Gunfire shook my office. Three holes in the doorway, and if I were
sat where I usually do there would have been three very close together
points in time where my body would have been co-located with a slightly
deformed piece of lead moving at supersonic velocities. Magnum, from
the look of things. Point five-o AE. Of course, I'm not sat where I
usually do because I anticipated this. I anticipate so much.
My would-be assassin bursts through the door. At the same time, I send
a bullet of my own at his leg. I know full well where it will be and
where he will fall. I know precisely what I will have to do to make
this particular hitman tell me who he is working for and why he is
working for them. I know how to ensure that word gets around that I am
not to be touched. But I cannot make use of everything I know. Like a
man carrying the first atomic bomb, I have responsibilities beyond my
station. The gunman talks. The agency hired him. Of course. That makes
it so much easier. The agency is a term used by at least six separate
departments of five governments when they wish to engage in behaviour
of a questionable nature. Specifically, when directing that behaviour
towards beings like myself. Mutants.
The genetic code of every single species is encoded with an expiry
date. The idea is that it will coexist with it's successor for a few
short lifetimes then it will die off. Every species is genetically
programmed for extinction. Humanity is no different. Four generations
from now, humans will produce mutants and mutants alone. Humankind as
we know it will die off.
Some groups are trying to make this transition as easy as possible.
Others, less so. I fall somewhere in between. That's why the smoked
glass on my door marks me as a "Freelance Operative". Go anywhere, do
anything, only occasionally on the side of angels. Then again, that's
what I am supposed to do. I should know.
I lock the door behind me, and make my way through old storm tunnels to
the basement of a closed Cantonese takeout that myself and a few others
use as a base of operations. Nobody else is there. Odd. It would appear
that the agency has decided to go after all of us. Next thing you know
they'll invade Westchester. This does make things harder, however. I am
not a field operative unless I need to be. Today, I need to be.
Fortunately, I learn fast. I take a pair of Balance's pistols to
replace my own and head for the surface.
Wind and rain in my face. The pattern of raindrops is entirely chaotic
in nature, so many outside factors influencing them that prediction is
impossible. It's disquieting, knowing that if I concentrated, I could
predict every raindrop in a storm. Or the position of every person on a
New York street five minutes before they got there. On the other hand,
marshalling my thoughts for so long is less fun than these random
internal monologues. Fun. What a bizarre concept. Only sentient species
could comprehend it, of course.
The alley behind the back of one specific bar is where the agency hires
it's muscle. The gentleman in question carries himself with a studied
normalcy. Very well trained to blend in, probably Spetznaz. It's not
that hard for me to make my presence known. I use my codename, if only
to reinforce that I am Other, not like him.
"My name is Starburst. You tried to have me executed earlier tonight.
You failed."
His accent is pure New York. If he is Russian special forces, he's one
of their best.
"We know more than you think, Starburst. We know about your underground
organisation, and have neutralised it with specific ease. Our agents
this time were metahuman, grown in tanks and programmed down in their
DNA to be perfect counters to your abilities."
"Your breeding program failed."
"In your case. The assassin should have scrambled your mind with a
psychic burst designed to increase levels of endorphins before you
registered his presence."
"Your ignorance is astounding," A bullet through the agent's leg.
"Please don't try reaching for your weapon again. Silly little man,
your dog failed because I don't have a brain. I have a caged star that
generates sixteen billion brilliant thoughts every second. My mental
reaction time makes milliseconds feel like years. This scenario was
planned for long before now. You will impart this information to your
superiors. You may have taken down Operation X, but you have yet to
exterminate me."
I turn and leave. Operation X is gone now, and they will simply rig my
office to explode if I were stupid enough to return. I need a new group
of associates. They lend valued support in the field, and bring
understanding valuable concepts. Like mercy. Sometimes, it's hard to
remember the word as anything other than a dictionary definition. Every
time I think like that I am reminded of how inhuman I am. I'm not sorry.
My name's John. I'm sat here watching what remains of my skin slough
off as brown gunk, and I'm trying not to throw up. And there is nothing
that I could do about it. Hank isolated me early, told me this day
would happen ever since he had a chance to study me the first time. So
now I'm sat on the can, watching my mutation complete itself, and
incidentally that slick-looking puddle in the sink used to be my face
and I don't know what the fuck is going on any more.
There's nothing like watching your skin be replaced to rip your self
image into shreds. The first time this happened was four years ago,
when my arms and legs swelled and started to rot away. It took two
days, and when it ended by arms and legs were silvery black
supercarbon. The bones had been replaced with the same substance, and
if I concentrated I could exude it over the rest of my skin, as a kind
of armor. It hurt like hell to push out this stuff through my pores,
but I eventually learned to control it. By the time I came to the
Institute, I could even change the color for a short time back to skin
tone.
Hank told me that my mutation was a staged one. First I'd changed, and
if I kept studying I could shape my arms and legs. He said that one
day, I'd lose the rest of my skin and bones, left only with this hexite
substance. I never expected it to happen when I was being trained for
Operation X. A deep-cover job. My first proper field assignment. All
gone to hell because my right shoulder fell off during a combat
simulation.
Most of the skin has gone now. Just a few scraps, decomposing into a
water-soluble ooze that I'm washing down the sink. The towel's going to
need a soak, though. I daren't look into the mirror for fear of what
will look back. There's a knocking at my door. Eyes shut, I finish
wiping my new skin down and answer the door. Nobody there, but a card
held onto the door with a thumb tack. Precise handwriting. Signed with
a star.
Half an hour later I'm at Lou's Tavern. Starburst approaches me. He's
the tactician of Operation X, a supergenius with a star for a brain. I
gather they have an arrangement with the owner as nobody looks at me
twice. I catch my reflection in a mirror and try to avoid retching. How
they do is beyond me.
"Starburst. What's happened? I thought Balance was doing this kind of
thing."
"The rules have changed. Balance is dead, as are the rest of Operation
X. I'm calling in all the trained agents I can. Operation X is gone,
and I want you to help me with it's successor."
"Slow down, that's a lot of information to take in at once..."
"Deal with it, Edge. From now on, you have two choices. You can stand
up, go back to the Institute and end up being studied and maybe placed
as a field agent working to do location and rescuing, maybe teaching
others about what it means to be still partly human, how coexistence
can happen. Or you can remain here, let me buy you a drink, cast your
old identity aside and make things happen."
"I... I'm staying. I washed my face into the sink earlier today. I
can't pretend my life is going to be as easy as it was. I'm with you."
"The agency used gene-tailored bloodhounds to kill the old group. They
know I am alive. My office has been compromised, but the old operations
centre is still secure. Meet me there in two hours. Bring clothes,
weapons, anything you can fit into a sports bag. Before you leave, give
this tape to Henry. Welcome to Option X, Edge."
