Black and White (37 page)

Iridium examined the diagram. “I’m more of a chemistry girl, but I’d say if you hit that set of circuits there,” she said, pointing, “it’ll take out the backup city power. They won’t have a shot of fixing it in time.”

“Good enough.” With a touch of his hand, he fried the entire junction box.

Iridium frowned at him. “Was that completely necessary?”

“Never hurts to be sure.”

“Come on.” Passersby were starting to cough on the acrid smoke rising from the box; she and Taser had to get moving. Now.

After they stripped out of the jumpsuits and stuffed them into a trash ’bot, Iridium breathed a little easier. Granted, not much easier. They wore white coveralls now: Corp uniforms with its imposing black concentric
C
s on the breast pocket.

“See you on the other side,” said Taser.

She nodded grimly.

They left the alley at opposite ends and Iridium waited for an Academy shuttle to come by. It stopped for her, keying onto the frequency of her badge. Taser would take the next one. She moved to the back, picked a seat, and tried to blend with the rest of the lapdogs.

Next to her, a woman said “Hi!” in a tone so perky it could shatter glass. Clipped to her pink blouse was an ID badge with a cursive
R
in the upper left corner.

A Runner. Just great.

“Hello,” said Iridium, striving for nonchalance. Her black hair was tucked under a cap, and she’d worn her doctor’s glasses and purple contacts for insurance, but she couldn’t be sure the Runner wasn’t a fangirl.

“You’re new!”

“Uh-huh,” said Iridium as the shuttle whirred along, entering the private tunnel that led to the service entrance of the Academy. The plans flickered in Iridium’s mind. She was moving, like a clot in an artery, making her way to the heart of the system.

“What division are you? I’m a Runner!” The Runner lowered her voice. “
I
work for Hornblower He’s dreamy!”

“You’re smoking junk.”

The Runner blinked. “Excuse me?”

“I said he sure is a hunk.”

“Isn’t he, though?”

“Sure. This is my stop.”

“Well … bye!” the Runner chirped, levity recovered.

Iridium restrained herself from running off the shuttle. Just another working drone, she reminded herself as she walked with a group of other Academy workers. Just another day at the superoffice.

Just before the biodetector gate, a guard stopped her. “ID, miss.”

Iridium flashed it at him, and he blipped her with a scanner. “First day?”

“Yes,” said Iridium, smiling brightly. “I wasn’t supposed to start until next week, but apparently there’s a problem with the cooling system. They’re calling all the Maintenance workers in.”

The guard frowned. “Temperature feels fine to me.”

Iridium kept smiling, taking her badge back. “Wait for it.”

She walked past the guard, through the biodetector that would scan her for metal, disease, disguise, contagion … and then she was joining a line of other jumpsuited workers, shuffling along at that don’t-really-care pace so many people adopted when they worked too many hours for too little money.

Iridium looked at the arched white walls, familiar as if she’d last been inside the Academy an hour ago.

She allowed herself a tiny grin. “I’m back,” she whispered.

Half an hour later, Iridium approached the double blast doors that housed the Academy’s generator complex. She’d run a few training exercises here, as a student, with Jet and
Derek and Chen, back in Third Year. Enclosed spaces, embedded opponents. Jet hadn’t been a fan; too many variables, especially with the inflatable “civilians” acting as shields.

One time, Iridium’s solution had been to toss a smoke grenade into the generator room and wait for the Containment “enemies” to come stumbling out. Frostbite had frozen them, and the op was over. Celestina had failed her for not following Squadron protocol. “You could have given those citizens lifelong respiratory problems!” she’d chided. Once again, a reminder that heroes were supposed to play by the rules.

The thought made Iridium smile.

“Maintenance?” said the guard at the door. “You’re not scheduled.”

“Nope,” she said, silently counting down. The cameras were on a thirty-second sweep. She heard a lift swish down the corridor, and Taser appeared, back in his costume, his face once again hidden by his goggled mask. Smiling at the guard, she said, “But trust me, this is where I’m supposed to be.”

