Blackjack Wayward (The Blackjack Series) (43 page)

Chapter Thirty-Five

After the showdown, after he got his licks in, Superdynamic figured the next conversation was best in private. He led me up to his penthouse chambers, a circular room with a one-piece window that covered the walls and roof like a dome. From that vantage point, I figure he must have felt like the king of the world, or of Africa at least. The suite was divided by light walls, holo-emitted pretend walls that gave the place definition while allowing Superdynamic the freedom of redecorating at will. There was some real furniture as well, all futuristic and modern, intended more for show. The couches were blocky and hard, and the chairs flimsy and fragile.

I stood a few feet from the central lift, watching him run through specific programming that turned the penthouse into something personal and cozy. There was a woman up here with us, an attractive girl in her mid-twenties, who despite acting as his assistant and getting us drinks shared a few longing looks with him that led me to believe she was more than just hired help.

“This is Rebecca,” he said, noticing my interest, and she nodded curtly at me.

She was a slender woman, mostly legs like a fashion model. Rebecca’s face was out of the cover of a magazine, with alluring blue eyes so light in color they were almost grey, full lips and high cheek bones, and long, straight, blonde hair. She moved through the room like she was comfortable there, denoting ownership of not just the location, but also the man.

The room morphed and a table came out of floor, but I had not seen a verbal or visual command from Superdynamic or Rebecca. The lighting changed – the outer areas of the large suite darkened, an overhead light illuminating us from above, making the whole thing rather cozy. The stars shone above, and an inky blackness surrounded us, making it seem like we floated high above the clouds. Three chairs came up as well, and moments later another person joined us, a tall fellow dressed like a chef.

“Good evening, Alain,” Superdynamic said. “We have a guest tonight.”

He looked at me and snapped his feet, bowing ever so slightly, “Ah, it will be my pleasure.”

“Have a seat, Blackjack,” Rebecca said, indicating that I should sit across from Superdynamic as he took his place at the head. The table was big enough for six, though there were only three settings, and she took a spot next to him.

“We have a navy bean and escarole soup with andouille sausage,” Alain began. “Followed by a tropical mango salad. Then some rock shrimp risotto with asparagus tips finished with lemon, and finally Caribbean seared ahi tuna marinated in sesame oil, with wasabi mashed potatoes and a tropical papaya salsa.”

“If it’s going to be he condemned man’s final meal,” I said, “then hook me up with five or six steaks with some of those wasabi potatoes.”

Alain regarded me like an infidel, as if I had just walked into his kitchen and rearranged everything. If he had been holding a gun at that very moment, I would be riddled with bullets.

“It’s ok, Alain,” Superdynamic. “He’ll have what we’re having.”

Nodding, the chef returned to the lift, flashing me a contemptuous glare as he dropped into the ground.

“I could eat half a cow,” I shrugged.

Rebecca stood and served us wine, watching me curiously the whole time.

“No wonder you’re so big, Blackjack,” Superdynamic said, making her giggle.

“Thanks,” I said as she finally poured me and set the bottle in the middle of the table before sitting down.

“He’s very handsome,” she told him, as if I wasn’t in the room. “I can see what she sees in him.”

I raised an eyebrow and acted sheepish.

“But he looks like a homeless person.”

I wondered if I had made any major mistakes as I ran my fingers through my newly cut hair.

“You act different around women,” Superdynamic said.

I looked over at Rebecca, who was studying me as if for her final exam.

“He’s more charming, less defensive,” she said and reached over to take his hand, “Take off the silly costume, darling.”

He took another drag on his wine and stood, walking to a far corner of the room that was morphing into another one of those showerhead thingies with an energy curtain. Stepping in, the armor peeled off his skin and just floated in the air, ready to come back on at a moment’s notice. The whole process took less than five seconds. He came back to the table wearing a suit more like mine, his face free of any protection.

“This wine is pretty tasty,” I said.

“Organic, made right here. Everything you’re going to eat is either grown or cultivated at the Tower, Mr. Blackjack,” she said, beaming with pride as Dr. de la Rocha had.

“It’s okay, I’m flexible. This organic/vegetarian stuff can’t be too bad, right? Oh, and by the way, call me Dale.”

She smiled.

“So, what?” I continued. “We eat, then go to D.C.?”

Talk of business immediately soured Rebecca’s expression, and I knew right there she was more than just a casual acquaintance. Superdynamic looked at her, his face still stern.

“I’m sorry,” she said, noticing how downcast she had been. “I don’t mean to ruin the evening.”

“It’s okay, baby,” he said, looking back at me. “But yeah, Dale’s right. After this we’ll have to go. The only question is whether he’s coming or not.”

Before I could say anything, the lift came up with Alain and two of his staff in tow. They carried several trays, going around the table and serving piping hot bowls of soup.

Rebecca thanked them, and after telling us “Bon appetite,” Alain and his crew were gone.

I dug in, and I can’t say I enjoyed the soup much. The white beans were a little tasteless, and the sausage was too spicy, but I guess that’s what the dish was going for: the dichotomy of the two flavors. I did notice that Rebecca just toyed with her dish, taking only a few spoonfulls, and Superdynamic’s attention was mostly on her.

“I’m coming,” I announced, figuring a strong stance would be a better bargaining point.

Superdynamic smiled. “And how are you going to get there?”

“I still have my boots,” I said. “I left them in my room ‘cause I didn’t want to ruin your fancy dinner.”

He motioned toward one of the walls and something floated toward him from the dark reaches of the room. It was a small hover platform, atop which sat my boots.

“You mean these?” he mocked, taking one and looking it over. It was a pathetic thing, my old, beat-up leather boot with the metal and wire frame that held the Odyssey’s rocket packs. In comparison to all his great designs and achievements, it looked like something a child had come up with.

