The Miranda Contract (24 page)

He tightened his arms and heard his heartbeat thumping in his ears.

A sob escape from his throat.

The electrical pulses around the stage were chaotic, having been re-channeled into the microphone. He could trace the networks and see how they had been re-routed. It was deliberate, delicate even, but even now the resolute hum of the independent camera played in his mind and he knew it was safely transmitting moving pictures out of the stadium. He didn’t know where. He didn’t know why. The scene would be flashing across the internet even as he sat on the floor choking back the bile.

“It’s not Miranda,” Halo said, from behind the door.

Dan rubbed his arm across his eyes and scuttled forward, daring to lift his eyes back to the girl. The first thing he saw was the charred wig. He clutched it and threaded his fingers through it.

The room wasn’t a stadium.

It was too small.

Halo slipped in around the half-open doors, keeping his back to the wall.

“It’s not Miranda,” Halo said.

Dan looked back at the girl. She was ruined. But he saw the slender neck now, closer than before, and the hint of blonde hair. It was Evie. He choked back another sob and shut his eyes feeling all his strength seep out of him.

“It’s not the end of the world,” Halo said softly. “Not yet, anyway.”

“Fuck!” Dan said, spinning his head to stare at Halo. “Shut up.”

He felt the spit and sparks of blue lightning fly through the air and rubbed hard at his face again to regain something of himself. He tasted salt.

“He wants you to break,” Halo said again, ignoring Dan’s warning. “It’s not Miranda.”

But it was Evie and that was Dan’s fault. He knew it was his fault, and he knew he’d never make up for it, not even if he got to leave this place and return to his rat hole of a life. Halo crouched down and put a hand on Dan’s shoulder. Dan went to shake it off, but Halo held firm.

“I know it’s hard, mate,” he said, close to Dan’s ear. “But you’ll find out there’s usually more Evies out there. You’re missing the end game.”

Dan felt himself shout but he couldn’t hear it over the explosion of energy which burst from his body. The cracking sound of the blast echoed through the studio even as the lights exploded and the last camera was obliterated.

Chapter 31

The Mad Russian

A
bove him, the
storm crashed together in bursts of lightning. He floated a little above a stage in the center of the stadium, directly under an ornate glass dome which had replaced the normal roof. All around him, the humans watched in terror. They were too frightened to run, petrified at the sight of the Mad Russian. He had his hands to the side, his bearded face looking up to the night sky through the dome.

In times past he had appeared in crowded places like this with one thing on his mind: murder. Berlin in the 1990s, Vienna and Minneapolis before that. He had crushed the life out of them, leveled large tracts of their human world and etched his power in the minds of what few survivors remained.

“Behold your last night,” he said in a voice which cracked a little. His powers amplified the words and the crack seemed to careen into madness, echoing as it was directed through the complex. “No one can save you.”

He was welcomed with screams and he bowed as if receiving applause.

Bodies were already littering the walkways, attempts at heroism met with casual cruelty. Security had retreated after the Russian had impaled more than a dozen of them with iron ripped from the walls. Their speared bodies served as boundaries for his final performance of the night, stabbed into the floor at each of the exits.

The celebrity girl stood in the middle of the stage, flanked by fairy lights leading to an elevator. He had commandeered the light and sound systems, leaving the previous operators dead or dying in their little control rooms.

He turned his attention to her, his eyes moving from the sky above to her slim figure. She was pathetic. Her hair was flat against her head, drenched from the rain outside. She wore a shimmering black t-shirt and jeans, an everyday girl. He wondered briefly how she had captured the hearts and minds of the people.

Posters of her were spread like giant sentinels throughout the complex. As people regained their ability to move and scamper to safety, Miranda Brody stood her ground. She looked up at him, defiant.

In the old country, he had known another girl with those daring eyes. As her town burned and her family and friends screamed themselves into hysteria, she had stood against him.

“Sima,” he whispered and glided towards Miranda, lowering himself to float just above the stage. He spoke in Russian. “
Kak dyela
? It has been so long.”

Sima had been his enemy and his love, switching from one to the other as easily as she changed bodies. Her dead eyes were the only constant. He reached his hands out and took hers, looking into the face which she now wore.

“This is for you,” he said softly. “Our great work, coming here now.”

The girl shook her head and struggled against him. He let her hands drop as it dawned on him that this was not Sima.

“You’re a monster,” Miranda said, stepping back, reaching behind her.

“Ah,” he said, forcing the sadness away and replacing it with the moment. “You are the Miranda Brody. Do you see these men and children and women? They worship you like the television, like the god.”

