Citadel (Book 1): Training in Necessity (12 page)

That was the only word that fit the room.  It was a huge, dome of a room, completely unadorned.  Except, of course, for the large black chair in the center.  That was actually the only thing he'd seen that he approved of.  It was a great steel thing, black and imposing.  Even as he studied the man sitting on it, he decided to keep the throne after Stainless was dead.

The man was wearing a white suit, complete with vest and tie, gloves and a white helmet.  The helmet was close fitting, a single piece that concealed the head and neck.  The face plate was flat, featureless.  He had no idea what it was made from.  It looked like metal, but even as the man's head rose, the neck piece flowed and shifted like cloth.

"Stainless?" he asked.  For once, he didn't have to make any effort to sound confident.

"Indeed."  Stainless' voice was distorted, like a machine was speaking, toneless and even.  "And you would be?"

"Lord Invincible." his grin was something new to him, feral and joyful.  He walked forward to stand before the throne, on its raised dais.  Stainless didn't bother to stand, just sat with one leg crossed over the other and his hands in a steeple before him.  "Coward, weakling, this is my city now."

"Is it?" came the strange voice's replay.

"Ha," he laughed, "your traps couldn't stop me.  They just made me stronger."  The soon to be former Lord of the city seemed to shrink before him.  "What could you possibly throw at me, that won't just do the same?"

Stainless stood from his throne, his for now, and walked towards him.  Lord Invincible was surprised at how short the man was.  He could see the rounded top of his helmet, shining in the light.  He stopped a few feet away, just out of reach.  Wait, something was wrong.  Stainless was still getting shorter but...

He looked down and laughed.  He was flying!

"See!  I'm getting stronger all the time!" he declared.

A mechanized sigh, and something that could have been a laugh, came from the featureless mask.

"I take it your powers don't enhance your intelligence?"

"Charts say it's unlikely." answered another voice.

What?  Who was that third voice?  It seemed to have come from the ceiling.

"So you think you can fly?  Just move forward.  All you have to do is hit me." Stainless taunted.

Why hadn't he felt the burning?  He tried to fly, tried to land, but nothing happened.

"No, I thought not."

Jaime hated his job.  Despite being completely sealed, the helmet didn't obstruct his view.  He assumed there were concealed cameras or something.  That made it harder to ignore the idiot screaming at him.  The fool was floating a few feet off the ground and naked.  Apparently, he wasn't smart enough to figure out that with nothing to push against, he couldn't move himself.

The room's previously concealed entrances appeared as floor panels slid aside.  Some of Stainless’s other men came in, carrying a variety of equipment.  He tried to remember his next lines.  The Shirts were assembling a metal container around the poor boy.  The sphere's exterior had a number of devices attached to it, ready to maintain the weightless effect once the floor unit was shut off.  Jamie positioned himself so that he'd be the last thing the sorry bastard saw.

"You call yourself Lord Invincible?  Wrong.  You cannot be harmed, not truly, but you can be defeated.  Anyone can be."

The last section of the sphere slid into place with a clang.  He took off the helmet.

"Anyone know if that guy's gonna suffocate in there?" he asked, trying to keep the hope out of his voice.

"Chart says no.  He made it through a room filled with chlorine gas, no sign of discomfort even though there wasn't any air."

"He'll probably be in there a long time, then." he said, failing to hide his feeling of pity.

The Shirts lowered the sphere onto a platform and began moving it below.  It'd probably end up in the storage area.  Jamie headed towards another opening, hoping that this would be the last intrusion he'd have to play bait for.

Somewhere below the giant trap that looked like a building, there was a trio of Suits.  They were gathered in the center of a moderately sized room, studying the markings on the walls.

"Any issues?" one of them asked.

"No, the attacker was subdued by the first measure in the throne room." answered a second man.  "The enhanced strength and durability protocols were enough."

"This still feels weird." added the last man.  "I mean, it’s a series of flow charts."  He pointed to the top row on the column marked DEFENSE.  "Guys gets through the outer fence, and the thing tells us what measures to get ready, depending on the method he uses.  He breaks through the wall and runs into a bunch of defenses."  The others didn't answer, letting him make his point.  "If one takes him down, problem solved.  Otherwise, his reaction to each one helps determine the protocols we use in the throne room."  He paused, pondering his next point.

"Yes?" prompted the first speaker.

"I've been a Suit for three months now.  There've been a dozen attacks by Lords strong enough to be a real threat.  Every one of them taken down by a plan that I would have called brilliant, perfectly tailored to their strengths and weakness."

"Would have?" asked the second.

