Legacy: The Girl in the Box #8 (32 page)

“I was starting to get that feeling, yes,” I said, letting my eyes scan between him, Winter, and Hildegarde’s goon, who was standing almost stunned, unsure of what to do. “I’d ask what you’re doing here, but I think I already know.”

“You always were a clever one,” he replied. “And, hey, I told you last time we met I’d see you again.”

“I vaguely recall that,” I said to Joshua Harding, “but I kind of figured that Century killing you would have put the kibosh on that.”

“Century didn’t kill me,” Joshua replied, that enigmatic little smile on his face. “Do you know why?”

“Of course,” I said tightly, feeling every muscle in my body tense as I looked at him. “Because you’re Sovereign.”

“The kids—your friends—were sure you were dead,” I said, looking uneasily at him. Winter was to my right, still tangled in the solid weave of Hildegarde’s hair, though he looked like he was very nearly shivering, as though the warm summer air was chilling him. Hildegarde’s last remaining flunky was just past him, still looking stunned.

“I let ’em think it,” he said. I looked at him very carefully. He was the same kid, but now I was seeing him differently. Suddenly his boundless confidence didn’t seem so out of place, and he didn’t really look fifteen or twelve or whatever anymore. He didn’t look old, but there was wisdom in his eyes that I could discern even in the dark. “Hey, I saved their lives from the squad Century sent out. Does that earn me any points in your book?”

“Very few,” I said, letting my weight shift back and forth between my legs, ready to spring. “Since you’re also in charge of the organization that’s killing all of our kind.”

“That wasn’t really my idea,” he said, and I caught a hint of mortification from him. “But I guess I can’t really dodge the responsibility for it, can I?”

“Not really.”

“Would it help if I told you it was for a good cause?” He gave me a sly smile. “Because at the end of it all, it really is.”

“It might help if you told me what the real cause was,” I said. I didn’t know if I should spring or not, find out if he was really as badass as everyone seemed to think he was. I looked to Winter and Hildegarde’s flunky; part of me was hoping they’d test the theory for me.

“Winter’s not going to come at me,” Sovereign said with that same smile. “He’s a broken man, still scared of me since I burned and crippled him after he tried to shake me down outside Peshtigo a hundred years ago. Neither is that nameless Omega red shirt, either, because I’m mentally paralyzing him right now.”

You’re a telepath?
I asked in my head.

“Yes,” he said. “But it’d be rude to have this conversation in our heads. Also, probably a little too forward for me. I don’t want to be too presumptuous; I know you’ve got enough business going on in that head of yours to keep it spinning. I don’t want to add to your problems.”

“Bub,” I said, “you are my problems, every last one of them.”

“Now, now,” he said, and took a couple steps along the wall, keeping his distance from me, “don’t exaggerate. Weissman is at least ... like 95% of your problems. I may be the big gun backing everything up, but I did not put this in motion.”

“You know, let’s just cut the shit,” I said, keeping a wary eye on him. “What do you want?”

His face creased a little as he smiled, tightly. “That’s a funny question to ask. Do you know why it’s funny?”

“Because you’re not a guy known for wanting things.”

“Mm, sorry, you didn’t phrase your answer in the form of a question,” he said with that same smile. “Kidding. It’s a Jeopardy joke. You didn’t watch that, I guess.”

“I only got an hour of TV a day, so no, a quiz show wasn’t high on my list of teenage priorities.”

“Aww, Jeopardy is more than a quiz show,” he said with good humor. I got the feeling he was trying to out-irony me, to let me know he was in on my sarcastic little view of the world, that he wanted to share my wavelength. It was the same thing he tried when I thought he was a fifteen-year old boy who was trying to hit on me, and it wasn’t any more effective. “Listen, I have walked the world. For ... a long time,” he said, stopping before telling me his actual age, probably concerned it would affect my opinion of him. “I’ve seen horror and wonder, sometimes within a breath of each other. I’ve seen humans at their best, and their worst. I’ve seen a lot, and the one constant is that there are terrible things happening out there.” He kept a sense of quiet sadness about him for his soliloquy, and I wondered if he was using his power to influence me. “It could be a better world, if we troubled ourselves to act, to make it one.”