With that, he stood up and left me with the dregs of a beer in front of
me. I left, heading down alleyways for the most part. People don't like
the thought that mutants walk the same street as them. Then again,
gang-bangers don't like people with silver-black skin walking in on one
of their deals.
Gunfire. Low-calibre, meant to hurt people, not punch through police
armor. Even in my old armoured state that wasn't a problem. Now it
barely registers more than rain. I untie my hair, unconsciously shaping
it into a forest of flexible blades that can cut steel without a
problem. My left hand closes around three rounds in my pocket. Fingers
form a crude clip, supercarbon skin flowing into an approximation of
rifling. My thumb is a firing pin. My right hand is a sword.
Six of them. The blade is plunged through the first gunman's shoulder.
Five. One breaks a club on my suddenly spiky thigh, without noticeable
effect. I point at three more and they die as hypersonic flechettes
tear skin from bone. Two left. I hear a shriek as the club-holder grabs
my hair. Five soft thumps, four fingers and a thumb. I flick my head,
feeling only minimal resistance, and hear the louder thud of a
collapsing body. One. The remaining kid is barely seventeen. He's
soiled himself rather than helping his companions against what must
seem to be a god of death.
I grow a third limb from my right shoulder blade and hoist this
creature into my vision.
"You just tried to kill part of Option X. Tell everyone how stupid you
are. I will not be as kind next time."
The entire thing, from the first gunshot to be saying those words took
less than five seconds. I am a living weapon, my body a tool for ending
violence directed against me. I leave no skin cells, no hairs with
telltale DNA strands. I have no fingerprints. I can't help but think
how long it will be before I no longer have a face. I wait until the
punk is out of sight and double over, throwing up what little I had in
me.
Just when the day couldn't get any worse, I see them heading to the
back wall. Old stuff but valuable, Rolling Stones vinyls and the like.
Two of them. One in white, short auburn hair, British accent. The other
was a leather and t-shirt kind of guy, from back when long hair and
longer coats were fashionable. His skin is silver-black, reflecting
warped versions of album covers.
I cast my sense out towards them. The man in white has a hard skull,
like it's holding something inside, but it otherwise normal. The other
has woven tubes of supercarbon instead of a dermal layer. I smile and
nod and hope that they don't realise. No such luck.
The man in white looks to me. I know him, though I've not seen him.
Starburst, he's called. The other isn't someone I've ever come across
before. I manoeuvre myself over to them. I'm impressed by how natural
my walk looks. Normally it takes a lot of work just getting a stable
bipedal form. Starburst looks at me, those green eyes shining from
within and letting me know he means business.
"Listen closely, Alchemist. I know that's you, and you have a lot of
information to take in. The short form is that Operation X is no more.
I know you were being trained as a possible field agent until your body
finally dissolved, and I wouldn't call on you unless it was urgent. I
need you, and you need us."
"What? I heard about Operation X, but I thought- I mean, I, uh, was
lead to understand that there wasn't going to be a replacement."
"You understand correctly. That is because I am not sat here with Edge.
We are not talking to someone who, for the past nine months, has had no
physical body. And we are most certainly not talking about your
recruitment by an effectively freelance group that will be engaged in
black operations work, saving mutants from situations nobody else can.
This is not the place that a group by the name of Option X will be
using as a base of operations, and you do not have to be there in one
hour if you wish to be a part of this. I trust I am making myself
perfectly clear?"
I nod my head rather mechanically, and stand. Already I've had a group
of "human supremacists" in the shop talking about how flammable the
place could be unless I 'work on my clientele'. If I were to retaliate,
by removing an arm, or a face, I would be the one in the wrong, not
them. But that's the way the law is these days. First, I close the
store. Then a moment's concentration leaves the body I was using
rendered back into it's component molecules. Water in the pipes and
drains, carbons in the wooden floor, most everything else as trace
molecules in the air. Its a pity, that was a good body. I had time to
work on it.
Up in the room I call my own, I settle into a set of mechanical waldo
arms with video cameras and manipulators. It's hideously clunky, but it
offers me access to everything here without having to work at shifting
everything molecule by molecule. I synthesise a simple bag from the bed
sheet, and start filling it with the random items I've come to
associate with my life. My old high-school yearbook. I was voted "Most
likely to own a second hand record store". Strange how things turn out.
A photo album. The trophy from when the band I was in won the Battle of
the Bands. My uniform from the Institute. All the things I dare not
deconstruct, because I don't want them being copies. I want them to be
original. There may be the same molecules there, in the same places,
but I would know for a time that they had ceased to exist, and I
couldn't live with my life like that.
The Institute had me pegged as an Operation X agent practically since I
set foot through the door. Able to disassemble and reassemble matter on
the molecular level, I could create my own equipment and make evidence
vanish. I was the ultimate search-and-rescue agent, set for the typical
life of excitement and danger. Until...
I can still see the mirror when I concentrate. A training session had
left me in a coma, my body crippled. I'd never walk again, and only had
use of one arm. I had to rely on other people when I soiled myself. So
I looked in the mirror and decided I would not live that way, a shadow
of my former self. I had control over molecules, I could rebuild my
body. I was so stupid. So overconfident. I watched in the mirror as my
body disintegrated into it's component molecules, my face literally
drifting onto the breeze in my room. Halfway through, as my nose
dissolved, I realised I couldn't rebuild my body. I would never be me
again. If I could have stopped, I would.
It took me an hour to hastily assemble pigment and paper for people to
know I was a psychic presence, not dead but no longer human. An hour to
write a note. I had to learn how to write without a pen. Without eyes.
All I had was a sense of molecules. It took work, but I constructed my
first body there. Rubbery skin, no internal structure and joints which
lacked flexibility, but it gave people an idea of where I was. I hated
it. I studied anatomy, and eventually learned to make better bodies for
myself. I got out as soon as I could and bought the record store to
give me an anchor in the real world. I had to get back out, amongst
people. Remind myself of what I was trying so hard to be.
I've never been able to make a body last for a week. And no matter how
much I try, I'll never have my face again. The waldoes make a good
enough frame. I add a dermal layer and clothing quickly, and flex the
face until it feels human enough. I then leave the store for the last
time, being sure to lock up. This was me trying to regain something I
could never have, my normal life. If I can find just one kid that can
have that, I have succeeded. Option X needs me.
It feels like a Monday today. I stopped bothering with a calendar
six months ago, when my forearms and chest sprouted black orbs that
could alter the flow of time around me. When I can make a second last
for an hour, calendars and weekdays lose their meaning. But it
definitely feels like a Monday. The slow feeling, when you're waiting
for the subway in to work and it's making you wait and you want to go
back and have one more day of weekend but you can't. The Monday
feeling. And where am I but waiting in a subway station. Oh, how poetic.
