The Ascension: A Super Human Clash Page 8

  “Three.”

  Abby hit the release switch on the bow’s riser and the limbs snapped into place. In one swift moment she nocked the arrow to the string and drew back.

  The soldier whipped out his gun and yelled, “Weapon!”

  Abby grinned. “Well spotted.” The arrow was aimed at the soldier’s chest. “Drop your gun.”

  CHAPTER 9

  SOLOMON CORD INWARDLY CURSED as he saw, on the edge of his vision, what was happening with Abby. Dumb kid’s going to get herself killed!

  He followed the line of people around the next corner, then entered the first tenement building. He took the stairs three at a time, stopped on the fourth floor, and looked around. Need some kind of weapon.

  He knocked on the door of the apartment overlooking the street where he’d left Abby.

  It was opened by a young woman in her twenties. “Yes?”

  “Random inspection. Need to check your home for violations.” He pushed past her and into the apartment. It was almost devoid of furniture. A threadbare carpet, stained and peeling wallpaper, a strong smell of mold and soap.

  She followed him. “Wait, who are you? You can’t just barge in here—”

  “Plainclothes division. You think we all wear uniforms so you can see us coming? I’ll need to see your papers and permits. Now.”

  The woman hesitated for a moment, then hurried over to a side cabinet and began rummaging through one of the drawers. “I have everything here. I’m not doing anything wrong, I swear. I don’t know what you’ve heard, but it’s not true!”

  He moved to the window. On the street below, Abby was aiming her bow at the guard. OK, think! Have to get out there and defuse the situation.

  He turned around and the woman was standing next to him, a large bundle of papers in her hands. “It’s all here.”

  “Sorted by date?”

  “Um, no…I didn’t know I needed to…”

  “Do it. Kitchen?”

  She nodded toward a closed door. “Through there. Am I in trouble?”

  “I think you know the answer to that, don’t you?” Cord felt more than a little guilty about treating the woman like this, but he knew he couldn’t let his façade slip. If she suspected he wasn’t an authority figure, she’d scream for help.

  He pushed open the kitchen door and looked around. There was an assortment of mismatched knives tucked into a small, badly made spice rack. He selected the largest knife—it seemed sharp and strong—then returned to the main room.

  The woman saw him holding the knife and started trembling, the papers spilling from her hands.

  “Are you aware that knives over a certain length are considered deadly weapons and are therefore prohibited?”

  “No, I…It was a present.”

  “Indeed. This is confiscated.” He moved back to the window again. Still there. “If you want to avoid prosecution, ma’am, you have one chance. Tell me the names and apartment numbers of any people in this building whom you know or suspect to be in possession of illegal firearms or other weapons that could be used against officers of the state.”

  “I don’t…”

  “Very well.” He tucked the knife into the back of his belt. “I’m arresting you on the charge of—”

  “Apartment 2C! I mean, I don’t know for certain, but I overheard them once when I was going past their door. Someone inside was talking about getting hold of some ammunition.”

  Cord was already moving for the door. “Thank you. Your cooperation will be noted.”

  He felt like a complete louse as he raced back down the stairs. If we get through this OK, I’ll come back and…I don’t know. Build her a new spice rack or something.

  The soldier’s gun hand was trembling a little, and a film of sweat had appeared on his upper lip. Beyond him Abby could see that there was another soldier inside the flying craft: The muzzle of his gun was protruding from the doorway, aiming at her.

  This is probably not the best idea I’ve ever had, Abby thought.

  On the sidewalks on either side of the street, the drone-like pedestrians had all stopped moving, but few of them were looking in Abby’s direction. She had the distinct feeling that they were all too scared to run for cover.

  “Neither of us has to get hurt,” Abby said. “Put your gun down. Right now.” She shifted her aim to his arm. “If I let this arrow fly, you’ll never be able to use that arm again.”

  From above she heard the faint whine of electric motors as more of the surveillance cameras turned toward her. Then a voice burst forth from the nearest camera: “Unidentified dissident—terminate.”

