Project Northwoods (86 page)

“Overseer, start up the camera,” Arbiter commanded.

“At once, High Consul.” In front of him, a pillar rose from the console. Within it, the lens of a camera whirred and clicked until it had Arbiter in focus. A moment later, a red light illuminated nearby, and a window opened up on the screen bearing the recorded image.

“A new age of heroes has dawned,” Arbiter began, as though he had thought this entire speech through. “There will be no negotiation, no remorse. Too many have died to allow for the degeneration of our society to continue.” He punched a few buttons on the console, and the recording image showed the satellite feed of what was left of the Super Villains’ Guild. “The weak will condemn me for my austerity, for the blood I have washed my hands with…” He restored the feed to his face. “But it is through this act that I have saved countless lives.

“Villainy…” His face, what was visible of it, turned red. “… Has too long suckled at the teat of those who would wish to call them friends, equals. Their…
magnanimity
,” he spat the word, rendering it toxic, “will not be the death of those who have stood strong in the face of evil.” Julia shuttered at the archaic word, its intentional use driving out any semblance of rationality. He took a deep, shaking breath. “They will either capitulate or face the consequences.” His eyes, through the cat-like slits in his helmet, seemed even more animalistic than ever before. “We will rebuild our brethren into our image, uncompromising, to beat back the inhuman horde. Any who defy us…

“… Reveal themselves as villains.”

The words ended the recording. Overseer vanished from his window, indicating he was sending the doctrine to all the major media outlets. Julia wanted to shout, wanted to scream, but the horror of it all had rendered her mute. Her mouth opened and closed desperately, her survival instincts preventing her from speaking.

Arbiter leaned heavily on the console, apparently lost in thought. It was only after Overseer’s eye reappeared onscreen that he fidgeted. “I have uploaded the file to all major networks and video-sharing sites, High Consul.”

“Very well,” Arbiter said. He turned to the others, his gaze unsettlingly beyond them. “Have the search drones inform anyone in the villain zone that they have until midnight to report to the Heroes’ Guild for clemency.” He looked over at the computer monitor. “The lives of those in Fort Justice are in their hands.”

“Very good, High Consul.” With a wink, the monitor faded to black.

Grimly, Arbiter announced, “We begin the final phase.” He glided past the others. Like iron to a magnet, they adhered to him. Only Julia lagged behind. She followed, watching as Claymore, Archetype, and Zealot formed a barrier around their illustrious leader. “Zealot, work with the leaders of SERAPHIM in organizing the Heroes’ Guild for the villains’ surrender. Archetype and Claymore, you will maintain security in these hallowed halls.”

“Do you expect treachery, sir?” Claymore asked.

“Always,” Arbiter responded.

“I would prefer to be alongside the High Consul,” Archetype said wistfully. “But I respect your decision.”

Julia’s hand fell to the butt of her revolver. For the briefest of moments, she thought that she could get off four shots and take them out rapidly. Reality bit back quickly, reminding her that there were too many variables: Arbiter had the reaction time of almost nothing; Claymore was quick on his feet; Archetype was probably the least threatening, but represented a psychic unknown; Zealot could armor up on the first explosion of gunpowder, leaving her to face a bulletproof hero. Even with the half-moon clip in her pouch, she’d only take out three… and that was only if her nervousness hadn’t impaired that particular trick…

Archetype’s head turned toward Julia, quickly, his eyes piercing and dangerous. Julia stopped immediately, throwing her hands across her chest. He smiled, his thin lips curving in a mix between a hungry and pleased. Her heart slammed against her ribs.
Did he read my thoughts?
She tried to swallow, but found her throat was a desert, coarse and painful. Their eyes met. His pupils narrowed.

“What say you, Gunslinger?” The friendliness of his tone was shattering, soothing, but made all the more frightening because of her thoughts. “Wouldn’t you wish to be on the front lines, apprehending your father’s murderers?”