A train comes in, but it's not the one I want. My reflection in the
dirty aluminium of the train. The once face that will never grow old,
hair up in a bun, blending in with the office workers in the suit skirt
I dug out this morning. Damn, I shouldn't be this nervous. It's just an
interview. Nice, normal job. With my talents, it's nothing that should
tax me for time. I just have to hope they don't ask me to work
overtime. I might not be able to stop laughing.
I'm not laughing. There's what feels like a gun jammed into my back.
I'm marched off back through the crowds, like I just got off the train.
My pulse is racing. I don't even know what the gun wants, I'm just
going where I'm being prodded. Down a little-used entrance, where the
only witnesses are sleeping off their cheap vodka on the steps. No
reliable witnesses. Makes sense for whatever he wants. She wants. A
rasping voice, definitely female, from behind me.
"Turn around, Julia."
I turn, silent, complying. Maybe that way I won't get shot. I can slice
time thin, but outrunning a bullet is still not something I want to try
without practice. One woman, holding the gun. Nondescript clothes,
short hair, looks almost military. Behind her, a man with another
pistol on me, and another woman. It takes a minute to register. The
other woman looks exactly like me. That sends a shiver down my spine.
The first woman, the leader-type, is talking again.
"You're not getting out of this. We can't risk Starburst making contact
with you, and we can't risk you being involved with any of the
underground. So as much as it pains me to say this, we are going to
have to kill you."
"Who's 'Starburst'? I'm not going for an interview with a candy
maker..."
"Nice try. Now, don't bother with any last minute heroics," The gun's
pointing right between my eyes. I don't think I've ever been this
scared. Knowing that I'm going to die. It's not true what they say. My
life isn't flashing in front of my eyes. There's nothing in my mind,
just emptiness. I couldn't slice time thin enough to escape this.
Nothing I can do.
Then her gun hand falls off.
I don't stop to think, I slice as hard as I can. Relativistic effects
take over, light around me undergoing the Doppler effect as I ram my
knee into the other gunman's groin. I'm working with time, so I'm not
accruing mass, but the sheer shock of suddenly having his testicles
knocked into him is going to put him down. My look-alike is is a
headlock before I stop slicing. Then I see him. Totally black, wearing
some kind of biker gear, swinging a blade that's in place of his left
hand through the neck of my would-be assassin. Blood spurts and gushes.
I feel like I'm going to lose my breakfast. I slice reflexively,
breaking down in a minute that lasts an hour for me as I try to deal
with the events of the last four seconds.
"Whoever you are, thank you for saving me but bear in mind I have had
enough freaky shit for today. I don't want to hear anything you have to
say. I just want to get to my interview. I just want my life to go back
to normal."
"It stopped being normal a long time ago. It's only now that the world
is taking notice. As an example, the girl you are holding is a
construct. Something grown in a tank to replace you when you died. It's
not dangerous. It's been encoded to take the memories from a dying
person. It would have replaced you when you died, but now it's got
little more than a brainstem controlling autonomous functions."
"NO! Just leave me be!"
"The agency will send others after you. Even if you disposed of this
cheap stand in, they could send another. And a better assassin. One
that could neutralise your own localised time-field. They're growing
metahumans in vats, here. This is not normal trouble, this is more shit
than you can possibly imagine poised above you. The agency doesn't like
mutants trying to live normally, and they really don't like powerful
mutants. Now you can drop everything, turn around and get on your train
to your interview. But do you honestly think you can live a normal life
any more?"
"What's the alternative? I turn around and go with you and become
hunted? Throw in with some underground that just wants to exploit me
for what I can do?"
"Lady, I'm here from a group so far underground we're paying rent to
Satan Himself. And we want you to help us help more people like you.
You can do that. You know you can."
"Even if I wanted to, what am I supposed to do? I can't leave
everything back at my apartment. I can't just vanish."
"You wouldn't have to. You get an hour, then come here. Bring
everything you want to keep."
He handed me a piece of paper.
"If I wanted to join you, that is. But... who are you anyway?"
"Name's Edge. Welcome to Option X."
100 miles East of Krasnoyask, Siberia:
Starburst ducks low as he looks out of the helicopter window. The
chopper is ex-Soviet Army, cold and uncomfortable. Inside, the three
other Option X members share a sceptic look. Alchemist is the only one
not kitted out for a Siberian winter, his body of choice made from
sheet-steel and carbon fibre. Edge shifts his arm into and out of
fractal patterns pensively. Unlike the others, it's his first time
outside of America. Julia Carter is holding up well. For someone so
used to hiding what she is, she is adapting to life in the shadows
better than anyone could expect.
Just as Edge manages to finish twisting his arm into something that
should surely exist in more than four dimensions, Starburst turns to
the others.
"We're here. Soviet Science City Thirteen."
Option X headquarters, one day earlier:
Starburst stands addressing the others. Edge is looking bored, the
others attentive.
"The agency used tailored metahumans to eliminate Operation X.
Vat-grown, with tailored abilities designed to counter everything we
could throw at them. Or at least, almost everything. The agent that set
them going, at least the one I dealt with, was Russian. This, plus some
further research leads me to believe that they used an old weapons
research centre."
"How in the hell can you be so sure?" Julia's taken up smoking to deal
with the stress, and the smell riles Edge. He interrupts before
Starburst can speak.
"He does have good reason. I've seen him look at a set of juggling
balls for one second and start tossing running chainsaws and flaming
torches like he's been doing it for most of his life. If he says that's
where they are being grown, I figure it's worth checking out."
"Thank you. As I was saying, we're looking for Soviet Science City
Thirteen. It was one of the sites the Russians moved their heavy
manufacturing to during the Second World War. With the onset of the
cold war the site was converted to weapons research, specifically
genetics and metahuman research. That would be one of the only
locations they could find the facilities they need.
"Alchemist, when we get the chopper you'll have to be able to give us
hitting power. I can't talk us through everything. We leave in five
hours."
Soviet Science City 13:
The buildings all feel the same to Alchemist. Stone blocks and
corrugated iron all over, three large warehouses, a couple of smaller
buildings and a single guard post, interesting for the different
texture of the machine gun's metal. Barracks for the scientists. A
single bar, the only recreational area in this isolated place,
currently deserted. His mind extends, falling through the false floors
to the large underground chambers full of advanced technology and
strange chemicals. Grating steel echoes from the buildings as he shakes
his head.
"There's what feels like a command post over that way, though
whatever's in there should have noticed us landing. Something's very
wrong. The entire surface part of this place is running on automatic.
There's the machinery for the sounds, and of course the generators, but
there isn't a single living being above ground."