  Abby saw the soldier’s arm tense—she ducked just as he fired, then released the arrow.

  For a moment the man stood there staring at her, a baffled look on his face.

  I missed him!

  Then his face paled, a thin line of blood ran down his shoulder, and his gun clattered to the ground.

  Still crouched, Abby threw herself forward, rolled past him, and snatched up the gun. The second man in the craft jumped out—Abby threw the handgun at him: It slammed into his forehead and knocked him back into the vehicle.

  Then she spotted her arrow, buried a foot deep into the side of the vehicle.

  She pulled out the arrow—it had passed through the soldier so quickly that it hadn’t even picked up any blood—then turned around, grabbed her quiver, and ran.

  Cord pounded on the door of apartment 2C. A man’s voice from inside called out, “Who is it?”

  “There’s been an accident—I need your help! Quick!”

  The door opened and Cord grabbed hold of the man and shoved him inside the dark apartment, kicking the door closed behind him. “Where’s the gun?”

  “What?”

  Cord spun him around and slammed him against the door. “You heard.”

  “I don’t have a gun!”

  “You have five seconds. Four. Three. Two. One.”

  “I swear I don’t have a gun! I’m scared of guns—I wouldn’t go near one!”

  “We have it on good authority that you are in possession of an illegal—”

  There was a sharp click from behind him.

  The man said, “Oh, you mean that gun?”

  Agent Paquette accompanied Max and Roz Dalton on the craft back to Manhattan. Roz had said almost nothing since her first look at the Jetman project, but now, as the Raptor flew over North Hudson Park heading for Manhattan, the agent seemed to remember that Roz was there.

  “So, Rosalyn, how are you finding the training?”

  Training? Roz wondered. Aloud, she said, “It’s fine. No real problems so far, I think.”

  “Good. And the other recruits? Showing any potential?”

  Not knowing how else to respond—Max wasn’t very forthcoming with his telepathic hints—Roz made a “so-so” gesture with her hand. “You know how it is.”

  “Of course. But we’ll get them up to speed soon enough.” She turned to Max. “And the monster hunt?”

  Max gave her a slight smile. “I’m sure you can guess my feelings on that particular project.”

  “You still think some of them could be useful assets?”

  “They’re not much different from us, Amanda. Physically, yes, but most of them are smart enough to learn, and I’m sure they’d be only too happy to follow orders in exchange for greater privileges and the illusion of freedom. A sense of purpose is all many of them need.”

  Inside Roz’s head, Max’s voice said, “Ask her about the Jetman project—I’m supposed to know everything about it, and I can’t keep bluffing. If we can get our hands on some jetpacks, it’ll really help us to get away.”

  Aloud, Roz said, “Agent Paquette? I’ve been wondering about the Jetmen…. What are the criteria for selection?”

  “No chance, Rosalyn. They’re reconnaissance and front-line troops only. They go in, take out the enemy’s major defenses, and we mop up afterward. Projections indicate they’ll have a high casualty rate. But they
’re expendable—we’re not. Only ordinary humans are allowed to become Jetmen.”

  “That makes sense,” Roz said. “But still…It looks like good armor, and with the jetpacks they can fly. I’d love that. Well, who wouldn’t? Those of us who can’t fly on our own should all get jetpacks—it would make our jobs a lot simpler.”

  “And that would make us easier targets for the dissidents. We’ve already lost enough people to those maniacs. And to Daedalus. Fifteen kills in the past ten days,” she added, shaking her head. “And we still don’t even know where to begin looking for him.”

  Max thought to Roz: “We need to find this Daedalus guy and get him on our side. Can’t ask her about him directly, though…. Everyone I’ve met so far has been afraid of dissidents. It’s pretty clear they’re rebels who refuse to accept Krodin’s rule.” Aloud, he said to Agent Paquette, “Right, the dissidents. What’s wrong with those people? I mean, what do they think they’re going to achieve?”

  Agent Paquette looked at Max. “What is this? A test?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “You’re acting like we barely know each other. What’s going on?”

