New Olympus Saga (Book 2): Doomsday Duet (21 page)

Regret and sorrow. The emotions carried through the mental communication, and if Cassius hadn’t suffered so much at the alien’s hands, he might have felt some sympathy for the insane creature. Instead, he focused all of his will on his senses, studying the multitude of energies surrounding the alien in overlapping layers. Mixed in with the forces Cassius was familiar with – electro-magnetism, gravity, photons swirling in colorful waves, even the infinite potentiality of unformed quantum foam – there was something he didn’t recognize: a purple-black energy that behaved somewhat like photons, sharing the properties of both particles and waves; unlike the other energies in the alien’s aura, it was bottled up in a complex cage of electrons. It did not belong with the others. It…

I ANSWERED A QUESTION. IT IS MY TURN TO GAIN AN ANSWER. WHERE DO YOU COME FROM? HOW MANY MORE LIKE YOU ARE THERE? IS THE TAINT THERE AS WELL?

Before leaving Earth, Cassius had prepared for the eventuality that a hostile civilization might attempt to pry his home world’s location from him. The finest telepaths of the Legion had locked that knowledge behind an impenetrable maze of psychic barriers. In effect, Cassius no longer knew where the Earth was. Bringing those memories back would require weeks of meditation, unhampered by any stress, fear or strong emotions. The alien’s probing had failed to break those locks; great as its power was, the Genocide had come to its telepathic abilities late in life, and it lacked the finesse of an experienced psionicist.

I have nothing to tell you.

SUFFER THEN. SUFFER AND BLEED FOR YOUR STUBBORNESS.

Everything ceased to exist, except the pain and the all-too-familiar helplessness.

Sunwatch Observatory Satellite, L2 point, March 16th, 2013

The unmanned satellite traveled space in a stable orbit far beyond the Moon, its artificial sensors focused on the sun, studying the mother star for the benefit of science. Cassius sat in a compartment meant for the occasional Neolympian repairman. He’d left Mars behind; a change of scenery was in order. Unfortunately, it was harder to escape his memories. When John had spoken of the Outsiders, Janus had realized the Genocide had not been merely insane. Daedalus Smith and his accomplices must be infected with the same darkness that had led to the destruction of all life on System 9183, and so many others.

TO CLEANSE I HAD TO DESTROY.

Cassius refused to make that choice. The Genocide had thought it was saving its world, but in the end it had only served the Outsiders’ purposes. There had to be an alternative.

There was the girl John had spoken of. Cassius had been dubious about that part of the story. At this point, however, even a faint hope was better than nothing. He must find Christine Dark. Unfortunately, John hadn’t told Cassius how to reach the girl. He would have to keep jumping around the world, monitoring every possible news and police channel he could, hoping the girl would do something to reveal herself.

Cassius gritted his teeth and gated back to Earth. He had work to do.

Face-Off

New York City, New York, March 17, 2013

We went shopping.

Well, Kestrel and Christine went shopping, and I tagged along and carried their bags like a good native porter. I should have been bored out of my mind: my idea of shopping is to go into one store, buy whatever I need as quickly as possible, and go home. The voyage-of-exploration style of shopping had never appealed to me. This time, however, I found that if I stopped grumbling and approached things with a sense of humor, watching a couple of Great White Female Hunters going at it could be pretty entertaining.

Back at the Lair, Condor was working on some new toys in case we ran into serious opposition, and he’d made it clear he would work better without us around. We were going to make our move at night, which left us with a morning and afternoon to kill. Christine had politely pointed out that she could use a few more garments and accessories. Kestrel had agreed and volunteered her services as a guide and, more importantly, her platinum credit cards. Christine’s face had lit up at the mention of platinum credit cards. I wasn’t going to let Christine out of my sight, so I braced myself for a long day of girl stuff.

As it turned out, I was having fun.