He shook his head.

“But you are not the god,” he continued.

“And neither are you,” she shot back at him and drew a gun, leveling it at his head.

She closed her eyes as she pulled the trigger and a blast of light exploded from its end. The Russian withdrew into the air, his eyes burning and his hands pressed against the skin.

The light of the flare gun pulled into him, slipped in through the sockets, absorbed into the raging sun that lived inside his body. He opened his eyes, blinked, and steadied his body as it hovered above her.

“Ah…” he said.

He looked down at her from his height, hovering over the ground, and he took a hold of her with his mind, pulling at the invisible threads which formed her body and her clothes. She lifted into the air, although she struggled, and soon her eyes were level with his. He compressed his hold on her and she stopped moving, her body rigid as he sent electricity through her.

“You should be happy,” he said as she screamed. “These people, they worship the dead celebrity persons, more than they do the living.”

There was a disturbance in the air, a familiar one which made the Mad Russian halt his torture of Miranda. He turned to look around the stadium seating. People huddled in groups, holding each other as they trembled, as if there was safety in numbers. His eyes fell upon them, but he was looking for a familiar form, his former star pupil.

He smiled as he saw the girl in the crowd. She was on the second level, directly opposite with a clear view of him.

“Come, come,” he beckoned to the girl who secretly formed in their midst, most likely out of thin air. He had always loved her.

Bree wore a black hijab and cloak which covered her body to her toes. Under the cloak was a scarlet shirt and black pants. Her hair was hidden, but she looked very much like her mother.

“I’ve brought you something,” she said loudly through the veil. “Although I don’t think you’ll like it.”

“I am not liking very much of this city,” the Russian said. “Perhaps your gift will change this.”

“Probably not, Sir.”

She bowed, and then the air around the stage began to coalesce, spinning itself into a sandstorm which then became more solid, taking the form of a large bearded man. It was the man who had battled Luke Ma and Grandfather Time. He wore white trousers and a white turban with a ruby in the center. His chest was bare and rippled with strength.

“Salam,” he said and then thundered his two fists into the ground, sending a shockwave towards the Mad Russian. The force passed by underneath his floating feet, but then Suleyman leapt forward himself and crashed headlong into the floating man. They fell to the ground and landed on the jagged mess of concrete and seating. Shards pressed up into the Russian’s protective field, and together with Sully’s bulk, it managed to disrupt his concentration.

Miranda fell to the ground and shuffled to the side, her hands rubbing her arms, trying to rid herself of the numbness she felt. She crouched against the runway and tried to control her breathing, tried to convince her body that she wasn’t dying. On the ground in front of the stage, Sully slammed Galkin into the ground, wedging him between the broken security gates and the concrete slab of the floor. The big man lifted his fists slowly into the air and then slammed them repeatedly into the Russian’s face, each pound like a jack hammer. Galkin’s vision was shattered and blood flew into the air. He gasped for breath as his body was pummeled. Sand began to fly around the two men and then into the Russian’s nose and mouth, choking him further.

He couldn’t see Bree, but he knew she was there. Despite his body failing, his mind was still sharp, fuelled as it was by anger and sudden fury.

Overhead the thunderclouds roared. Rain pelted the roof, glass crashed in the distance. And the Russian’s body surged as well, his very core rising up against the assault. His fingers gripped Suleyman’s arms and electricity surged through them. Flashes of light erupted within the larger man’s body, his skeleton illuminated in the fury, the blistering skin popping up and down his arms.

The Mad Russian grinned.

And then he threw Suleyman clear, blasting him through a concrete column in a torrent of lethal blasts. Even as his adversary disappeared in the collapsing rubble, the Mad Russian rose back to the stage, tendrils of energy sparking off his body. He turned to where Bree now stood, lines of sand and rock orbiting her in shifting arcs. She had moved closer, standing at his level, the shifting rock and concrete under her complete control.

“You disappoint,” he said, spitting blood to the ground. His body had already healed itself. He spat again, forcing out the last vestiges of blood which lingered after the wounds covered over. “You all of you disappoint.”

The sand and rock weaved through the air around Bree, transforming into four barbed lines, like scorpion tails, all primed to strike. She held herself well, as poised as ever, but the Russian had taught her that trick. They wavered in the air.

“You should have stayed dead,” Bree said, and he felt his chest constrict with emotion, with betrayal. His hand was raised, ready to tear her apart, but he hesitated. She had been the loyal one, the one who listened to what he said and never disobeyed. The boys had been immature and selfish, and Lily was always too quiet and inhibited; but Bree had been intelligent and worthy.