“Laugh all you want,” I said, soothing my own bruised ego. “But I built that in the desert out of junk parts and no tools. Hell, I was peeling wires with my teeth.”

He gave it another glance and shrugged, as if he could do better with the working parts of a leaf blower.

“I’m not sure this will work further. The throttle assemblies are shot, and one of the carburetors looks stuck, maybe melted closed.”

“I’ll fix it.”

“With what tools? With what spare parts?”

I stood suddenly, enraged. He was holding the boots as if he meant to keep them from me, to destroy them, perhaps.

“We gonna do it that way?” I said, and Superdynamic came to his feet, his jaw muscles clenched tight. As if realizing the escalation of the situation, Rebecca also stood, looking back at Superdynamic’s costume, too far away to help him now.

“Please, Dale,” she said.

“No,” I said, noticing how tightly I was clenching my fists, how heavy my breathing was. “You’re not keeping me back here just because you don’t like me. There’s too much at stake.”

Alain popped up again, with his servants in tow. His crew either didn’t notice the tension or merely ignored it and started clearing the table of the soup and serving the salad. Alain himself saw us facing each other off, and very quietly helped his crew and returned to the lift.

“Dale,” Rebecca said. “I’m sure Jeffrey’s just worried about your safety.”

He snapped a look at her, angry that she had used his real name.

“Oh, I knew your name was Jeff,” I said. “Or did you forget that Apogee used it back on Hashima?”

Superdynamic looked down at the salad for almost ten seconds before sitting down.

“I can’t trust you,” he said, finally.

I looked over at Rebecca, who was motioning for me to sit, pouring more wine, and I took my chair.

“I can’t say I blame you,” I admitted.

Jeff toyed with his salad a moment before releasing his fork in disgust.

“You see, I saw you, back at Hashima, back in New York. I saw how dangerous you are.”

“I know, but I–”

“Let me finish,” he interrupted. “I need to say this.”

He paused, cleaning his hands with the napkin.

“I was there, Blackjack. You forget, but I was there. The world was in danger and you stood on the wrong side of things.”

“Things ended up all right,” I said.

“Maybe,” he acknowledged. “And according to Madelyne, you saved the day. You turned the machine off when Retcon went crazy...and you saved her life. But that’s just luck, don’t you see? If you had let us do our job, we would have done it just the same. I know you think supers are sloppy, and I know...well...I know that sometimes our methods are questionable.”

“She told me.”

He looked straight at me.

“Madelyne told me that you guys were hired killers.”

Shrugging, he went on, “Well, what do you expect? It gets to a point where you’re a threat to humanity. You’re like Ebola, or Malaria. You think I would have hesitated to take you out? Even if it meant saving just one life.” He snapped his fingers. “In a second. Like that, gone forever and I would have slept like a baby that night, you understand? I know Maddie was conflicted over that, after the fact. But at the moment? You were a threat, Blackjack. You were a danger to every person on earth, and if it makes you squeamish that we might bring overwhelming force on you, and that, yes, you might end up dead...well, you’re in the wrong line of business.”

“I’m learning that the hard way.”

He took a bite from his salad.

“Doesn’t it matter that he has changed his ways?” Rebecca chimed in.

“Has he? Have you? Two hours on this station and you start playing games with a young innocent girl that doesn’t know better–”

“I’m sorry about that, dammit,” I said.

“You forget, I saw that crazy look in your eyes when you pulled that stunt on Epic.”

Superdynamic took a drag from his wine, waving Rebecca off when she went to refill it. “I’m okay, baby.”

“Yeah,” he continued. “He wanted to solo Epic. What kind of crazy bullshit is that? I’ve never seen it in my life. And of course, Epic, being the imbecile he was, takes you up on it. I couldn’t believe my eyes. The world hanging in the balance and you two dunces were playing games! I was there, Blackjack. I saw.”

“But Apogee said he was good,” Rebecca pleaded, trying to find a friendlier way to end the discussion.

“Look, I’ve known Apogee for...fifteen years?” he said after giving it some thought. “I was around when she first came up, when she joined the first Revolution. She’s not just a friend, Dale. She’s like family, like the sister I never had. Me and Mirage, and....” he trailed off, obviously wanting to refer to Pulsewave.

“We’ve been with her, through all the shit. You have to understand how hard it is for a woman, in her position. I mean, she’s the biggest female super in the world. Who’s more famous, better known? Bamma? Maybe recently. Ms. Starbright, Persephone? I bet more people know who Apogee is than George Washington, or Ronald McDonald. Anyway, that doesn’t matter.”

He paused, frustrated that he’d gone off on a tangent.

“She means everything to me, Jeff,” I said, using his real name on purpose.

“She means everything to all of us, to Mirage in particular.”

“That why he’s so cold with me?”

Superdynamic laughed.

“He’s like that with everyone, but yeah; don’t look to Chen for friendship. Nothing you say or do will change that. He saw what happened to her after Hashima, what you did to her.”

I almost dropped my fork, “I didn’t do anything to her.”

He shook his head.

“I was a fucking gentleman– sorry, I–” I stammered suddenly embarrassed with my language.

“It’s okay, say ‘fuck’ if you want,” she said. “This is good, you guys are sharing.”

“This isn’t about us,” he began. “This is–”

“No, wait a minute,” I said. “I want to know what Mirage thinks I did to her.”

He took a big bite of the mango salad and washed it down.

“I’m not sure you want to hear this,” he said.

“I do.”

Jeff shrugged and poured himself more wine.

“After Hashima, Apogee quit.”

“I know,” I said, though I had just heard her say that moments before the fight began, I had seen that weary look in her eyes, that frustration she carried from being on the wrong side. Whatever she actually did after Hashima, I don’t know about; I was in Utopia’s Lalaland.