“And here comes you,” I said, “ready to take that first step. Of course, it involves completely destroying anyone who might oppose your plans first, so naturally it has to be the bestest plan ever. Because we base our designs for a better world on ... what? Body count?” I saw him recoil only slightly. He was keeping his cool. “Hey, the good news is you’re not Hitler, Mao or Stalin, yet, though since I don’t know how phase two is going to end, you’re still in the running.”

“You don’t understand,” he said quietly. “And no, that’s not an invitation to ask me more about the plan. You’ll see what we do. You’ll be around to realize the rewards of what we’re going to accomplish. Eventually you’ll discover that we were right, that the world could be a better, safer place—”

“For those who survive,” I said, winning the award for most irony. “Go ahead, pick your broken egg/omelet rebuttal metaphor of choice, and let me know why people have to die in order to make your better world.”

“People are dying anyway,” he said, and I caught a hint of sadness in how he said it. “People die every day, and for a lot less purpose than making the world a better place.”

“Well, since your definition of ‘acceptable breakage’ and mine differ, I’m going to go out on a limb and guess my definition of a ‘better world’ isn’t going to jibe real well with yours, either.” I cracked my knuckles, and he looked at me with a sense of uncertainty, as if he felt a little sick. “Why don’t we just get this fight underway?”

“I’m not here to fight you,” he said, shaking his head. “I don’t
want
to fight you, Sienna.”

“If you want to build your ‘better world’ on a pile of corpses, you’d better be prepared for mine to be one of them,” I said as I assumed a fighting stance. “Because I’m not just going to lie down and let you kill everyone I care about.”

His hand came up, covering his face for a moment, and when it came away he looked tired, older. Same guy, just weary. “Are you even willing to listen to reason? What is it with you?”

“Maybe it’s something you said, maybe it’s something you did.” I dipped a shoulder, my version of shrugging when I was in a fighting stance. “Could be the company you keep. Like Weissman. Not a huge fan of your BFF.”

“He’s not my ...” Sovereign looked chagrined, like I’d caught him doing something embarrassing. “He’s an ally of convenience, okay?”

“I’ve had those before,” I said, and indicated Hildegarde’s prostrate body with a nod of my head. “See how well it works out?”

“She was going to betray you, you know that, right?” He looked uncertain again.

“So you’ve said.” I was still waiting for the fight to break loose, and I was beginning to wonder if he was using the same power to hold me back that he was employing on Hildegarde’s Hercules, who still had not said one damned thing. “I’m a little unclear on the why.”

“She was trying to prove her worth, buy her way into Century by clearing a few spots off our roster,” he said.

“You mean she thought that if she killed a few members of your club, you’d let her into the club?” I raised an eyebrow at the Hercules, who still stood there, looking like a helpless thing, overinflated and unsure of himself, looking haplessly from Sovereign to me. “Not the greatest plan ever.”

He looked down at her unconscious form. “She’s
your
ally.” He looked up, and was smiling again. “Maybe you should pick them more carefully.”

“Maybe you should stop killing all the good ones,” I replied with a smugness I didn’t really feel. “Or at least the more effective ones.”

“Hey, I didn’t beat the Primus of Omega to death with his own chair,” Sovereign said, stepping around Hildegarde’s body to lean against the wall, his black leather coat making a little noise as he did so. “I don’t typically go in much for wrath, but I heard you really put it to him.”

I sighed. “Are we going to discuss my greatest hits or can we just get to the fighting already?”

“Why are you so eager to fight me?” He let out a sigh. “I don’t want to fight you.”

“Then why are you here?” I asked. “To get back your telepaths?”

“What?” He frowned. “No, I know they’re dead.”

“Then why the hell did you send an army of mercs in here to shoot us up a few days ago?”

“That was Weissman,” he said quickly. “He didn’t know they were dead. Also, he is eventually going to try and kill all your friends.”

“It seems like you’re trying to make a good impression on me,” I said. “Keeping it polite and all. You know what would make a really good impression? Not killing the people I care about. Not killing random strangers. And not letting your boy Weissman do any of that, either.”