Julia frowns, looking around. "A ghost town. But they'd keep the
machinery running, and there'd have to be people around, or that looked
to be around, when they brought the fuel for the generators, the food
and the equipment and other supplies. They can't all be underground for
the rest of the time, they'd look wrong when the supplies come by."
The air around her shimmered for the briefest of moments. "Holograms. A
day before the supplies are due to arrive, they bring up damn big heaps
of electronics and stash it in the warehouses. Emitters are placed
wherever they can. Then people are projected, cycling every five hours.
The people that retrieve the supplies come up from underground, saying
they've had the night watch for the past week."
Starburst nods, though Edge and Alchemist are busy exchanging rather
freaked-out looks. "That would seem to be expedient. And an interesting
development of your abilities."
"I can do a lot of things you wouldn't expect. If we can find the way
down, shouldn't we be getting on with closing this place down?"
"Indeed. Alchemist? Locate the way down. Remember, this is
psychological as much as anything else. Make a big bang when you go in.
Edge, you follow. If it moves, disable it but try not to kill it. A
living weapon should know the value of life. Miss Carter, you and I
shall investigate what has actually been going on down there."
It didn't take long for Alchemist to announce the group's arrival. The
heavy wooden trapdoor shattered under the onslaught of fists that are
crude blocks of steel. Edge grows extra arms as he enters, lost in the
knowledge that none of those now raising their hands or weapons would
walk away from this unscathed. Alchemist imagines himself flexing and
extends his talent, the guns arrayed against him dissolving and adding
their molecules to his already-impressive body. Edge is busy striking
against the soldiers foolish enough to think of attacking the pair.
He's lost, his mind closing down to a state of pure instinct. Soon
enough he would be back to normal and no doubt would hate himself for
doing what now seems like it must be done. By the time Starburst and
Julia enter the fight is just about over.
The four walk through rows of tanks filled with bubbling green liquid
and mostly deformed human beings. Large hoses connect each tank up to
monitoring stations along the walls. At the far end is what looks to be
the main control centre. Starburst knows something is wrong. It's
something in the air, a combination of low-level sensory stimuli
clamouring for his attention. He ducks half a second before a flight of
razorblades would have perforated his right lung. This whole thing was
too easy. Someone has woken the few beings in the tanks that still
count as alive.
Edge is being swamped under bodies, one man splitting off copies in a
strange kind of mitosis to weight down the living weapon. Alchemist is
trapped in a psionic cage, unable to move his mind outside his stiff,
lifeless body. The mental shock of that is going to take time to
recover from. Starburst can hear Edge screaming as his consciousness
comes back to the fore and he is buried under bodies of his own
creation. Julia is nowhere to be seen. A Siamese triplet, three torsos
sharing one pelvis and set of legs is glowing with power. It must have
disassociated her from the time stream. More razors. The woman throwing
them is dripping green fluid more than the others, and as Starburst
watches it condenses into the shards of steel. Not only that, but a
pressure on his mind from somewhere. Something is forcing its way into
his head, stealing valuable processing time from his psyche. Without
the flexibility of his vast intelligence, it becomes impossible for
Starburst to think straight. Blood flows from his nose and ears. Razors
lacerate his left leg.
It takes no effort whatsoever. Alchemist knows what he has to do. His
body is static, which reminds him just how far he has come. His
captor's mistake is that he doesn't need to be able to 'reach' what he
effects. He just needs to see it. There's no control when he rends one
of the monitoring station into clouds of random molecules, but the
distraction is enough. The cage is being generated by a creature that's
mostly head, swimming impotently in it's vat as the life support gives
out. With one burst of power, Alchemist returns it to the dust from
whence it came. Starburst is up as his mind comes back to speed. The
razor-woman takes one bullet, the dividing man another as he turns to
see what is going on. Each clip is methodically emptied into the bodies.
Alchemist leads Edge up through the trapdoor, whilst Starburst rounds
on the triplet.
"I know what you did to Julia. The join in your body houses a plasma
reactor which has warped space time just enough to bump her out of
synch with us. The only way you could power that is if your blood were
solar matter. I am asking you nicely to bring Julia back. I can cause
you to die with less effort than it takes to stare hard. Your choice."
The triplet collapses and Julia fades into view. She's already heading
for the office. Inside, there's one person. Growths on his forearms
glow as Julia enters but she is too fast for him, slamming his arms
against one of the walls.
"Why? Why are you doing this, you sick bastard?"
A twisted grin on the overseer's face. "When I was fourteen, my parents
saw the coming of the mutants. They knew their child could never be as
strong, as tough or as intelligent. I was destined to live in their
shadow. This was not good enough for them. My eighteenth birthday is
when I had the first transplant. The mutant who had these arms before
me claimed to be the defender of Moskva. My eyes came from a Nigerian
girl who could see everything from gamma waves to high-end microwaves.
I have had parts of mutants surgically implanted no fewer than six
times. Two of those the donors were sill alive. I devised most of the
processes. That is why the agency paid me to create their little
supermen. It is just like Allensen said. The mutants have come because
they fear anything being more powerful than they are. Cowardice. Pure
and simple."
Julia shook her head. "NO. You're wrong. You have to be." Before the
overseer could say more she struck, crushing his windpipe in one blow.
Option X headquarters:
Since returning from Siberia, things have been quiet. Alchemist had the
time and made himself a human-esque body. Starburst cannot help but
worry about that. He can understand intellectually the need to retain
one's humanity, the benefits are obvious. But there is also the worry
that Alchemist is trying to deny the scope of his abilities, and if
that happens in the field, the rest of the team may be hurt.
Fortunately, it seems to be providing stability, which is confirmed as
necessary when Starburst thinks his way through what the ex-man is
going through. It takes seconds to fully understand the viewpoint. To
be a bodiless psionic cloud, capable of moving and rearranging
molecules, but only capable of perceiving those same molecules and
their interactions with each other unless he possesses an object
capable of basic sense-reception. A sidetracked thought brings up the
point that "possess" is such a bad word for the situation as applies to
Alchemist, as it implies that another mind is being subjugated as in
the case of telepaths shunting their consciousnesses into the minds of
others. "Inhabit" would work, and is chosen. It is important that
Alchemist retain ties to his old life, and his humanity, simply to
avoid insanity. However, should it ever reach the point of probable
liability it will be reassessed.
Julia is one of the strangest to analyse. Whilst Starburst's mind makes
the world seem to go past in slow-motion unless he keeps himself
distracted, she actually alters time. From what he is able to glean,
she is able to dilate time in a small bubble around her, extending
seconds so that, to her, they minutes or longer. How much of a dilatory
effect she can generate appears linked to the amount of stress she is
under, but the precise nature of the orbs, and just what they can do in
addition to "slicing" time is still an unknown. It's annoying, to have
an unknown quantity such as this, but the nature of space-time is that
it will at least make a reasonably long-term distraction. Potentially
dark-matter shunts? Also interesting is if the bubble around her can be
controlled to affect only parts of other beings. Though Julia herself
is outside of the flow of time, the same does not hold true for anyone
else, and for her to be able to dilate away ten years of a person's
life would be a very useful tool. However, even more than Alchemist,
she clings to the idea that she is human at base, and thus would not
see her abilities in that way.