“Huh?” The guard cocked his head. “What do you—”

The camera cycled away, and Iridium jabbed him in the throat. He collapsed without a sound, mouth working like a hooked fish’s.

Taser put his hand against the blast doors. “You’re sure the tilithium coats all of the walls in there?”

“That’s what the plans say,” Iridium said tersely. “Hurry up. We’re got twelve seconds.”

Taser exhaled, and a stream of electric currents writhed free of his hand, crackling over the door. The lights flickered once, twice—and as Iridium counted
six, five, four …
they went out.

No red emergency lights came on. No
alarm
Klaxons sounded. The backup power from the city grid wasn’t coming to the Academy’s rescue.

Far off, above her, Iridium heard screaming as students and heroes and Runners were plunged into dark. She couldn’t help it: She grinned. Looking over to where she was just able to make out the shine of Taser’s goggles, she said, “Nice work, Ace.”

“Light us up.”

Iridium created a bobbing strobe to guide them to the lift. Taser tapped the call pad, and the box slid open. Once they were both inside, he electrified the control panel to override security protocol, then the door slid back. Iridium looked up, imagining the thunk of the security doors slamming shut as they automatically detected the power outage.

Taser followed her gaze. “Gonna be a lot of trapped, pissed-off grunts up there.”

“Not as pissed off as the heroes will be when they find themselves without a way out of the Rat Network,” said Iridium. “Ops still has power, and they’re going to know something is up. So move this tin can.”

“I love a woman who gives me orders,” Taser said with a grin, then he zapped the lift control. “Going up.”

F
orgot to tell you,” Terry said brightly. “Bruce is running late. Hee, I made a joke! Running late!”

Jet smiled as she accepted the cup of tea, but her stomach was heaving. Why was he late today, of all days? Was it because of what happened yesterday? No, nonsense. He was a professional Runner.

Whom she’d slept with. Oh, Light, she was in trouble.

“I’m sure he’ll be here as soon as he can,” Jet said casually. “If it’s a problem for you, Terry, why don’t you pack it in? I’ll be okay on my own.”

Terry grinned. “Right, I bet. Bruce clued me in on your sneaking out of bed to help save a little old lady.” She clucked her tongue. “You’re on bed rest, Jet.”

“Just for one more day,” she said around her smile, trying not to growl.

“Exactly. For one more day. You’re following doctor’s orders. At least, you are when I’m on duty.”

Chagrined, Jet sipped her tea. Terry smiled over her victory and left Jet alone.

Oh boy, she was in
a lot
of trouble.

How could she have slept with Bruce? What had she been thinking?

Well, that was easy. She’d been thinking how sexy he was, and how horny she was, and how his lips were so enticing and his eyes so electric …

Right. It was thoughts like that, that got her into trouble in the first place.

She had to tell Corp. What she’d done was strictly against policy. Bruce could sue her for sexual harassment.

Then again, he hadn’t been complaining yesterday. And he’d been the one who’d instigated. It wasn’t her fault.

She let out a bitter laugh. Yeah, that would play real well. How many times had criminals wailed that it hadn’t been their fault?

Grow up, Jet. When he gets here, you’ll talk to him. Like a grown-up. And you’ll figure it out from there.

She finished her tea and set the cup down. Nothing to do but wait for Bruce to arrive. And then they’d talk.

And maybe they’d do more than talk …

Stop that.

To pass the time, she picked up the paperback romance on her nightstand. After reading the same passage three times without really seeing what she was reading, Jet put the book down.

Instead of thinking about Bruce, her mind was focused on Iridium.

Joannie, you’re hurt. Bad. Is heroing worth tearing yourself apart?

Callie had said that to her. She had been nearly delirious from pain, but it had still penetrated.

Iri had wanted to help her.

Jet’s head started to throb, so she leaned back against the pillow and closed her eyes. It made no sense. Iridium was rabid. Iridium didn’t give a damn about her, about everything heroes stood for. She’d proven that five years ago. All Iridium cared about was Iridium.

