Shades of Gray (23 page)

“But sadly, not prettier.” Iridium let her power die down and curled her fists. Blackwasp wasn’t that big, and all he had going were the stingers.

“Sweep the leg, Iri!” Taser called from where he had Duster down on his stomach, strapped into stun-cuffs.

“Get bent,” she shouted back.

Blackwasp used her moment of distraction to strike, and one of the stingers scraped across her cheek—not deep enough to release its venom, but plenty deep enough to hurt.

“Christo,” Iridium hissed. She caught Blackwasp’s arm on the backswing, twisted, and snapped the stinger off.

Blackwasp howled as bluish ichor dribbled from his wound. “You
bitch.
”

Iridium kicked him in the back of the knee and took him to ground in a police hold. “And don’t you forget it.”

She held a hand out to Taser. “Cuffs.”

“So hot when you say it like that.” Taser dropped the stun-cuffs into her palm.

“Put a sock in it,
Bruce
.” Working with Taser was almost as bad as taking down junior supervillains. If he hadn’t been so damn competent, she probably would have strobed him by now.

Iridium cuffed Blackwasp, who’d reduced himself to snuffling invective against her looks, her parentage, and her fighting skills. She looked up at the merc. “If Bruce is even your name.”

“Yup,” he said. “Bruce Hunter. I never lied to you, Callie. I just omitted.”

Iridium hauled Blackwasp to his feet. “You don’t get to use that name.”

Bruce’s face crinkled under his mask. “Who does?”

“People I trust.”

A cop hover pulled up, Oz’s unmarked just behind it. The patrolmen came over with their hands on their shock pistols, and Iridium stepped back, raising her hands. “All yours, Officers.”

Oz touched the lead patrolman on the shoulder. “It’s all right, Dennehy. Iridium here isn’t like the others.”

Dennehy took in the villains and Iridium, and the mess they’d made of Lower Wabash. “Thanks, I guess.” He handed Feedback off to his partner and took Blackwasp and Duster himself.

“You crippled me!” Blackwasp shouted at Iridium. “I’m gonna sue!”

“Watch your head,” Dennehy said, and banged Blackwasp face-first into the roof of his hover cruiser.

Iridium smiled at Oz. “I like that guy.”

“Bright future, that kid,” Oz agreed. “Probably be the commissioner in five years, the way things are going.”

Citizens had started to creep back outside, cleaning up glass and brick, and picking up overturned possessions. A bum reclaimed his shopping cart and gave Iridium a toothless grin. The owner of the rental store came over and held out her hand. “You did a good thing,” she said. “Thank you.”

Iridium looked at the woman’s extended appendage, nonplussed, but Taser grabbed it and pumped it. “Just doing our job, ma’am.”

Even the dealer on the corner—one of the Russians, judging by his tattoos—tipped Iridium a salute before he skulked away from Oz and his gold detective’s badge.

“I’ve been held up three times this year,” the woman said to Iridium and Taser. “This is the first time I’ve seen uniformed cops in Wreck City in … well … years.”

“New Chicago PD is making some changes, ma’am,” Oz said. “Our influence is no longer mitigated by … outside parties.”

“You show up next time I trip the silent alarm because some punk has a plasgun in my face, I might believe that,” the woman huffed, then stomped back into her shop.

Iridium chuckled. “Not your biggest fan, Oz.”

“And the NCPD isn’t yours, Iridium, but here in Wreck City, we take help where we can get it.” He patted her shoulder. “Fight the good fight, kid.”

Taser watched Oz leave and cracked his knuckles. “As far as first dates go, this was pretty good, wouldn’t you say?”

She glared at him. “How long will it take for you to realize those lines don’t work on me?”

“The lady doth protest too much.”

Iridium ignored him, electing instead to put a comlink in her ear. After they’d foiled the bank robbery two days ago, Steele had insisted she take an earpiece and be given an Ops channel. Just in case.

So far, Iridium had answered every time they’d called. She didn’t really want to go home, and Boxer seemed content to stay at Wrigley Field with Hornblower, so … why not keep her grid from devolving into an urban slice of hell?

“What does work?” Taser said.

Iridium frowned at him, considering what worked—and if she should tell him. Jet had clearly marked her territory when he was her Runner.

But Jet wasn’t here.

Finally, she said, “Try taking off your mask, for starters. And I don’t mean that stocking over your face.” She motioned to him. “I mean this.
Taser.
You haven’t shown me one ounce of who you really are.”

