?”

  “Name?”

  “Lance McKendrick. Like it says on the permission slip.”

  “School?”

  “Martin Van Buren High.”

  Another long pause, then the officer beckoned Lance forward with his black-gloved hand. “Get on the back. I’ll take you there.”

  Lance pointed in the direction he’d been walking. “Thanks, but I’m OK. It’s not too far, and I could do with the fresh air. You know—blow away the cobwebs.”

  Through gritted teeth, the man said, “Get on. That was not a request.”

  Lance walked around to the back of the flying bike—there was just enough room behind the officer for him to sit. He swung one leg over the seat. “What do I hold on to?”

  “Grips under your thighs.”

  Lance looked down—metal rods had sprung from the sides of the craft. He grabbed hold of them.

  The bike surged away from the sidewalk, then cut straight across the street and through a junction without slowing. With so little traffic on the road there didn’t seem to
be much need for the officer to follow the traffic rules.

  Lance felt that he should say something. It didn’t always work, but sometimes cops went easy on you if you pretended to be interested in police work. “So, how long have you been—”

  The officer interrupted him. “Do not speak to the driver.”

  “Gotcha. Sorry.”

  Two minutes later the officer steered the bike through the gateway of Martin Van Buren High School. Lance was intrigued that security was much heavier than back in his own world. There, the school had gates that were locked during the school day to prevent any undesirables from getting in—or getting out—but in this world there was a manned gatepost that reminded Lance of something out of a war movie.

  The three guards at the gate nodded to the officer and allowed him to pass through. The officer rode the bike straight up the steps and stopped outside the door. “Get off.”

  Lance climbed down and was a little surprised to see that the officer did the same. Aw no…He’s going to walk me right to the classroom! “Thanks for the lift.”

  “Stop. Where do you think you’re going?”

  “To class?”

  The officer pulled off his shades as he entered the lobby. He looked at Lance as though he’d never met anyone so dumb. “You have to be signed back in.”

  Lance made a big show of slapping his forehead with his palm. “Right, right. Of course.”

  He followed the officer along the corridor. So what do I do if there’s another me here? The news said that Brawn suddenly appeared in Oak Grove Prison—but that’s where he was back in the real world. If this is a parallel world, then what happened to the other Brawn, and the other me?

  The officer pushed open the door to the principal’s office and walked in without knocking.

  Mrs. Mailer was sitting behind her desk. She was in her sixties, a good-natured woman who had always been far too lenient toward Lance’s occasional habit of skipping classes or completely forgetting to come to school.

  “Truant student. Lance McKendrick. Claims illness. Has permission slip signed by parents. On his way here when I picked him up.”

  Mrs. Mailer frowned at Lance, then turned back to the officer. “Hmm.”

  “Problem?” the officer asked.

  The principal tutted. “Well, first of all the school day is almost over. You might as well have just taken him home. But more important than that: I know you, Eugene Ashton. Don’t think I don’t remember you coming to me in tears when you were thirteen because you had a crush on Sherrie Stanneck and she called you zit-face in front of your friends. You might be an officer of the law now, but that does not give you the right to be rude to me.”

  Lance hid his grin by pretending to scratch his nose. You tell him, Mrs. Mailer!

  “And furthermore, you do not walk into my school and barge into my office without knocking. Do you understand me?”

  The officer swallowed. “Ma’am, I have a task to perform and—”

  “Do you think I don’t know that? It wasn’t so long ago that we had real police officers in this city. Men and women who were interested in helping people, not keeping them down. They weren’t power-mad little upstarts like you, Mr. Ashton.” She sighed. “And you showed so much promise.”

  “Criticism of an officer of the law is tantamount to—”

  Again, she interrupted him. “Are those jackboots you’re wearing, Ashton? Because the way you people push everyone around seems an awful lot like fascism to me. The state should work for the benefit of the people, not the other way around. Or is that sedition too, hmm? Are you going to report me as a possible dissident and have me dragged away to one of your death camps? Now you can just turn around and frog-march your way back out of here, young man. And next time show a little common courtesy. I know for a fact that your parents taught you basic manners, so use them.”

  Well said, Lance thought. Always knew the old bat had guts.

  As Officer Ashton turned to leave, Mrs. Mailer said, “Oh, and you can take this boy with you. He’s not one of ours.”

  “Ma’am?”

  “I don’t know what he told you, but he doesn’t go to school here.”

  At five in the evening, Mrs. de Luyando left the apartment to meet Abby’s brothers off the school bus.

  As soon as she was gone, Solomon Cord said, “All right. Let’s go.”

  “We should have left ages ago,” Abby said. “Max Dalton told us to go find Thunder.”