"If I didn't know they were the product of a flow chart, one written before the building was built, yeah.  Knowing that, it just seems... unreal."  He struggled to find words, there was more, something he wanted, and was afraid, to ask.  "We've got charts for dealing with Lords, organizing work groups, trading with the Lords of other cities, anything you could name."

"Yeah, that's right."  He didn't notice which of them spoke.

"It’s incredible, but...  Who made it?"  The other two just stared at him, before answering in unison.

"Stainless."

"You're telling me he's real?  I just assumed..." he was at a loss for words.  "He's not just someone you made up?  A stalking horse?"  Were they serious?  "I just thought, all this, that it was a bunch of Lords with precog or mental powers.  That... maybe I'd get to meet them eventually."  The other two shared a look, before one answered him.

"No.  Stainless is very real, he's just not in the city anymore."

"He's running the city by flowchart, and he's not even here?"

"Yes.  He wrote these up, then left." they answered.

"So where is he?" he asked.

"Specifically?  We don't know.  He said he was going to gain another city."  He just stared at them in shock.  Lords that held more than one city were rare.  But if he could protect this one by proxy... maybe.

"One thing," the first to speak added, "before you continue to ask questions like this..." he gestured to another section of wall, "you should probably read that one."

He followed the suggestion.  The column was labeled TREASON (SUITS).  Its entry was only one word:
Don't
.

Lord Ruler didn't know what to do.  He'd been a city Lord for six years.  In all that time, he'd never faced an enemy that gave him cause to worry.  He was stronger than ten men, healed from any wound instantly, could move metal by will alone and control the emotions of those around him.  Better yet, most opponents couldn't even affect him with their powers.  He was immune to all but the strongest of the other Lords.

Yet now...  now he had a foe that was different.  His most trusted servants had been murdered, others turned against each other.  His human underlings were panicked, in disarray.  He had no idea who the interloper was, didn't know his powers or what his plans were.  Obviously, the coward was trying to bring him down from the shadows, but how?  Eventually, this fool would have to face Lord Ruler.  Then, then he would learn.

"I am invincible." he said.

"Oh?"

The intruder's voice was mechanized, unrecognizable.  He stepped through the room's entrance, wearing a white suit, gloves and featureless helmet.  No part of him was exposed, not hands or face.  The man's body language was confident, betraying no sign of weakness.  Ruler could see his guards' corpses behind the man.  Despite the blood on the floor, the man was stainless.

CHAPTER 7:  ALTERNATIVES

Training Area

Isaac read the schedule board.  Apparently he'd dropped a rank, despite not having been challenged.  He was number twenty now.  Hector had said that most of last week's challenges had been people from the lower ranks who were going after someone in the top ten, so it made sense that if one of them lost, Isaac would drop a rank.  Actually, from what he remembered, most of the class had challenged.  It was a little surprising that he was still as high as he was.  The people at the top must have been there for a reason.

He found the new name above him, Anna Insight.  It sounded vaguely familiar, so he used his phone to check his mail for last week's schedule.  Huh.  She'd gone from last place to first.  Weird, but why did he recognize her name?  Isaac was pretty sure he didn't know her.  To tell the truth, other than his housemates, he hadn't really spent much time with any of the trainees.  Well, except Jenny.  She had a surprisingly good head on her shoulders. It was impressive, especially for a teenager.  He would've liked to say the distance he was keeping was just the age thing, but... yeah.  Something to talk about tomorrow, maybe.

And there was his name on the list of challenges.  Looks like he'd have to fight again.  Not something that made him happy, but something he'd need to do, regardless.  If Isaac couldn't manage to get through a training match without losing his cool, there wasn't much point in him being here.  Hopefully, whoever scheduled the challenge matches would set his late enough in the day that he wouldn't have to reschedule his meeting with the counselor.

Regardless, he'd have to do his best, make sure Donald Dust didn't just take his spot.  Poor kid, that was just awful.  Maybe Isaac should let him know that alliteration was neither required nor a good idea when it came to naming?  He'd have at least one more opportunity to change it.  Trainees took a new name when they were accepted to the Citadel, but they weren't final until they graduated.

Medical Section
 

"So this anger, it's not a new thing?" Jessie Healer asked Isaac.

"No.  I've always-" he paused to think, "I've always been angry.  Not at anyone or anything in particular, but...  well, sometimes I'd have cause."

"How do you mean?" she asked.

"It used to be, if I lost a match or failed a test, that I could feel it.  It was like a red fire in my stomach, pushing me.  I'd use it to train harder or study more, and eventually it would fade." he tried to explain.

"That sounds like it was constructive." she observed.

"Sometimes, yeah." he admitted, but that wasn't all of it.  "That was when I was angry at myself.  The times when I messed up, failed."  He'd told his wife about this but it wasn't something he'd shared with anyone else.  "There were other times.  Someone would say something in a bar, maybe a party...  I tried to keep control of myself, but... there were a couple times when it got violent."