For one, watching Kestrel playing at being normal was pretty amusing. She was wearing a short red dress and matching heels, without a single hint of fetishism anywhere on her. Christine had at first looked pretty plain by comparison, but a couple of quick stops at Fashion Avenue changed all that. Before leaving she had dyed her hair black, which made for an interesting contrast with her pale skin and hopefully rendered her harder to spot by the goons that might still be out looking for her. Her happiness at playing dress up was contagious, and I found myself smiling so much I started worrying I’d pull a muscle. And she was happy to have me around so she could ask me my opinion about the dozens of outfits she tried on. Since my knowledge of fashion was microscopic, I mostly smiled and nodded and made vague comments that seemed to satisfy her.

Christine was really growing on me.

She’d caught glimpses of my inner monster and she hadn’t run away screaming. Last night had been as good as our first night, better in some ways. We’d taken some time to find the things we liked and the things we didn’t. The first time had been driven by instinct and need, and it had turned out well, but certain things do improve with practice and communication. As Christine went back to the changing booth, I remembered looking up at her last night as she bounced on top of me, her face glowing with passion, and I smiled at the memory. I caught my reflection on one of the mirrors on the changing area at the store, and the look on my face sobered me up. Hope, that pernicious poisonous emotion, had taken root inside of me. I was beginning to believe there could be an end game that didn’t involve me watching her walk away. I didn’t trust that hope. I couldn’t let myself trust it.

Happy endings are bullshit.

“Hey.”

I looked around. Christine had changed into a pair of navy pants and a pink shirt. She looked concerned. That was the problem about dating an empath: you couldn’t get anything past her.

“Just having an episode of the glooms,” I admitted. Just telling her about it improved my mood and I didn’t have to fake it when I formed a smile on my face. She was like a bottle of antidepressants on sexy legs. She picked up on my emotional upswing and grinned back. I resolved to give my self-pity the rest of the day off.

“Okay. Come on, let’s break for lunch after I pay for all this, or rather, after Melanie puts it on her card. And stop with the gloomy crapola, dude. We might end up dead tonight, and then you’ll be kicking yourself for not enjoying yourself today.”

“Good point.” Damn good point.

“Looking good, Chris,” Kestrel – I had to start getting used to calling her Melanie, especially when we were out in public – said, emerging from her changing booth wearing a freaking floral pattern dress. I’d never seen Melanie wearing anything so mundane before. It looked good on her and made her look like a nice girl, instead of somebody who thought cutting her partner with knives – or vice versa – made for fun and exciting foreplay.

“Thank you,” Christine replied before ducking back into a stall to put her clothes back on.

Melanie caught the look I was giving her and quirked a smile at me. “A change of pace can be refreshing, Marky.” We’d managed to be fuck-buddies for months without her learning my name, but thanks to Christine’s blabbermouth ways she now knew more about me than she ever had before – and I didn’t mind half as much as I should. “You should try mixing it up sometime,” she continued.

“I tried it your way a couple of times,” I replied. “Didn’t care for it.”

“You kept trying to be the top, and you’re too sensitive for it,” she said, and the old Kestrel was back, with the disturbing grin and crazy eyes I remembered only too well. “If you’d let me take charge, though…”

“Guess we’ll never know.”

“Never say never.”

“We. Will. Never. Know.”

She smirked at me. “Your loss, killer.”

Christine emerged from the booth wearing the purple-and-white print dress (what she called a ‘maxi’) that she had designated as the outfit of the day. I’d never imagined I’d be involved with someone who wore a ‘maxi.’ All of my women had been fond of showing off as much skin as humanly (or in Kestrel’s case, inhumanly) possible.

Except for Fay, I suddenly remembered. Fay had liked to cover herself up.

The thought brought me up short. The memories it triggered sent a shot of ice through my chest, and Christine’s expression wavered when she felt my emotions. “It’s nothing,” I told her before she could ask. “It’s something from my past. Nothing important. I’ll tell you later, okay?”

She nodded and went off with Kestrel to pay for her new wardrobe.

Fay. She’d been young, innocent, a fellow runaway trying to survive in the unforgiving streets of New York. I’d taken her under my wing, protected her for a short – too short - while. She’d been my first love.

First love. Greatest failure.