She nodded, breaking eye contact. “Yeah,” Julia croaked. “Even though it apparently doesn’t matter.” She barely even registered that she said the words until Arbiter stopped, the others copying their leader.

“Quaint.” Julia mentally kicked herself for her petulance. Arbiter looked over his shoulder at her. His face hid the sneer that his voice couldn’t shield from her, “Your outbursts have made it clear that placing you anywhere near the villains problematic.” Arbiter resumed walking, leaving only Julia behind as the group neared the exit. “You shall stay with me, to oversee the matter here. Be grateful I am allowing you time to see the truth.” The four of them left, leaving her shaking and alone in the computer room.

She raged, quietly, until she was sure they had gone. Her guts were leaden, her head floating. It didn’t take long for her knees to finally buckle out from beneath her. Everything, every last thing, had changed. She retched, heaving but not vomiting. Julia’s eyes burned, and tears fell from her cheeks as she leaned forward onto her hands, retching and sobbing her insides tearing her apart.

In a fit of impotent anger and self-consciousness, she hurled her hat from her head. Her face contorted halfway between a snarl and despair as her fingers began to pull at her vest, trying to grasp it and rip it free. It held fast, and she began to claw at her collar, ripping along her skin to just get free of the hateful uniform which represented everything reality had become, a mockery of everything…

Her hands raked across a metal chain she had looped around her neck. With her fingers snagging the metal, she felt the weight of her mother’s jewel shift against her chest. The effect was immediate: she felt calmer, focused. She couldn’t afford to breakdown. Not right now, when there was still so much at stake. It may not matter to Arbiter, but her father’s murderer was still out there and far more important to her than the nameless peons of a supposed conspiracy.

Arthur should have been a piece of that puzzle. She lamented her desire to protect him and herself. There was no doubt she had seen him that night… and maybe if she hadn’t pretended he didn’t exist, had hauled him in to answer the questions that needed to be answered…

It didn’t matter. He was dead now, and he was just the first victim of a terrible new wave of retribution. Julia would fix this, or die trying.

Terribly cold, Julia gathered herself upright, took a breath, then went for her hat. She would wait out the storm, then work on her own, Arbiter’s super-weapon be damned. His satellite-based erection was a threat to justice, even if he couldn’t see it. Hat situated firmly on her head, she strode out of the room and into the hallway.

“Gunslinger…” The voice wasn’t the pseudo-seductive one of Claymore, but the dulcet tones of Archetype. Immediately, the hairs of her neck stood on end. Earlier, she had been all too aware of the sickly sensation of his mind against hers, probing. In his company for a prolonged stretch, she must have gotten used to it. Now it was back, and no smile of his would allow her to lower her guard.

She offered a smile, trying to keep him unaware of the various secrets rolling around in her head. “Is everything alright?”

“You should answer that,” he said. She turned away and walked toward the nearest stairwell. “I sensed distress in the…”

“You sensed nothing. Sorry, bud.” Julia turned while she walked, trying to keep the conversation chummy. In retrospect, it was a bad idea; she had never behaved that way around him. She turned back around. “Just not thrilled with killing people.”

He chuckled at the comment. “After what happened to your father…”

She stopped, biting her lip in annoyance. “Is there a point to this?” She didn’t turn to face him, scared that doing so would open her up.

His voice became less friendly. “I do not wish that your loyalty to Arbiter be further called into question.” The sentence was a warning, dripping with sinister intent. Julia’s hand twitched above the butt of her gun. He must have sensed the intent or merely seen the motion, but in an instant his hand was resting on her shoulder. It was cold and skeletal, and she immediately felt groggy. “What are you hiding?” The world was now warm and swimming around her, a familiar sensation that… she couldn’t quite place… but it was…
inviting
… “Child… you’re safe with me… tell me what troubles you.”