"Who started these fights?" she asked.

"They did.  I wasn't a saint or anything, but I never threw the first punch."

"Is there... something you'd like to add to that?"  Right, empath, he'd let himself forget.  "You don't have to.  You don't have to tell me anything you don't want to."

"No, you're right.  Not much point coming here if I'm not going to be honest." he admitted.  "I never swung first, but I was pretty good at making sure they did." he sighed.  "You say the right thing, smile the right way, and you can get most people to start something."

"That's true."

"I guess I've got two types of mad.  The first one's hot.  It pushes me forward, makes me try harder and won't let me quit.  The other, it's cold, dark.  That one, it doesn't push me.  It's more like..."  He couldn't say it without sounding silly.  A strange thing for a man like him to worry about, but there it was.

"Go on, please."

"It doesn't push me.  It's more like, it pulls everything else into place.  I see what to do, how to do it, and I don't have a choice.  It's not that it keeps me from stopping, from holding back.  I just can't imagine doing anything else."

"So this cold anger, that's what you felt when you put two men in the hospital?  I believe it was during your freshman year."

"How-?"  The cops had ruled it self-defense.  He wasn't even charged.

"You consented to a background check when you applied to the Citadel.  We are very thorough."  There was no judgment in her voice.  "The police reports didn't have much detail.  Would you like to explain what happened?"

"My roommate OD'ed."

"Ronald Roost, is that right?" she asked.

"Yeah, Ronny.  I knew he was partying too hard but...  Anyway, they sold it to him.  I tracked them down, found the bar they dealt out of."  This might get him kicked out, but so could holding back.  "I bought some stuff, then I got them to think I was going to snitch to the cops.  They decided to jump me.  One of them pulled a knife... and I guess you know the rest."

"What is it that's bothering you?  Here and now, I mean?"

"I figure this is it, the thing that takes me off the list of operative candidates." he admitted.

"No Isaac, it isn't.  I can't speak to the rest of your training, but this falls well within the psych profile we already had for you."

"What?"  That didn't- he'd as good as murdered two people.  Why would they-?

"Isaac.  You may have provoked them in a fit of... well, I suppose fit of rage isn't quite the right phrase.  While you were in the grip of this cold anger, you provoked two criminals whose actions contributed to the death of your friend.  You provoked them, but they chose to act.  Have you had your class on Procedures, yet?"

"I have."  He didn't see where she was going.

"Would you mind explaining Class Five and Four threats, and the acceptable responses?"  Oh.

"Class Five, an Empowered individual poses an immediate threat to the life of another person.  Class Four, an Empowered individual with a history of repeated Class Fives, or who poses an immediate threat to the lives of a small group of individuals." he recited.  "Accepted method for a Class Five, apprehend the individual.  Their death is acceptable, but should be avoided.  Class Four, kill or apprehend the individual.  Death isn't mandatory, but their survival isn't a priority."  Not exact, but the sense was there.

"I realize none of you were Empowered at the time.  But. if you had been, would the Citadel consider your actions acceptable?"  He thought about it, taking the time to be sure.

"Yeah.   It probably wouldn't even come up for review."  He wondered if that was a good thing.  He didn't regret what he'd done, but he wasn't sure it had been the right thing, either.

"I'm afraid we're pretty much out of time here, but there's something I'd like to say, before you go."

He nodded.  "Go ahead."

"Your anger, even that black rage, is as much a part of you as your powers.  You're learning to use the second.  It sounds like you already know how to use the first.  Maybe you should try learning how to use them together?"

"I'll think about it."  If you said the right thing, the right way, you could get anyone to take a swing at you.  Or, stop them.  "This isn't exactly the way I'd thought anger management therapy would go."

"Isaac, this is the Citadel."  She smiled again; it wasn't a warm one.  "We do things differently, here."

Isaac smiled at Jenny on his way out, but he didn't pay much attention to her greeting.  He was still thinking about what Jessie Healer had said.  It wasn't quite right, but there was definitely something there.  Anger... in a lot of ways, it was what fueled him.  Even before the- No.

Even before, it was anger that motivated him.  A refusal to quit, an inability to accept things as they were, that had been what had driven him to success.  He'd told people that he'd been an accountant.  He thought he'd mentioned doing some boxing in college.  That was true, but not the whole story.  He'd won a diamond belt and used the prize as seed money.  Isaac had been an accountant, but he'd been the owner of his own firm.  Admittedly, a small one, but that was still a highly unusual thing for a twenty five year old.  By the time he was thirty, he had a dozen employees and he'd been trying to convince- He'd wanted them to work together.