  Cord tossed her the morning newspaper as he moved toward the door. “Top of page one, above the masthead. Today’s curfew times are listed. Civilians are allowed out on the street between five and seven.”

  “The people in this world are insane! How can they just sit back and take all this?”

  Cord stopped with his hand on the doorknob. “It doesn’t happen overnight. At first the changes are presented as being for the greater good. What’s a little restriction in freedom compared with better security? This is how all the best dictatorships happen. It starts out with stricter border controls, then security cameras in all major population centers. Mandatory ID cards, then DNA logging, restricted areas, food rationing…And piece by piece everyone’s freedom is eroded. By the time the average person realizes that the whole country has been turned into a prison, it’s too late to do anything about it.”

  Abby pursed her lips. “Sol…How are we going to get back to our world?”

  “I don’t know. If this is a parallel universe, then maybe we can use whatever brought us over to send us back. But if it’s not…If the past has been changed and for whatever reason we’re still aware of how things should be…then maybe there is no going back. This is the real world.”

  “I don’t know if I can live in a place like this.”

  “Then we have to change things. Max said he’s heard that Unity are planning a major strike against Krodin. He doesn’t know many of the details yet, but it’s going to be big, and it’ll happen soon.”

  Abby grabbed her bow and quiver from behind the sofa. “How soon?”

  “Within the next couple of days. Krodin’s armies are almost ready, and he’s apparently got something in Louisiana that’ll guarantee his success. Unity wants to hit him before he hits them. So we don’t have a lot of time. Max is going to do whatever he can to get us all to safety before it happens.” Cord opened the door. “So where does Thunder live?”

  “Maple Towers. A couple of miles outside town.”

  Even before they reached the street, Abby knew it was going to look a lot different now that the curfew had been temporarily lifted, but the scene was far from anything she could have expected.

  They stopped in the doorway. “This is unbelievable,” Cord muttered.

  The people on the street—hundreds, perhaps thousands of them—were all moving at the same brisk pace, almost in single file. Those walking north kept to the outside of the pavement, and those heading south stayed on the inside.

  Standing on almost every corner was at least one armed guard, constantly watching the people. Each one wore The Helotry’s insignia on the shoulders of their uniforms: a blue eye inside a yellow sun.

  Occasionally someone would break out of the line to enter an apartment building, or to join another line. A bus stopped three doors away, and children and teenagers in identical school uniforms filed out. As soon as the last one dismounted, the people at the bus stop climbed on, one by one. It was all done in complete silence, the only sound being the tramp of footsteps and the low hum from the bus’s electric engine.

  “Let’s go,” Cord whispered. “You lead. Keep your head down and look like you belong here.”

  Abby slung the bow and quiver onto her shoulder and stepped into a small gap in the line. Cord followed immediately.

  When they reached the junction with Jarvis Avenue, the line broke up: Some people continued north across the street, others went right or left. Abby joined the line going left.

  There were far fewer people going in this directi
on, so Abby looked back over her shoulder toward Cord. “They’re like sheep,” she whispered. “Very well-behaved sheep.”

  She jumped when a voice boomed out from above. “No talking!”

  She risked a quick glance upward, and saw that there were now at least half a dozen of the surveillance cameras aimed at her, slowly moving to track her path.

  Ahead, a small, squat, army-green vehicle glided silently around the corner, heading toward her. The craft was floating a yard above the ground.

  It came alongside Abby and slowed to a stop.

  Behind her Cord whispered, “Don’t look at it. We’re not doing anything wrong.”

  The hovering vehicle reversed its direction, keeping pace with them.

  Oh man…

  There was a sharp hiss as a hatch opened in the side. A black-clad man climbed out and walked straight over to Abby.

  “You. Step out of the line. Now.” His voice was stern and gruff.

  “I’m just…”

  He grabbed Abby’s arm and pulled her onto the street. “Disobedience. Potential civil unrest.” He peered at the bow and quiver on her shoulder. “Unauthorized equipment. Let’s see your ID.”

  “I don’t have it with me,” Abby said. She glanced back at Solomon Cord—he was continuing on his way.

  “That so? That’s four demerits right there. I’m taking you in.” He tugged at her arm again.

  This time, Abby didn’t allow herself to be moved. “You’re not taking me anywhere.”

  The man stepped back, his hand lightly resting on the grip of a sidearm holstered on his hip. “By order of directive 8772 I’m instructed to allow you five seconds to comply. One.”

  Abby shrugged. The bow and quiver slid from her right shoulder and landed in the crook of her elbow.

  The man frowned at this. “Two.”

  Abby unclipped the bow from the quiver, took hold of the grip in her left hand. At the same time she straightened her right arm and allowed the quiver to slide the rest of the way—as it passed her hand, she snagged one of the arrows with her fingers.