“You’re a hard nut to crack, doll.”

“You want easy, go for Jet. Oh wait. You already did.”

Taser flinched, and Iridium was gratified to see that bringing up her former friend seemed to shut the merc up. He was good in a fight, but he was obnoxious, arrogant, and a champion-caliber liar. The sort of person Lester would have strobed without a thought.

She wasn’t jealous that Bruce had chosen Joan to seduce instead of her. It meant she was smart and Jet was gullible. That was all.

Feeling inexplicable tension grow in her shoulders and neck, she turned away from him and tapped the Ops frequency. “Ops, Iridium.”

“Go,” Meteorite snapped. The washed-up hero still carried her grudge, which Iridium had to admire her for. The rest of the good-guy brigade had practically thrown her a parade. Even Hornblower, once he’d seen that Iridium was sticking around, had stopped looking like he wanted to twist her head off.

“Trouble’s over in Wreck City. Cops took the Dork Trio to lockup. Taser and I are headed back.”

“Confirmed,” Meteorite said. “I’ll tell Boxer and—”

An enormous crash, then a cascade of crumbling brick and rebar cut off Meteorite’s next words.

Iridium spun, choking on dust as the storefront at the street’s end shuddered and collapsed.

From the wreckage, a huge shadow emerged into the dust.

“What is that?” Taser shouted. “Bomb?”

“No …” Iridium could barely breathe, and she snatched a hazomask from her belt and slapped it over her nose and mouth. Her watering, stinging eyes she was just going to have to deal with. Maybe she should consider goggles, like Taser or Jet. “No, not a bomb.” Lester’s teaching, Lester’s voice feeding her information on urban bombing. “Too little debris.”

The thing in the shadow challenged them with a roar. Iridium was momentarily rooted to the spot.

The man—it
had
to be a man—was enormous, all vein and muscle, with a deformed face and hands the size of meat platters. He had jagged teeth and a mightily pissed-off expression in his eyes.

“I might be wrong,” Taser said quietly, “but I think that dude wants to kill us.”

“He came up out of the
ground,
” Iridium marveled, her voice steady even though inside she was screaming. “Tore that shop right off its foundations.”

“Callie.” Taser gripped her arm as the thing roared again. “Run.”

Iridium spun, only to see at least a dozen more enormous, bloated, twisted figures appearing out of the dust. They circled her and Taser. Some giggled, or smacked their lips.

“Either this is a bad trip from breathing in all of that asbestos,” Taser said, “or we’re in serious trouble.”

The lead creature roared, and the others returned it. Thirteen pairs of eyes focused on Iridium.

“We’re in trouble,” she decided.

CHAPTER 29

JET

Phase 1 of Project Sunstroke has begun. Thirteen volunteers eager to become as powerful as the Squadron. We’ll put the extrahumans down like the rabid dogs they are.

—From the journal of Martin Moore, entry #294

I
’ll do a sweep over Grids 3 through 6,” Jet said as she strapped on her cloak. She kept the cowl off, though. Instead, she’d braided her long hair and wrapped it in a bun at the nape of her neck. Not too heavy, and the lack of cowl made it easier for her to turn her head.

Meteorite handed her another protein bar, which Jet took gratefully. “Curfew’s about to go into effect,” said the Ops controller, “so at least that’ll get most of the civvies out of harm’s way.”

“Small favors.” Jet tore open the wrapper and all but inhaled the pseudochocolate bar. It wasn’t grilled chicken, let alone a beef taco, but it would do. Chewing, she glanced at Meteorite’s list of Who’s Left To Capture. Out of the 412 active Squadron members who’d gone rogue or rabid across the Americas, 27 had been incarcerated, and almost 30 were being pursued—they hadn’t converted from rogue yet, but at least they’d stopped breaking things.

They were finally making a dent at home. Maybe in a few days, they could spread out, chase down rabids in other cities, and leave the normal criminals to the cops and the soldiers.

“I’ll check in with you every thirty,” Jet said, “unless something comes up. And you’ll keep me posted?”

“Of course.”

Jet summoned a Shadow floater, and was vaguely pleased at how the voices didn’t whisper—how the power didn’t try to either fight her or seduce her. While creating floaters had never been hard, this was the first time that it was … easy. She stepped onto the black disc. “I’ll start with Grid 6, maybe see if I can pick up Colossal Man’s trail.”