New York City, New York, September 23-October 3, 2002

The first three days are a nightmare. I hide in the sewers during the day, enduring the hideous stench and darkness so people won’t see the faceless monster I’ve become. I come out at night, hiding in the shadows while I go out and use some of my cash to buy something to eat. Hiding my deformity takes some ingenuity. I keep my hoodie up over my head, and wear sunglasses I tape in place. I keep looking down and to the sides when I’m close to people, and cover my nonexistent mouth and nose with my hand, pretending to cough and sneeze. Those tricks work surprisingly well – most New Yorkers don’t make eye contact in the first place, and are too busy thinking about themselves to pay attention to a stranger. The few times people notice my featureless head, they mostly scream and run. One store owner shoots me in the ass with a round of birdshot, which hurts like hell but makes me realize I’m bullet-resistant and heal real fast.

Eating takes a lot of work. At first I can’t figure out what to do, having no mouth. I’m starving after the first day. Finally, I press a candy bar onto my face, trying to push it in somehow, and feel the lower part of my head change briefly: a mouth of sorts – it feels like a twisted tear on my skin, lipless, with misshapen teeth behind it – opens long enough for me to shove the candy bar into it and chew and swallow. I can only keep the mouth going for a few seconds at a time, and as soon as I’m done chewing or biting it disappears again. I’m not going to starve to death – not that Neos starve to death in any case – but I still have no face.

On the fourth night things change. I’m watching a TV screen through the bars of a closed storefront. I look at the face of a news anchorman and find myself wishing for his face, for anybody’s face. That’s when I feel flesh and bone moving behind my skin, and next thing I know my reflection on the shop window is wearing the anchorman’s features. I don’t have to hide anymore.

It takes a while to figure out all the ins and outs of my new ability. One of the characters in
Aces and Eights
is this Neo shapeshifter called Dirty Trick. In reality he is a hideously misshapen dwarf, but he can become movie characters for short periods of time, and he uses that ability to avenge himself on all the people who mistreated him. I’m not as good as Dirty Trick. I can’t change the shape of my body. I can do faces and can alter my skin pigmentation, and that’s about it. But I don’t have to fear the sunlight anymore. I can show my face, someone’s face in public, and nobody needs to know I’m a monster.

That’s one problem down, plenty left to go. It’s still warm out, so sleeping outdoors isn’t a problem, but my money’s running out fast and I’m filthy after a few days sleeping in the rough without showers or laundry. I don’t know what would have happened if I hadn’t run into Fay and her pimp.

Day Seven. I pick someone’s face at random and end up in a bad part of Spanish Harlem. I’m always on the move, never staying in the same neighborhood for more than a day. I’m not sure if I’m looking for something better or just worried about someone finding me. This part of the city is new to me, and that’s all that matters. At least, that’s all that matters until I hear the screams.

A girl is screaming from an alley. I go see what’s going on and that’s when I see Fay for the first time. She’s fifteen or sixteen, short brown hair, pretty. She’s wearing very tight red shorts, a black tank top and ratty sneakers. Bruises mar her face and arms, and she’s cowering from a guy standing over her. The guy is a big Puerto Rican in wife beaters; lots of colorful tattoos cover his muscled arms. He’s yelling at her in Spanish, calling her a stupid whore and telling her to get ready for work or she’s going to be sorry. It’s
puta
this and
puta
that, and she cringes as he raises a clenched fist, and something snaps inside my head.

“Hey,
pendejo
,” I call to him. I learned quite a bit of Spanish from my father before he died; most of it involved insults and obscenities. He turns towards me, face twisted in a sneer. He looks tough and mean, and I smile, because when I see his eyes I finally understand my purpose in life. “Why don’t you try that shit on me? C
hupame el bicho, canto de cabron
.” Telling him to suck my dick was probably unnecessary, he was pissed enough to come at me anyway, but why not add a little insult to the injuries I’m about to inflict?

It’s not a fight, not any more than it was a fight when my stepfather found himself punching a guy with no face. He pulls out a knife. I catch his wrist on his first slash and break his arm. The look in his face changes; he goes from rage to fear and agony in no time at all, and his scream isn’t all that different from the girl’s. That’s what saves his life. When he starts sniveling like a child in pain, he becomes human in my eyes and I can’t quite bring myself to kill him. I just slap him around until he passes out and throw him in a dumpster with the other garbage.