“You hurt an old man,” he said, his hand raised still.

“That’s the idea,” she said, and moved swiftly, ducking low and then rolling across the floor into a crouch, even as the scorpion stings flew towards him from four directions. He waved his hand and destroyed two before they even got close, but the other two hit his protective field, shattering against it. He steadied himself but the fields remained firm.

He moved his hand in a cutting motion and an arc of electricity ripped out towards Bree, but she was expecting it, and rolled to safety. He fired again, using both hands to channel twin arcs of lightning into the ground. The blast spread through the floor, forcing her to shift into her sand form and vanish from view. He pushed out with his senses and tracked the millions of specks that made up the girl, and as she formed herself again behind him, he was fully prepared.

Bree struck out with a rock-covered fist but the Russian merely held up his hand and reinforced the barrier between them. She punched again and he felt a tremor through the field, impressed at her strength. She had always been resourceful, eager to experiment with her powers.

“Don’t look so smug,” Bree said after smashing into the barrier again. Her black robes had transformed into stone as well. “You never were a very good teacher.”

“This lesson does not please me, Sebriya,” he said softly.

He closed his right fist and felt Bree’s body tighten in his invisible hold. She tried to slip through into her sand form, but he held her steady.

“No, it does not please me.”

Her eyes widened as she pushed against his invisible grip. The veins in her neck rose to the surface as rocklike indentations. He could feel the pressure building within her, but all the strength in the earth couldn’t oppose the forces he now wielded.

He met her eyes, stepped closer to her so she could see the pain she had brought him. And then he flicked his fist open, exploding Bree’s stone form into thousands of pieces. They ricocheted against his protective field and as her body scattered to the stage around him, Galkin found that he was laughing.

It was mad, uncontrollable laughter, and it echoed through the plaza.

He could not stop. He did not want to stop. He no longer cared, and if this would truly be his last night, then he intended to consume the world even as his own body consumed him.

Chapter 32

Dan

D
an followed the
high pitched laughter. It had echoed through his entire life, drawing him into places he never wanted to go, heralding things that were never good. As he pushed the access door wide with a blast of lightning and stepped out into the artificial light of the main stadium Dan nearly choked. He saw a body hanging from a jagged metal spike, slumped and broken and bloody. He could see other examples of his grandfather’s insanity, and the crippled, fearful people trembling in the wreckage.

The laughter ricocheted off the walls again as thunder rolled overhead.

Dan was still glowing a little. His bare skin pulsed with blue streaks of lightning and he felt like he was seeing the world twice: once with his normal sight and the second time with his enhanced sense of the hidden world around him. Down on the stage was the whitest concentration of energy he had ever witnessed, hotter and whiter even than his father just before his final explosion.

He began to walk down the causeway. To his right were three teenage girls, all of them huddled behind the seating which looked like it had been struck by lightning, the burn marks clearly evident. The girls hid their faces and shuddered but Dan recognized at least one of them from the hotel where he delivered pizza, the night he had met Miranda for the first time. He opened his mouth to speak to her, but then he saw the glow from his skin, and heard the crackle of energy when he walked.

She wouldn’t find comfort in anything he could say.

She would see a monster.

She would scream and scream and scream.

He moved on, taking notice of where the people were hiding, how many there were, and whether they were injured or simply frightened into shock and despair. Even though he saw death and destruction, it looked like the Mad Russian had so far restrained himself.

Dan could see the old man now. He was floating above the main stage flanked in red velvet curtains. Tendrils of electricity flared out from his body, whipping around the air and back into him – like a human lightning storm. His neck was arched weirdly back, his face looking up to the broken dome above, his laughter mirrored in the flashes of lightning which could easily be seen from where he stood.

Dan couldn’t see Miranda, though, but as he scanned with all the powers at his disposal, he noticed a shift in the debris near the stage. Pillars had snapped and twisted, glass and plastic were strewn across the ground; but the pile of heavy rubbish moved and fell away to reveal the battered form of Sully. Miranda’s bodyguard was scratched and bleeding, his turban lost someplace which had allowed his waist-length black hair to tumble out.

Sully staggered out of his burial place and called out to the Mad Russian. Dan moved quicker, closing the distance, feeling the powers concentrating around his grandfather, ready to strike. Sully stood defiantly in front, his fists clenched and to the sides as if daring the man to strike him down a second time. Or was it to be a third time? Dan had no idea how furious the battle had already been. He reached the stage and found his aura had begun to reach out toward that of his grandfather, lightning calling to lightning.