Edge is source of perturbation. His mutation has made his body into a
living weapon. Unfortunately, he is not best prepared to be what
amounts to an instrument of death. He is, inside, the least comfortable
with his abilities. He can use them without problem when someone is in
danger or there is a good chance he will be killed if he does not. In
situations where that is not the case he must rely on gut instinct,
riding the endorphin wave through the violence that is needed. Once
that wave ends and his thinking mind reasserts itself, he quickly
enters a state of shock and self-loathing. Short of finding ways to
extend the span of the killing high, the best course of action would be
to remind him that not all weapons are lethal in use. When he becomes
used to thinking in terms of incapacitation as well as death, it may be
worthwhile to suggest that he make use of a second personality-state.
By detaching his rational mind from what goes on in the throes of the
endorphin rush—perhaps by suggesting that he reshape his face into a
featureless mask when he feels it coming on?—it will be possible for
him to detach the idea of him-as-massacre from his self-image.
Finally, Starburst's thoughts turn inward. His brain generates an
immense amount of ideas, and most of those ideas are derived from
previous ideas, thus he may follow a train of thought. However, he can
do so in parallel as well as in serial. The fact that he generates
ideas, as opposed to just thoughts, means that wild concepts and highly
improbable outcomes may be generated to be matched with the existing
criteria. Without that, he would just be a supercomputer with a human
face. With that spark, he is honestly intelligent, a thinking being
capable of not only realising his own intuition but also where it comes
from and what it implies. However, even this has its drawbacks. Whilst
he understands, academically, what it means to be human it is harder
and harder to connect with any human. They don't think things through
nearly enough, they don't realise fully what they are doing. And the
only thing worse than that is when they think they have thought
everything through, like when the agency decided to get rid of
Operation X. This makes him less human than his team-mates and he
understands that this is a weakness as much as a strength, but it is
the way he must be.
Option X Headquarters. Friday afternoon:
"Lady, gentleman and bodiless psionic entity, I give you New York's
Battery Park." Starburst strides towards the map, a pointer in hand. To
Edge, he looks just like the doctors did when they explained the nature
of his mutation. "Note the dock, the remembrance grounds, and the
subway station. Also note the nice new structure, Castle Clinton."
Julia frowns. "I've never heard it called that before."
"In 1994 the United States president wanted a bolthole. He chose New
York City, the largest city in America, as a means of hiding in plain
sight. A bunker was built underneath Battery Park. The eventual hope
was for an underground connection between the White House and this
hideout. It finally got approval, and the bunker part was finished in
1998."
Alchemist's voice is synthesised, a small system inside the throat of
his newest pseudobody. "Unfortunately, he couldn't keep his dick to
himself. The investigation into him pulled up a lot of money being sunk
into this project, but there was nothing to show for it. In the end, he
baulked and decided to open a hotel on the land, with the bunker being
the hidden basement. The way the place was built, it looked like a
castle, and as he was the one that funded the development to hide his
little getaway, those in the know call the place `Castle Clinton'."
"I... see. I don't want to ask how you know."
A grin flickers over Starburst's face, but it's brief by his standards.
"Maybe one day you'll meet him.
"Castle Clinton is partly our objective. Word has it that a group of
pure-human lunatics uses the top layers of the bunker to ship in some
technology they're buying from a group of rogue Japanese technologists.
Whatever it is, we really rather have to secure it. Alchemist, you and
I will do just that. Whatever it is, my money is on it being highly
dangerous and this is just the kind of thing I set us up to do. On the
other hand, there is some rather more high-profile work. A group of
these lunatics are holding two mutants hostage in the subway station.
There's enough explosives to send all of the park to Hell and back if
their demands about mutant registration and segregation are not met.
They're trapped the entrances and would die for their cause. Edge,
Julia, see to it that the mutants there are returned safely.
"We'll go in by boat. Nobody will be expecting us."
Battery Park, New York City. Midnight:
The dock is quiet, and few people notice a private boat tying up in a
nicely secluded area. The team splits, having planned their entry
routes. The cops will be concentrating on the subway entrance, rather
than the hotel, so Alchemist and Starburst take a relaxed, nonchalant
approach. Edge and Julia, however, start bickering almost immediately.
"I'm telling you, if we go in by the ventilation system we'll have more
of a chance."
"It's so cliché. They'd have trapped the grates. I can disarm
the eyebeams while I slice, but it'll still take me a while to let you
in."
"I'll take the vents. I've been concentrating on making myself
non-eutactic, if nothing else they won't have trapped the ceiling vents
and I'll drop on top of them."
"Leaving me to be shot."
"Depends how fast I am. And how fast you are."
"Wonderful."
* * *
As they wander off, Alchemist tilts his head at Starburst. It's the
first time he's had such control of a body as to be able to mimic human
motion. "Why did you not want me mentioning Broadband?"
"Security. We can't have everyone knowing from the off that we're
working with a living computer."
"That doesn't make sense."
"We won't be captured. I can be sure of this if I concentrate. I cannot
say the same about the others. Nobody can know about her, or the entire
group is compromised."
"I can see that. Sniper in the wall alcove and an automated turret
hastily set up in the third-floor window for when we come in the main
gate. Another sniper in the tree to your left."
Starburst's pistols are in his hands. "I think our arrival has been
anticipated. Let's let our snipers get a nice, good look while you take
from the wall. We'll need another door to avoid the turret. They aren't
expecting that, at best a police tank so it's loaded with
armour-busting rounds. Anything not going through the door gets shot by
him—" The crack of a pistol round being fired twice in swift succession
"—and him."
* * *
Edge and Julia have to force their way through the spectators as the
gunshots sound. Police are crowding in, their lines tightening... which
means nothing, really. In the quarter-second when there is a gap, Julia
slices to get them a minute in which to walk leisurely through. Three
people, poster-children for Aryan trailer-trash, hold semi-automatic
firearms in the stairwell behind a poorly erected barricade. Steam
rises out of an obvious grate, and the pair split to put their plan
into action.
The first thing the police officers on the scene know is a towering
shadow of a man appearing out of nowhere and throwing himself down the
stairwell. To their disbelief, his forearms distort and stretch in
front of him to large, bullet-proof shields. None of them register the
blur at the grate. Julia already has a plan, to go in via the
roof-vents and pull the plug on the explosives themselves while Edge
does what he does.