  “Remind me of the rules regarding dissidents, Agent Paquette. As you understand them.” To Roz, he thought, “We’ve got her…. She’s scared, definitely hiding something.”

  Paquette began to recite: “Number one, any member of the Praetorian Guard caught giving aid to known dissidents will face immediate termination. Rule two—”

  Max interrupted her. “You’ve never broken the first rule?”

  “Of course not! Max, what are you getting at?”

  “Never allowed a dissident to get away because he was just a kid?”

  Agent Paquette’s face paled. “How dare you! Stay out of my mind, Max! That was…” She looked away from him. “He was ten years old, Max. He’d just seen my men arrest his parents for sedition. What was he going to do—start his own resistance cell?”

  “Kids grow up, Agent Paquette. Why did you never report this?”

  The agent stiffened, her manner instantly becoming formal. “My loyalty has never before been called into question, Vice-Chancellor Dalton. You know that. You’re the one who designed the machines that test us every month.”

  “Correct. And there are some of us who have the ability to manipulate energy. Someone with that power would have little difficulty forcing the testing machines to give a false negative.”

  “You know I don’t have any control over energy! You think I’m lying, is that it? Am I under investigation?”

  Max sighed and leaned forward in his seat. “Sorry. I had to ask. You know how it is, Amanda—we’re all under investigation, all the time. After what happened today in Louisiana…we can’t rule out sabotage. You’re chief of the Manhattan Division. Someone with your skills and experience should have tracked down all the dissident groups by now.” He looked up at her. “I’m not saying that—I’m just repeating what I’ve heard.”

  “Vice-Chancellor, my division has one of the highest success rates in the country. In the past six months we’ve shut down eight dissident cells.”

  Roz said, “But there are others.”

  Agent Paquette glared at her. “Yes. There are others. Getting them all out will be next to impossible.”

  Max asked, “What’s the strongest lead on a dissident cell you have right now? Because I’m thinking that between the two of us we stand a pretty good chance of success.”

  “There are rumors of a small cell in the Flatiron District. Nothing concrete, though.”

  “Take us there. We’ll scout around, see what we can pick up.”

  Agent Paquette left her seat and moved to the cockpit. As she was giving orders to the pilots, Max thought to Roz: “You’re going to have to move fast. First chance we get, you find somewhere to hide. I’ll cloud her thoughts, make her and the pilots forget you were with us. Then you run, Roz. Get off the island.”

  What about you?

  “It seems I’m too important. I’ll be missed. You need to get to Midway, find Paragon and the others. I’ll find someplace safe for us.”

  There’s just five of us, Max! Five against who knows how many of them! The odds of beating them are—

  “You don’t understand, Roz. We can’t fight them. Unity’s military is already moving into place! They’re bringing the war to Krodin before he can bring it to them, and I am not getting stuck in the middle of that! They don’t understand—they can’t beat Krodin. We weren’t able to do it and we’re superhuman!”

  We’re just giving up?

  “Yes. We’re giving up. It’s the only intelligent solution. We’re giving up because Krodin has already won.”

  CHAPTER 10

  FIVE YEARS ago…

  It was three thirty in the morning, and the lights in the airport’s long-term parking lot illuminated only the roads: The parking spots were in almost complete darkness.

  Sixteen-year-old Solomon Cord switched on his penlight as he crouched down next to the driver’s-side door of an immaculate 1977 BMW E23. He put the penlight between his teeth, unzipped his jacket, and pulled out the long, slim strip of metal he’d had tucked into his sleeve.

  It was a tricky lock—considerably harder than most—but he’d cracked one of these before. Once. On the fifth attempt, the door clicked open. Finally! Cord gathered up his tools and climbed into the car, then leaned over to check the ignition slot. All right, this one I can do in my sleep!

  Once he got the engine started, he reversed out of the spot, then drove quietly and smoothly through the airport’s parking lot until he reached the Arrivals terminal. He parked the BMW in the passenger loading zone and honked the horn twice.