The Mad Russian swung both his arms around and pointed his hands, palms up, at Sully. The laughter followed and behind it was an incredible surge of electricity. It leapt outward but Dan reached his mind to intercept, his own command disrupting the charge, and sending it upward into the ceiling. Tiles and wiring rained down on Sully but he was standing.

The Russian spun to face Dan, insanity etched across his grin and reflected in the white glow of his eyes. He raised his hand at Dan and released a second wave of energy. Dan didn’t move but caught the wave and brought it safely into his body, spreading it across his skin and then deeper into where he could concentrate and store it.

Sully leapt at the Russian’s back and his huge arms wrapped around the protective field, squeezing hard, making it look like the old man was trapped inside an hourglass. He squeezed his grip further and the field began to crack, sparks fizzing into the air. Sully brought his legs up in powerful kicks sending out more sparks and spreading the fractures.

Dan pulled at the field with his own mind too, weakening it enough for Sully to break through. The large man’s arms collapsed down hard, beating the Russian back to the ground where they fell together in a lump.

Sully maneuvered himself to strike down at the Russian, fists slamming into the prone man’s back and head. It was a blur, but Dan could already feel his grandfather’s malevolent energy rising again like some kind of demented phoenix.

Dan whipped out with a burst of energy and knocked Sully away from his grandfather just as the Mad Russian’s body convulsed and released an explosion of heat and light and fire. Sully tumbled off the stage to safety while Dan ducked to the ground and deflected what didn’t pass over his head.

There was a crashing sound as more of the glass from the dome overhead shattered and fell to the floor. Dan covered his eyes even though he knew that his body in its current glowing, overcharged state, was not going to be harmed by shards of glass. When he looked up again he saw that Sully had clambered back to the stage and lifted the Russian up over his head.

Dan leapt to the stage, propelled by the energy in his body. He landed like a cat, impressed with his own enhanced agility, and then began to pull at the Russian’s power again. Sully slammed the man into the stage and wisps of energy shot through the air and entered Dan’s body.

Sully shot him a smile.

Dan couldn’t help but return it.

“Is this a good Friday night out with you, Daniel?” he asked.

“It beats watching the telly,” Dan said.

Sully laughed and drew himself up to tower over Dan and the crumpled figure of the Mad Russian. There were sounds of people moving around in the darkness, of technicians and fans finding the courage to get a better look now that things appeared to be going the way of the good guys. Dan could feel it too.

“That it does,” Sully said. Dan had lost track of the conversation and had to think about what the man was talking about. He smiled and then concentrated back on his grandfather. There was still so much energy there, a reservoir which reached out for him while at the same time repelling him like opposing magnetic fields.

The Russian sat up, his hands pressed down to the broken stage, his back hunched a little. But the protective field had returned, brighter than before. Sully reached out to get a grip but was sent backward with a shock. Dan tried to weave his mind through the field but he was stopped.

The old man stood.

He looked directly at Dan, the white eyes still burning in their sockets. Sully tried to hammer the field but the Russian simply waved his hand and the big man was pushed away.

There were no words.

Dan felt his core shift. The place where he stored his energy was being tugged out, strip-mined by his grandfather. It felt like he’d lost his breath and Dan nearly passed out as electricity shot out of his body: from his eyes and nose, his mouth, his chest, out of every pore of his body.

It was ripped hard, yanked with a raw violence Dan hadn’t experienced in years. He staggered forward and came to rest against the field.

Their eyes were on the same level. Dan couldn’t move.

The laughter returned but Dan couldn’t see the man’s mouth moving at all. It echoed around him, through his ears which were throbbing with the escaping energy, but also somewhere deeper, like within his mind itself.

Sully staggered forward but the Russian swatted him away again, sending him straight up into the air, through the remains of the dome and into the stormy night beyond. Catapulted into the night. Flicked away like an annoying insect.

Dan’s whole body was numb.

He had never seen his grandfather in such a state – burning with such power, such ultimate inexhaustible power. His whole life, Dan had been told that he and his generation would be the new gods; but it was clear now they would never match the power of the Mad Russian.

Lightning exploded across the sky above them and condensed into a column of churning energy which crashed down from the heavens. Its blinding light hit first, followed quickly by a thunderous pulse of heat which flew outward, knocking everyone backward with its force.