She catches a glimpse of him as she descends. One of the gunners is
pinned under his arm-shields. Another is being held by a claw extending
out of the top of Edge's shin. A third tries to shoot a crate, most
likely the explosives, but Edge has his leg positioned just right. His
foot flows back and out of his heel into a pick-point and an axe-kick
finishes the task. The gun falls, and bounces down the rest of the
steps. Once. Twice. On the apex of the third time, the butt of the gun
passes through one of the beams that triggers the explosives.
* * *
As the snipers fall, Alchemist reaches out to the wall. He shunts a lot
of the mass into dust at the base, but also wraps a lot of the stone
into his own body, giving him the increased punch needed to break
through the weakened wall with one swing of a fist. More of the dust
into his frame, making it a real powerhouse as the sentries inside get
over their shock and fire at the large, misshapen creature that's just
broken down their wall. The bullets knock chips off the stonework
armouring Alchemist's body, but don't damage anything vital. For his
part, a well-applied fist breaks the ribs of one and shatters the arm
of another. They both fall.
Dust fills the air as he sheds the now useless mass. Starburst crouches
by one of the unconscious men. "Note the body armour. The face-masks
are featureless, the designs are made to hide differences in height and
build. But in the pockets we will find... yes, here we are."
A scrap of paper, clipped from a newspaper. The security office door
yields to a good kick, and on the wall behind one of the desks lies a
keypad. Starburst taps at it, experimentally. There is the sound of
machinery, and they see a section of courtyard floor fall away.
Starburst shoots Alchemist a look.
"If I have to tell you how I worked out the code, we would be here for
fifteen minutes and you would end up saying that you didn't want to
know. Given this information, let us spare the ritual of asking the
question."
* * *
A tunnel of focus. That's all Julia sees when she slices this hard.
Light around her Dopplers far too much for her to have any peripheral
vision, there's just a circle around whatever she's looking at. Right
now, that's the triggering mechanism on ne of the crates of explosives.
Intellectually, she knows that as long as she can force time to move
close to right-angles for her, she is out of danger even if she makes a
mistake. Even so, she doesn't dare look up. People pointing weapons in
her direction would only cause her concentration to slip.
There's no time to work out the bomb schematics. From the instant that
the gun broke the beam, she has been racing electricity. It isn't
something she has ever done before, but she's doing a lot of that with
Option X. Her focus narrows as she slices yet harder, squeezing every
subjective second out of a delay that most people would never perceive
as existing. She rips the detonator off one crate, and moves to the
next. The air is heavy around her, hampering her movements. The harder
she slices, the less of the world around her she affects, and she's not
affecting much past herself and her clothes. Another detonator. Two
more to go. The black orbs are drawing too much, punishing her for
trying to surpass her limits. Strange shapes swirl in the miasma around
her. The third detonator. She's slicing so hard the air feels like
treacle. The orb in her left arm starts to bleed. She can see the spark
about to form on the last box, and forces her arm through the air.
The gun falls to the floor, as does Julia. The guards are surprised to
find that their bombs did not detonate, are also surprised to see an
unconscious woman fall from thin air among them, blood soaking the left
sleeve of her blouse. Edge capitalises on their surprise.
* * *
The descent into the bunker isn't much to speak of. One guard comes up,
looking for whoever opened the ramp. Starburst decides on the expedient
route, and shatters his kneecap with a bullet. The real problem is the
internal security system. Once activated, it's a simple enough task for
Alchemist to deal with the weapons, the key is not activating them.
Starburst winces inwardly as he calls out every step, making sure there
are no pressure plates or hidden cameras. When they come to the control
room, it's a relief to dispatch the guards inside and break the
computer systems.
"It's a good thing we didn't trigger an alarm. Their cargo is still
here. Interesting..."
"What is?"
"There's a set of gates allowing direct access to the water, good for a
speedboat. Another contingency that wasn't on the blueprints."
"The problem is that the storage room has more guards, some with
military specification weapons. I take it you can deal with them? The
hidden cameras are now down."
The metal door flows into Alchemist's body as he advances. To him,
violence was an abstract. He knew this was because he didn't have a
body that could be killed, and this did scare him some, but it also
meant that when bullets were washing over his steel-reinforced skin, he
was better equipped to go for the swift takedown. Starburst joined him,
barely noting the neatly-piled guards. He stopped short, reading one of
the crates.
"We need Edge and Julia. If anyone tries to touch that crate, kill
them."
* * *
Julia's eyes open not to the scene of carnage that she feared. The
hostage-takers are mostly alive but unconscious, and Starburst and Edge
stand over her, looking concerned. Glancing down, the blood on her
blouse brings back the memory of racing to disarm the bombs.
"I take it we've won?"
"Sort of. This is only the beginning, though you have to see this."
Julia finds her feet with ease, and the three make their way through
the vents to the surface, and then to the upper level of the bunker. As
they pass, Julia can't help but wonder what will become of the hostages
now their faces are on TV and in the newspapers as known mutants.
Fortunately, it isn't something she has to deal with. That promises to
be much weirder.
Edge does the honours of opening the crate, very carefully. Inside
stands a human. Hairless, sexless, without nipples or navel or
genitals. The face is a blank slate, the only vital activity designed
to keep the body alive.
Edge breaks the silence. "What are we looking at here?"
"It's a blank human, in much the same way you may buy a blank compact
disc. It's also the first proof that someone has built a Tabula Rasa
device."
A frown crosses Julia's face. "I don't get it. How is this proof of the
device?"
"In it's present state, the only use this body has would be for someone
like Alchemist to use as a host, or a skilled telepath to use as a
spare body. There is no brain activity. This creature has been bred to
be used in a device which overlays an extant DNA sequence. In
combination with a telepath, that would give people the ability to
create backup bodies that they could set to activate on point of death.
It's a chance for very rich people to profit off the exploitation of
mutants."
"How so?"
"Do you think a telepath would want to put someone's mind into an empty
clone, set to activate upon the donor's death? That would be like a
brain surgeon transplanting the guy's grey matter into an anencephalic
who had been bred and kept for just that purpose. Plus, these bodies
won't create themselves."
"Oh, God."
"He had nothing to do with this. We have to find those that did, and
shoot them in the face."
York, England. 1:15 am
The low clouds reflect the red-orange glow of the streetlights back
down, a security blanket of smog covering the city. Starburst is out of
his element, unarmed in a foreign country. He and Julia were the only
ones able to gain entrance legally into a country paralysed by fear of
mutant immigrants. Unfortunately, this means the group's heavy hitters
are nowhere to be found. Julia's worried about this more than anything,
if they did insert themselves and were later found, everything would go
to Hell political but there would at least be some support. Starburst
appears to be more worried by the young woman they are going to meet.
He's still talking about it, half to himself.