And yet …

You can either get in my way and be burned by my strobe
, Iridium said, cocky and arrogant, then when Jet tried to bat the ball of ever-brightening light away, she’d hissed:
Careful, that’s over a thousand BTUs of heat!

Iridium didn’t have to warn her. Iridium could have let her get burned.

But when Jet had wrapped her in Shadow and Iridium had cried out, had begged for her to stop, Jet let her go … and Iridium had sucker punched her.

Iridium didn’t give a damn about her.

And yet …

I
am
smarter than you, Jet, especially now. I’m not going to warn you again.

Why had Iridium warned her? If Iri really cared, then why was she a rabid? Why did she turn her back on the Academy and Corp all those years ago? Why had she turned her back on Jet?

And what had Iridium been doing in the tunnels? She couldn’t be working for Everyman. She couldn’t. Not after Third Year.

Maybe something with the Undergoths?

Or …

She hissed in a breath, doubled over. Oh, by the Light, her head hurt.

Wincing, Jet rubbed her temples, fought off a maddening urge to put in her comlink. As if that would help. She
reached over to her nightstand and turned up the volume on the white-noise setting. “Babbling Brook” filled her ears, but did nothing to ease the pounding in her head.

She grabbed the phone—audio only; she couldn’t get to the actual vidphone in the kitchen, not with Terry herefrom her nightstand and punched in Night’s direct extension. When his familiar cold voice answered, she said, “Hey, old man.”

“Joan.” He sounded either surprised or irked. “How’re you feeling?”

“Fine, sir. Eager to get out of bed and back into uniform.”

“I understand. Did I ever tell you about the time Mister Mystery laid me up for the better part of a month? Very frustrating. I was fresh out of the Academy when it happened too. And … there we go. Clean channel. What is it, Jet?”

“Sir, I need you to tell me why I’m not pursuing Everyman. Why we’re cleaning out the Rat Network.”

“We’ve been through this.”

“No, sir, not really. You haven’t told me why, just what.” She closed her eyes, saw Iri’s face. “Why are we using Iridium like this?”

“‘Using Iridium’?”

His tone made her flinch.

“We are
not
using her. She is an excuse, yes. But we most certainly aren’t using her.”

“But she had nothing to do with Lynda Kidder’s abduction.” Or her death.

“She walked away from the Academy, from you, long ago. She’s a criminal, like her father. You have to push aside old friendships and commit yourself to the only course of action that matters.”

“But why aren’t we going after Everyman?”

“Because that’s suicide, Jet.”

It’s suicide
, Martin Moore agreed, sounding grave.
Or, depending on how many humans are around you when you finally go, homicide.

“Corp has a quiet agreement with the Society,” Night said. “We leave them alone, and other than sound and fury, they follow suit.”

“But,” she spluttered, her mind unwilling to grasp what Night was saying, “but how could that be?” She remembered Wurtham’s scorn when they’d appeared together on the Goldwater show, the look of pure loathing in his eyes. “They hate us. They’d never work with us. And Corp would never condone such a thing.”

In her mind, Moore laughed.
Who do you think did this to you in the first place?

“Jet,” Night said, “it’s been this way for years. Haven’t you ever wondered why there hadn’t been another assault from Everyman since Samson died?”

“But Martin Moore—”

“Belongs to a fringe organization of the Society. We know, Jet. The EC is hunting him down, with the Society’s help. Quietly. This is an embarrassment to both organizations.”

At least I’m not being deluded by a megalomaniacal organization bent on ruling the world.

“How could Corp work with Everyman?” she asked, her voice breaking. “It’s
wrong
, it’s—”

“It’s business, Jet. Just business.”

She clenched her fist. “It’s untenable.”

After a long pause, he said, “I understand your rage.” His voice was quiet, and utterly terrifying. “Trust me, I understand. And a reckoning will come.”

Her stomach knotted. “A … reckoning?”

“Soon. A little more patience, Jet. You concentrate on healing. I need you at full strength.”

She whispered, “For what, sir?”

“To stand at my side, little Shadow. To stand at my side.”

T
he elevator ride to Ops was interminable. Iridium tapped her fingers against the panel as they glided through blackness.