Julia snapped into action and spun, knocking away Archetype’s hand. She felt queasy, but she was at least fully aware of herself. “You want to help someone, talk to Claymore.” No sooner than they were out of her mouth, Julia regretted the words. It had been automatic, a purely defensive response.

Archetype’s face hardened to something approaching concern and something else…
fear?
Whatever it was, it was less welcomed by Julia than his earlier facade of clinical condescension. “What?”

“Don’t worry about me,” she said, throwing her hands up in a gesture of casual indifference. “At least I know what I see is real.” She turned, back toward the stairwell. Archetype didn’t sound like he was following, which was fine. Only part of her felt guilty for selling out Claymore. The other part knew it was the only way to buy her time.

THE HERMIT

Less Than Nine Hours Until Midnight

IF ARTHUR HAD ANY RESENTMENT OVER
taking care of just one other person during his time with Stair, it immediately evaporated when trekking as a group of eleven. Although Zombress moved swiftly from rooftop to rooftop above them, the ten individuals on the street moved agonizingly slow through the villain zone. Their target was a luxury apartment building three blocks from a blockade that Jack Cleese had apparently owned the place for years. Without so much as an explanation, he offered that if Aeschylus was to be found, it would be there. Even after the world ended, Cleese’s flair for the dramatic was as constant as breathing air.

Complicating matters, the SERAPHIM weren’t moving along established streets in their sweeps, like the Enforcers had. Instead, they travelled in unpredictable patterns, sending individuals down alleyways to cut off possible escape routes. It was apparently acceptable to potentially sacrifice one member to apprehend or kill any villain discovered. Since Arthur’s party had quintupled in size since the night before, slipping through cracks had been made almost impossible.

That wasn’t even considering the fact that search drones would sweep the skies in slow, lazy arcs, belting off their message. In less than nine hours, all the villains left in the city had to surrender themselves. The threat of a final, apocalyptic action didn’t even need to be mentioned; the ‘or else’ was implied. The first time any of them heard it, worried glances fell upon one another before moving toward Colonel Morant, who glared at the metal monstrosities as they passed through the streets. Their progress was so slow that the method of evading the Drones became second nature: whenever they heard the speakers, the group scrambled into the nearest building they could get into until the thing cleared the street. They would then resume the trip, the intensity of their journey heightened yet again.

The colonel and Agent Mast brought up the front, making their way through the streets as Weston Marsh and Steven made sure no one was following them. Ariana and Morgan were equally sullen as they marched wordlessly down the streets. Allison apparently had concealed a music player in her suit, and was bobbing along with the music which she pumped loudly into her ear canal. Arthur had been trying to think of some possible way to stop the death ray, but nothing occurred to him. Mollie might be able to think of something, but he honestly doubted there would even be a way to get her into the Guild computer after what happened.

He felt heavy and slow. Ever since he saw his work in action, the devastation, he could envision Catalina in her final moments. The ionized shell, having completed its work, trapped her within a cone of hyper-excited oxygen particles. Then, in what he hoped was a mere moment, a wall of fire from the sky would ripple downward, flash-frying her eyes before cooking her from the inside out. That’s only, of course, if the pressure differential hadn’t yanked her internal organs out of her mouth.

He had fought by her side, seen her laugh, smile, and she had saved his life numerous times. Now she was dead. Granted, she was going to kill the lot of them. But she hadn’t gotten the chance to. If he hadn’t existed, this mess, this horror, would never have happened. Every drop of blood spilled in his father’s name was spilled thanks to him. There was no amount of penance he could ask for which would clear his name.

A cool, soft hand worked its way into his, tangling up in his fingers. It was awkward for a moment, as his recent ex-girlfriend hadn’t been much for hand-holding. After the initial fidgeting, he looked at the one who had been so bold. Stair looked up at him, tired, green eyes glimmering. The girl was beautiful, even behind the layer of grey dust which had accumulated on her skin. She was a combination of sister and daughter, even though he knew she didn’t view him so platonically.