"I've heard a lot about her, and nobody is able to give me a good
description of her talent. Some say she can rewrite computer media by
touch, some that she can mentally assimilate binary information, and
some of the other, more unlikely stories come from sources too strange
to mention."
The cheap, one-bedroom flat squats above a laundrette in a particularly
ugly row of shops. Light blazes from one of the open windows, but
there's no sign of motion. Julia concentrates, shifting her sight in an
obtuse angle to the timeline.
"She was nervous when she came back, tripped on the back steps. She had
something hidden underneath her coat, but it never opened far enough to
me to see what. That was last night, there's been no activity up there
since."
Starburst frowned, heading for the alleyway that led to the steps. "We
shall have to find out what he was so nervous about."
The steps were black steel, slick from the recent rain. They snaked up
to the only door among extensions and garages and outhouses that looked
non-Euclidian in nature. The door itself was dark, the frosted glass
giving no impression of light and leaving Julia with a feeling of
foreboding. Before Starburst could knock, she crouched by the lock and
blurred slightly.
"I never thought you knew how to pick locks."
"You never asked."
The door swung open. The day's selection of bills, several marked with
bright red "Final Demand" stamps littered the hallway atop a threadbare
carpet. The telephone socket had been ripped out of the wall some time
ago, an ugly scar in the lath and plaster wall. Faint sounds of a
television filtered from one of the closed doors. This one swung open
easily, leaving both operatives to gawp at the scene inside.
A television showing a black and white science fiction movie about
mutated ants rested against the far wall. A laptop lay on the floor,
the cover set aside and the internals scattered in a manner reminiscent
of an electronic autopsy. Books and printouts heaped upon chairs and
piled on the carpet, several empty bottles of vodka resting on top of
them. An overflowing ashtray sat on the bedside table next to several
blisters and bottles of pills, their contents scattered. On the bed, a
girl barely out of her teens lay on her side, unconscious.
Starburst looked first to the girl, checking her pulse and breathing
before shining a torch in each eye. Julia bothered herself with the
pills.
"Pro Plus... They're caffeine, right? A pack of 96, plus taurine
supplements. Guanine as well, and some things I've never heard of
before."
Starburst glanced over, studying the bottles. "There's four, each
different. From the labels, two different intelligence enhancers which
are only legal because the government doesn't yet know they exist, one
made from the pineal glands of dead telepaths designed to stimulate
latent psychic ability and one depressant engineered to bond with the
caffeine and stop heart failure from overdosing."
"Hell. Is she still breathing?"
"Just." Starburst started looking through the papers. "She had a mild
heart attack from taking too many of the depressants, but it didn't
kill her. The only reason she hasn't released control of her bladder is
through extreme dehydration."
"Why? I mean, junkies overdose all the time, but not on intelligence
enhancers and psionic stimulants. And her profile didn't have her down
as any kind of addict."
"From the look of these, her power brought this on. Extrapolating from
her notes, it appears that she generates a cyber-empathic field which
duplicates the functions of familiar technology. She's able to read and
write computer media by touch, analyse and run programs in her mind,
understand compiled code as if she had written it herself. Add to that
she can make and receive cellular phone signals, and can microwave food
in her hands. Probably doesn't need a TV set either."
"How is that a reason to overdose?"
"She left school at sixteen and has been manning supermarket checkouts
ever since. She is an average person who couldn't get into an American
university, yet all her peers went to Oxford, Cambridge and Warwick,
assuming they didn't head to MIT or Berkley. And then this happens. She
can duplicate machinery subconsciously and she knows she isn't smart
enough to figure out why or how to control this gift."
"That's a pretty negative way of viewing it."
"According to these, she had a pet cat. She picked it up, wanting to
feel the fur against her skin to ground herself in reality. It was
microwaved in her arms, cooked from the inside out."
"I see her point, now. But what do we do with her? We can hardly take
her with us."
"True. The Institute can probably raise enough legal swing to get her
out of the country, but first we have to get her to a hospital."
They didn't wait for an ambulance, Julia slicing the three of them in
the time it would take to call the emergency services.
"Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to Centralia." Starburst was the
first out of the van,fastening the black coat around his waist. Smoke
curled up form the gash in the road just ahead of the van. "The only
city to be on fire for the past forty years."
"It stinks here." Edge sighed. He'd left his jacket and jeans in the
van, making up for his lost modesty by reshaping his pliable hexite
body into an approximation of a bodysuit.
"There is a high level of sulphur in the air. but whet do you expect?
The coal seams under the town are still burning. The smoke and gasses
have to go somewhere. The ground fracturing is it's only escape."
Alchemist was in a small body, four legs sprouting from a central dome
with camera-lenses and antenna letting him perceive a wider slice of
the E-M spectrum than usual.
"Even so, he's right. It stinks. Why would anyone want to set up a
factory here in the first place?" Julia handed a breathing mask to
Starburst before fitting one to her own face.
Broadband digital thoughtstream is online. Somewhere in New
York, the telepathic information hub known to Option X as Broadband was
linked into their minds.
"How are we even hearing you? You're in New York and this doesn't feel
like telepathy..."
It's not. I'm directly maniupulating the information reaching your
temporal lobe, telling your brain that you are hearing my voice.
Starburst and Alchemist get a similar treatment but altered for their
unique psyches.
"I'm sorry I asked."
Don't worry about it. You have a nice brain, by the way. Did you
know hexite is superconductuve?
You know just what a supercarbon posthuman wants to hear... but
Starburst is glaring. How about you chat me up after the mission's over?
It's a date.
"Edge, stop flirting with our groupmind. We have a job to do."
Starburst had his guns in hand as he set off towards the centre of
town. The others followed in silence.
The streets of Centralia are deserted. Houses are shored up with brick
columns against the walls, the streets cracked as the gasses released
underground seek to escape. The asphalt is hot underfoot. None of the
team like what they see. Half of a graveyard has sunk thanks to the
underground fire, desecrating the resting places of people whose
relatives will never know. And somewhere beneath them, a creation
engine turns.
Julia flickers every couple of minutes, casting her senses adrift in
time, hopint to catch a clue. Unfortunately, there's little to be seen.
The United States Army try a couple of times to shift the last of the
people out of the city but they won't leave without a fight. Ghosts of
APCs and military trucks flicker before her eyes, the cracked
households in front of her eyes repaired in her visions, people leaving
town with government grants hoping to start a new life in a new town,
away from the neverending fire.
Alchemist is the advance scout, using his low-slung body to good
effect. He sees the results of the evacuation, a ghost town where the
remaining people work hard to make ends meet, with the threat of
leaving their only homes hanging over their heads. But there is a
thread. He investigates old chemical trails. More cars on the roads
than he'd have expected, all heading to the other side of town.
It seems like you were right, Starburst
You doubted me?