He grimaced, and I could tell he was genuinely pained. “I would if I could.” He pushed off the wall and walked over to Old Man Winter and stood behind him. Winter, for his part, stiffened as the shorter Sovereign hovered over him. “But I can’t. You know why?”

“Because you’re a neo-fascist and you just can’t get this killing of your inferiors out of your system?”

He made a face, something between a smile and a frown. “I’m not a neo-anything.”

“So does that make you a paleo-something?”

“You know why Winter did what he did to you?” Sovereign clapped both hands onto Winter’s shoulders, causing the giant man to blanch. “Because he believed that pushing you to kill was the right thing to do.” He leaned toward Winter and peeked around his arm. “Isn’t that right, Erich?”

Winter looked me in the eye. “I did what I did to make you stronger. To make you the kind of person who could—”

“That’s enough of that,” Sovereign said, and Winter stopped speaking. “She gets the point. He did something horrifying to you because he believed it was the right thing to do. What do you think about that?”

I paused, caught a little flatfooted. “I ...” I blinked, not really sure how to answer.

“Come on,” Sovereign said, encouraging. “You know how it makes you feel, don’t you? What it felt like when he did what he did? When he ordered you to be held while—”

“Shut up,” I said, my cheeks flushing hotly. “I don’t need a reminder.”

“So how did it make you feel,” Sovereign went on, “when your father figure, your newly adopted parent, replacing the old, inferior one who’d abandoned you, turned out to be even worse?” He didn’t smile.

“He’s not my father,” I said a little too abruptly.

“No, of course not,” Sovereign said, “because you’ve never actually met your father, the real one. He died before you were born. Would you like to talk to him?”

“You are such an asshole,” I said and meant it.

“I am just pointing out that the people who have helped shape you and influence you may not have been the most morally centered individuals.” He stepped out from behind Winter and spread his arms. “All your outrage at what I’m doing is at least partially grounded in the judgment given to you by a mother who locked you in a metal box regularly and a ...” He glanced back at Winter, “... a father figure who forced you to kill your first love.”

“So I should take instruction from you instead?” I asked. “Because you’re morally superior, having never locked me in a box or caused me to kill someone I care about?”

“I saved your life,” he said calmly. “Three times now and counting. No, I don’t expect you to take instruction from me. I don’t expect your opinion of me is going to change one way or another tonight. I’m just here ... to save you. To help you. I don’t care about telepaths who are already dead,” he waved a hand at the sky, “and I’m not gonna tell Weissman that you sent your mother, your brother and your British friend away with all your junior metas so you could try and draw out some of his people and kill them in a rather obvious trap.” He smiled. “He’s probably figured that one out already, anyway, if you want to know the truth.”

I felt gut-clenching fear. I had been so sure I was being clever, even though everyone but me had practically cursed me for being a fool. The dormitories were sealed tight but completely empty, wired to explode if I ordered it. And I had planned to order it, too, as soon as Weissman’s latest gambit showed up.

“It was a good plan,” Sovereign went on. “But I can read minds. The good news for you is that I’m not fussy. I’m not in a hurry. I’m more worried about doing this right and not being harsh with you than I am about running over all your friends and getting them killed. I can be flexible. There’s room for mercy in my plan. I promise you that we can build a better world, one where people aren’t starving to death or being killed in wars every day that they didn’t start or want, where the planet isn’t being killed because of selfish desires.” He didn’t smile, just looked at me grimly. “You could help. You could be the greatest force for good that the world has ever known, saving more lives over the next five thousand years or more that you’re going to live than the piddly few that we’re going to have to take to start setting things right.” He cocked his head to look at me, and his tone turned imploring. “I know it haunts you, what you’ve done. Who you’ve killed. What you’ve become in the process. You worry about the cost to your soul. Make that sacrifice mean something by truly balancing the scales.” He took in everything with a sweep of his hand. “I know you think you’re fighting the good fight against the grand evil here, but what you’re really doing is perpetuating a system that creates outcasts, isolation, alienation, fear, starvation and death. You’re fighting for everything bad and ignoble and horrible in life but you think you’re on the side of the righteous because ...” He gestured to Old Man Winter. “Because of something he told you? Because of something your mother instilled in you? These people fight to keep the status quo. Why is he even here?” He poked Winter in the chest with an outstretched finger.