Dan and his grandfather were consumed by the column of light, but they remained standing, clutching at each other with their hands while their bodies wrestled with the whipping energies around them, absorbing them into their bodies. Dan felt his reserves of power bulge with the extreme energy, his connection with the world smashed to a new evolutionary level. He could touch it in ways he’d never imagined, but the new awareness was short lived. His grandfather leeched it from him, tearing it from his body as easily as before. But the light didn’t fade. It continued to slam into the ground from above, tendrils of wilder energy flicking outward and striking at the seating and what remained of the stage. It charged them, fed them, whispered alien words into their ears.

Dan felt his mind stretched in all directions, his body burning with the currents of power. He blinked and the world shifted into impulses and radiation, strobing colors that made the everyday appear monstrous.

He was going crazy.

The power rushed into him and then out again, making him nauseous and weak, but he couldn’t let go of his grandfather. The Mad Russian held him firm, using Dan’s body as a conduit to take in as much of the alien, god-like power as he could.

Dan didn’t know if his eyes were open or closed. Images shot across his mind: his childhood, his mother, the park he had lost a kite… and then he began to hear his grandfather’s words and thoughts. It was as if they were merging.

Hatred morphed into anxiety and then leapt to ramblings of other worlds, secret places, sanctuaries. He saw the old days, the epic battles over Europe, the cloak and dagger world of spies and mad men. He saw the birth of a child which spiraled out to multiple births, multiple children.

Dan tried to hold on to his own mind.

He thought of Miranda.

Their kiss.

And it anchored him.

His mind held to the last image from his grandfather: another world, untouched. A world with children, important children. Dan didn’t recognize the places or the children’s faces, but he knew that it was where his grandfather had been for the last five years.

A woman stood on a cliff with her long red hair whipping behind her in the wind. She was replaced by a golden door, twinkling with gemstones.

The door opened.

And the landscape shifted and he was looking directly into the pits of his grandfather’s burning eyes.

“I bring you back to me,” he called. And Dan felt himself slipping. His own arms seemed to be melting into his grandfather’s, their chests reached out for each other as if the Mad Russian was trying to consume him. “I bring you back to me!”

The power balance was impossible to shift. Dan knew he couldn’t beat his grandfather through force, so he scrambled for alternatives, reaching back with his mind for the fragments of his grandfather’s memories. They returned immediately and Dan felt himself link with them, able to pull up the ones he knew and amplify them, focus on the details or shift their focus.

His physical body was being absorbed, but his mind was still mostly his own.

The image of childbirth came to him. He shifted it to the side and brought up a sunny day with a younger Galkin and a beautiful woman. He shifted that memory as well and waded through more from the days of the Cold War, of garish costumes and grand battles. A flash of Castus made Dan flinch, but he shifted the memory of the Celestial Knight away too.

He recognized his father, laughing as a child and then growing rapidly darker as he transformed into an adolescent, his skin black and smoking. His mother was there too, and family members who spiraled back through time.

His grandfather walked down a hillside graveyard, a single blue rose in his hand. Behind him the sky was rolling with dark clouds, lightning flashing just out of sight. Dan pushed past the scene, digging through the oldest memories with fairytale monsters, chicken-legged houses, hairless ogres.

Memories flittered around his mind, and in between the shuffling he saw what lay beyond. It was only a glimpse, at first, and then it was gone; but Dan persisted. He shoved memories aside until he exposed the sensitive networks beyond. Memory, fine motor controls, the delicate areas of the brain which were all fuelled by electricity. Millions of impulses flew within the brain’s network: firing neurons, tempering synapses, maintaining control of the body.

Dan saw it unfold before him like a road map.

He could feel his powers draining. His body was numb and he could smell the distant burning of his own hair and flesh.

He concentrated on the thin lines of electrical light. He overtook them and wrapped his mind around them, pulling them to a standstill. Then he moved to another laneway and broke it, snapped it with a thought. The lights shot around the tracks like fireflies and he chased them.

Another light stopped.

Then another.

The grandfather struggled as more of his mind was isolated and shut down. Dan felt it in his own body too and with his eyes which were sore but forced wide by the transfer of power. The balls of fire in his grandfather’s dark eyes were gone. Dan saw the deadness in there, the dull grey. He felt the man’s breath against his face but it was the eyes that held him, the clutching mortality that stared back at him. Somewhere beyond those eyes was a broken mind.

And then everything stopped and fell away.

The present had vanished and Dan was on someplace else, a moment between time.

He was twelve again.

His grandfather was leaning on a stick, a little out of breath, but smiling like he was enjoying the greatest moment of his life. Dan had been learning to dance, like the ones from his grandfather’s homeland. He had called it the
kazatsky
, and Dan had been trying to learn the squatting dance but his legs couldn’t keep time with the music.