This wasn't a problem of motivation.  When he'd lost it against Hector... he'd wanted to...  He didn't have the words.  Hurt?  Kill?  Protect?  Everything, all at once.  Every last feeling he'd ever had during a fight had been in his head at the same time.  It pushed his power, hard.  But strength wasn't his issue.  Against Jenny, he hadn't felt anything but a bit of worry and then surprise.  As far as Isaac was concerned, he'd lost both fights.  For the same reason too, he'd lost control.  That was it, then.

When he was hot, he pushed himself forward.  When he was cold, he pulled others in.  He didn't need that extra bit, that desire to hurt that came with the cold, but he could still use the basic approach.  He was already strong enough, he didn't need to work for that.  Now he knew what he would work for.

The Sparring Fields

Isaac kept his face still, impassive, while the healer asked them about their powers.  He let the Dust boy answer first.

"I, uh..."  The boy interrupted himself to look at him, swallowed, then continued.  "I'm normal.  Any... anything that gets through will hurt.  But... but I'm good at stopping that."

"Very well." answered the healer.  "And you, Trainee Isaac?"

"I can't be harmed." he said, coldly, then turned to look down at his opponent.  "I don't know why you chose me."  He had to force it, but he put a bit of contempt in his voice.  "I promise, it will not go well for you."

"Enough!"  The Healer interrupted him.  "Trainee, if you say another word before the match, I'll call it here and now!"  That was the first show of emotion he'd seen from one of the Citadel's healers.  "Is that understood?"

Isaac just nodded, not taking his eyes off Donnie.  The kid was visibly wilting before him.  He felt a little bad about this.  But, if it worked, it could make the difference between being an operative and a washout.

"Trainee Dust, your use of force against Isaac is unrestricted.  You win if you render him helpless or he says 'I yield.'  You forfeit the match if you speak the same phrase, or you break through the dome's walls.  You may also tap the ground or your opponent, if you wish to yield but are unable to speak."

Isaac wished he could read the healer's expression.  Those masks they wore, traditional for healers in and out of the Citadel, covered their mouths and noses.  They might have been meant to stop the spread of infection, but they did a good job of hiding a healer's face as well.

"Isaac, you win if you render helpless Trainee Dust or if he speaks the phrase 'I yield.'  You forfeit the match if you breach the dome, speak the same phrase, or exceed acceptable force levels.  For the purpose of this match, lethal force constitutes severe damage to Trainee Dust's torso or head, as well as full amputation of one of his arms or legs.

Do you both understand the terms of this match?"

Isaac just nodded, while Donald was answering.

"Then please enter the combat dome.  You may begin when the tone sounds.  Stop, immediately, when it sounds again."

The two trainees separated and entered the dome from opposite sides.  As soon as they left the healer, Isaac began concentrating on his field.  He needed it as strong as he could get it, but he wanted to keep the visual aspect to a minimum.  After a few moments of that, there was a slight rippling in the air around him.  It looked like heat distortion.  He could feel the burning, just behind his forehead.  He kept pushing at it, making it stronger, until it felt like a spike driven into his skull.  He tried not to let the struggle show on his face, kept it cold and distant.  He stood straight, crossed his arms, and waited for the match to begin.

Don hadn't done any research before the match, didn't even try to put a face to the name he'd picked.  All he'd known was that Isaac Strong was five ranks above him.  He wanted to get as high as he could before graduation.  They said rank didn't affect that, but it was obvious how they'd pick the trainees who went on to intervention teams.  He met Isaac for the first time when they both approached Geoffrey Healer, just before the match.  He'd tried to introduce himself, keep it friendly, but the big man just acted like he was offended, like Don was beneath him.  He shouldn't have let it bother him but...

Isaac scared him.

He heard the tone and let his power out.  Dust began to pour out of his skin, gathering around him.  Isaac just stood there, his arms crossed, that look on his face.  He drew out more of the dust, gathered it into a mass around him.   He couldn't see anything, but that was okay.  Don reached out with arms made of the black stuff his power created, felt the sides of the dome.  He used that to orient himself, then pressed in against himself with the dust he'd kept close to his body.  Don rose about twenty feet, almost to the ceiling, and cleared the air around his face.  Isaac was still standing there.  He almost looked bored.  Don knew what he could do, what his power was capable of.  That Strong asshole thought he couldn't be hurt?  Fine, he wouldn't hold back.

Don raised an arm of black dust, squeezed it together until it was as hard as stone, and sent it flying across the room.  He felt the impact as it slammed into the big man, hard enough to crush a car.  Isaac didn't move.  He let the dust collapse into its natural powder form.  He sent more and more, burying Isaac in it.  When he had enough to cover the man's entire body, he started to squeeze.