Grid 6: the Old Chicago district.

Oh cipio.

Jet paused on the Shadow floater, remembering a teenage girl standing outside of Everyman headquarters, shouting at her to go save the world somewhere else. But before the shouting, the girl had pressed something into Jet’s hand, and she’d whispered …

Not “oh cipio,” Jet realized with a start. O.C.P.O. The Old Chicago Post Office, in Grid 6.

That was when the pinging sounded—a distress call. Jet hovered in the air as Meteorite grabbed headphones. “Triangulating location,” the Ops controller said, sliding the headset in place. “Speakers on. Ops. Go.”

Over a burst of static, Iridium’s voice, high-pitched, on the verge of panic. “Hey, heroes,” Iri shouted, “we’re in a situation here. We need backup, like, right now!”

“Iridium,” Jet said, “stay calm. What’s happening?”

“Hey, Jettikins is awake!” Iri let out a strained laugh. “You remember the thing you fought in the sewer? Well, apparently a dozen of its closest friends and family have all gone the sewer-mutant route, because they’re right here!”

Jet’s stomach knotted as she remembered the feeling of Lynda Kidder’s malformed fist slamming into her, how the monstrous creature had nearly killed her … and how she’d accidentally killed Kidder in self-defense.

And that had been one mutant. Now Iri was facing a
dozen
of them? She shouted, “Retreat! Callie, get out of there!”

Iridium, desperate: “Sort of surrounded here. Taser’s and my light show’s holding them back, sort of, but I don’t know how long!”

“Can you get in the air? Get out of range?”

“His hover’s on the other side of the mutants, and last I checked, neither of us can fly!”

“Got them,” Meteorite said, and gave Jet the coordinates. Barely five minutes as the crow flew. Jet would be there in two. Already soaring toward the door, she shouted, “On my way!”

“Bring the fucking cavalry with you!” There might have been more, but Jet was already out of hearing range.

Zooming over old Wrigley Field, Jet tapped on her earpiece for Ops. “Call in everyone. We need all of us on this.”

“But Hornblower’s taking down Jezebel, and Steele’s—”

“Meteorite,” Jet snapped, “pull them out! This is bigger than chasing after rogues and rabids.”

“But—”

“Sheila,” Jet said over the rush of wind, “they’re
civilians.
They’ve been injected with Moore’s Everyman serum, probably under duress. We need everyone on this. Now.”

Meteorite cursed, colorfully and loudly. Then she said, “On it. Go.”

Jet went.

Air stung Jet as she flew faster than ever before. Her face was raw from windburn as she crouched on her floater, practically hugging the Shadow to lower wind resistance. She had to get to Iri and Taser, fast.

Before the dying started.

She heard the shouting before she saw Iri. The other woman’s clear voice was raised in a defiant battle cry that would have impressed Screamer. But the Lighter herself was lost amid a closing circle of hulking monstrosities—vaguely humanoid creatures stuffed into tattered business suits and jeans and the remnants of shirts and jackets, all of the monsters reaching out with massive hands.

In the center, Iridium and Taser stood back-to-back, their hands alight—hers with Light strobes, his with electricity. Iri launched more strobes, hitting three creatures square in their chests … but all that did was make the things stagger back. It didn’t burn them, didn’t seem to even hurt them. Ditto Taser’s electric blasts. He hammered two more mutants, but if getting shocked did anything more than push them back a pace or two, it was impossible to tell.

Jet zoomed down, her arms extended. Concentrating furiously, she sent a portion of her power under the rogue’s and merc’s feet, pooling beneath them to form a new floater. “Iridium, Taser! Hold on to each other!”

“Fuck, that’s cold!” Iridium sent out a flurry of strobes, then extinguished the light over her hands and grabbed onto Taser’s waist. He let loose a burst of power, illuminating the air in front of him with white-blue light and heat as he planted his feet wide and bent his knees for balance.

Bracing herself against her own floater, Jet called the other Shadow disc to her. It trembled, then with a mighty heave it launched upward. Iri and Taser scrambled to keep their footing as Jet lifted them out of reach of the mutants. Once the three of them were on the roof, she released the Shadow, calling it back inside herself. She didn’t feel its cold touch as it seeped beneath her skin—she was too busy taking stock of the situation streetside. The creatures, cheated of their prey, were attacking one another. Maybe they’d catch a break and they’d all beat themselves senseless …