No. I think the facility is underground, near the site where the
fire started. There are some weird chemical traces out that way
Starburst to all. Converge on Alchemist's position. Be ready for
anything.
Edge shaped himself further. His face blanked into a hexite mask
preventing razor-fine hair from slicing his face.Four arms sprouted
from his chest, each with a bifuricated elbow joint. His original arms
split into bladed guns, channeling razor shards of his own flesh. In
such a form he is a God of death, unthinking and unfeeling. He needs to
be, because he still can't stand the sight of a dead man when he's calm.
Underground. They'd be able to siphon off the richer chemicals, and
be closer to the heat source.
What do you think they're doing here, Starburst? Why would they need
all of that?
Isn't it obvious? Remember the tabula rasa drone?
Of course. Coal is mainly carbon.
Exactly.
They came to the right place for it.
Doubly so because they came with the blessing of the U.S.
government. We need to get inside without causing a fuss. We need to
take them down without them knowing we did it.
Wait. Julia frowns. What am I missing here?
Human bodies are mainly carbon, when you get rid of the additives
like water. A decent creative force like myself, enough carbon, enough
knowledge of human biology, the note of tension in Alchemist's
voice is palpable, some rare stuff, and a whole load of heat to
power the process, and you can create blank human bodies.
Shit.
Think more, Alchemist. We're here at Henry's request.
So?
I expected better from you. They are transplanting people into
blanks here. That means they have at least one telepath. It wouldn't
surprise me if they had some kind of biomanipulator to make the
autoclones that almost replaced Julia.
Fuck.
The four advanced carefully. Alchemist changed as he moved, shunting
molecules from the ground into a humanoid form. The entrance Broadband
had found was little more than a ladder strapped to one of the oldest
holes in the ground.
Julia, you and Alchemist are to find and recover any and all mutants
down there. Edge and I are going to kill a lot of bastards who happen
to be employed by the government. Give us thirty seconds head start.
Julia sighed. There's always killing. When do we talk first?
When we don't have state-sponsored mutant vivisection I'll be
willing to think about it. They stopped people doing that to rats.
With that, the two men in black vanished down the hole. The first
scream came soon afterwards.
"For what it's worth, I know what you mean. Sometimes, Starburst
forgets where he comes from."
"That way lies madness and death. We're supposed to be undercover
search and rescue, not the mutant CIA."
"We need to talk to him."
"Once we've done this. No matter how many people die we are saving
lives today."
"Yes. Shall we?"
* * *
The compelx is bustling. Guards without insignias fall to bullets or
Edge's myriad of body-weapons. Every so often, at Broadband's choosing,
they disrupt the base computers by destroying needed communications
lines. Edge is deep in a fuge state, refusing to identify his actions
as something he would do. It's like watching a violent movie. Another
guard falls, this one to a razor-sharp strand of hair fired through his
forearm.
What about though there?
No. That's where they keep their pets. We're hardly what scared
telepaths need to be seeing now. We have to get what we can out of the
man in charge.
Three more corridors. Starburst berates the guards even as he kills
them, pointing out teir predictability and how simple it was to think
around them. Edge just kills the ones that his comrade ignores. The
door ahead of them is imposing, access to the main creation facility.
Starburst shakes his head shoots what looks like a maintenance duct.
Somewhere, a circuit breaker trips and the door slides open.
The room beyond is an insane science fiction dream of pipes, cables and
weird technology.Above them, looking over thechamber, is an observation
deck. In front of them, a processing line that apportions out raw
materials. To one side, what can only be the genesis chamber detailed
on the report Broadband had liberated. He directed precise shots into
each of the stockpiled bodies, leaving Edge to take his time in
demolishing the machinery.
* * *
Alchemist was certain that the mutants would not want to leave. They
would argue and scream, especially if they saw the bodies. He did his
best to reassign their molecules, storing the blood within his body or
scattering it through the pipework that surrounds each corridor. He
patches up the bodies as best he can as well.
Sleeping gas. We don't know what age-range we're dealing with here.
Agreed.
They came to the unopened door. Julia hit it with a millennium of
frustration, and the weak hinges crumbled to so much rust. Beyond the
door, four pairs of eyes looked back. Scared, not because of people at
the door but because of who those people were.
"You're not part of the staff." The voice was rebellious, a teenage
know-it-all cockiness undercutting the words.
"No. We're getting you out of here."
"Why? We don't want to leave."
"You realise that you're working for an organisation that will vivisect
you to find out what makes your powers tick once they can replicate
what each of you can do?"
"That's pinko hippy bullshit, lady! Get the hell away from us. We're
doing our part for our country."
"We have the classifed reports. They are making backup bodies for the
rich and powerful for the time when there is no more human race because
we have out-evolved them." Alchemist paused outside the door, waiting
for the response.
"As if. There are no such files-"
Broadband, begin download.
"What are you doing to my head?!"
Alchemist stepped into the light. "I asked our resident information
witch to beam the documents straight into your brain. She's the one
doing it and she's not here. All I could do to your head is to take it
apart, atom by atom. I figure one of you has some kind of molecular
ability, you can work it out from this bodyform I'm wearing. Now, we
are taking you out of here. Maybe some of you would like to see an
outside world without holes in the ground because it's on fire. Maybe
some of you don't want to go. But whether we are liberating you from
unlawful capture or removing a valuable resource from a group with
known anti-mutant sentiments, you are coming with us."
The fire in the boy's eyes dimmed, and he lead the others out of the
bunk room, back towards the surface.
* * *
"What are you doing?"
"Stopping you, you silly little man. Your plans are finished. This
place is finished."
"You can't do that. This is private property owned by a government
contractor!"
"And I am a superintelligent bastard with very little regard for the
lives of people who want to fuck with mutants. Oh, and don't think of
going for the gun in your boot. I'd blow your leg off before you tried
if I saw the wrong muscle movement."
"So why haven't you shot me, like you shot all of the staff?"
"Because I need information. And I need to hear you say it. I need to
hear your voice. I know you're funded by the government and I know that
at least three shadow organisations are trying to ensure your funding
is renewed. What I don't know is how many people you've already cloned
this way."
"I'm not telling you anything."
A gunshot rang out. "The next one will be through your left testicle.
Answer my question or I will very carefully destroy your body."
"Fifty? A hundred? I don't know any more. We've had to download the
president five times already, whether it's a brain destroying STD or
another overdose he's needed it every time. Last time he had just about
no septum left."
"I'm not surprised. I want names."
"I don't know them- Really, I don't!"
Broadband, please tell me if he is lying.
No. Nothing in there. But if the Prez is part of it-
"This is big, that much I know. And I have the unforutnate feeling that
I know what is going on." Starburst leaned closer to the man. "And if I
am right, you will regret the day I was born. I promise you
that."