  Moments later a tall man wearing an expensive-looking three-piece suit and a heavy overcoat strode through the exit, followed by a teenager about Cord’s age.

  Cord got out as the man approached. “When you want to shut off the engine, just pop it in first, take your foot off the clutch, and hit the brakes. It’ll stall and cut out. But whatever you do, don’t do that until you get where you’re going, because you won’t be able to get it started again.”

  The man nodded and smiled. “Nice work, son. What do I owe you?”

  “Two hundred, plus ten bucks for the cab home.”

  The boy said, “Your ad says it’s only a hundred.”

  “It also says that after midnight’s double,” Cord replied. “Triple-A would have done it cheaper, but you’d still be waiting for them to show up. And they’d probably just smash the window. Not what you want in this weather.”

  The older man said, “Pay him, Max.”

  The boy removed a thick roll of bills from his pocket, peeled some off, and handed them to Cord.

  “And ten for the cab?” Cord prompted.

  “Yeah, about that…,” Max said. “Why don’t we just give you a lift? We’re going your way.”

  “I’m OK, thanks.”

  The man nodded at that, then said, “All right. You provide a very valuable service, Mr. Cord. Thank you.” He reached into his overcoat pocket and pulled out a car key.

  “So you found the key after all that?” Cord asked.

  “Oh, we never lost it. This was a test. You passed.”

  Before Cord could respond, Max said, “Get in the car.”

  Cord realized that he actually did want to get into the car. It was warm, and it’d be a lot more comfortable than getting a taxi back home. He walked around to the passenger side and climbed in.

  A few minutes later, as the car pulled out onto the freeway, Cord suddenly sat upright. “What the heck…? What was I thinking?”

  The older man smiled at him. “Only an idiot would get into a stranger’s car, right? Don’t worry, you’re safe. But you don’t know who we are, or why you’re here.” The smile grew wider still. “You’re about to find out, Solomon.”

  The young man sitting in the back leaned forward and said, “I’m Max Dalton. I’m a superhuman. I can read
minds and sometimes even control them, for a while. That’s what I did to you. The man in the suit here is Mr. Krodin.”

  Cord began, “I don’t—”

  Krodin said, “Solomon, we’ve been watching you for the past seven weeks. All those aptitude tests your teachers have been giving you? That was at our request. You have an ordinary background, an ordinary education, and yet your intelligence quotient—especially when it comes to mechanical or electronic devices—puts you a considerable distance above the level of genius.”

  “You’ve wondered about that, haven’t you?” Max asked. “You’re sure you’re not a superhuman, but you know you’re far from ordinary. Well, we can give you the answer to that. One of our colleagues—Casey—has a complete understanding of the superhuman powers. And that’s why we want you.”

  “A job?” Cord asked. “I’m not interested.”

  Still keeping his eyes on the road, Krodin said, “Tell him everything, Max.”

  Max said, “We’re offering you the position of head of research and development. You’ll be working with Casey. You’ll have free rein and unlimited resources. Think about that, Solomon. Anything you want to build, you can do it.”

  Cord shook his head. “Thanks, but I’m not interested. Pull over and let me out. Right now.”

  “We can’t stop on the freeway,” Krodin said. “Just listen to what we have to say, OK?”

  “Not a chance.” Cord unclipped his seat belt and grabbed the interior door handle.

  Krodin said, “Max?”

  Cord suddenly realized that, more than anything else, he really did want to stay in the car and hear them out.

  “The world is in a mess,” Krodin said. “The governments like people to think that they steer their countries, that things happen because they want them to. But that’s a delusion, like a kite believing that it controls the wind.”

  “And you think you can do better?” Cord asked.

  “We can.”

  From the backseat, Max said, “What if there was a world leader who couldn’t be assassinated, who was totally incorruptible, and who would never die? Sure, the people would no longer be able to vote for who would lead them, but that wouldn’t matter if their leader always put the good of the people ahead of his own needs. What do we have then? We have a world with equality for all, no poverty or war or hunger. Utopia. Peace on Earth, forever.”