The Ascension: A Super Human Clash (21 page)

He gestured along the corridor. “We'll be arriving at the base in a little over two hours. In the meantime, you're free to explore the Carrier, but some doors won't open for you, and you will be accompanied at all times by your guards.”

Abby turned and walked away down the corridor. She didn't know where she was going, but she wanted to be away from him. The two Praetorian guards fell into step behind her.

He called after her: “You can't win, Abigail. Accept that. You can't beat me.”

He is insane! No one has the right to dictate how the rest of the human race should live! There has to be a way to stop him. We'll find a way, some weakness that maybe even he doesn't know about. He's totally wrong—no one is unbeatable.

But she feared, in her heart, that he was right.

 

In New Jersey, Roz had been sleeping in what Joe called “the guest suite”—a cobweb-filled storeroom with two old packing crates and a musty blanket to serve as a bed—when the door was pushed open.

“Time to go, Roz,” Suzanne Housten said. “Your brother and Krodin are both in Louisiana. It's time to move on the Citadel, and you're coming with us.”

Roz rolled off the crates and started to pull on her boots. “I have a mission of my own to complete.”

“Not anymore. Krodin has found your friends and taken them into custody. They're unharmed, for now. So put them out of your mind, because this is going to be a busy day.”

“What about Victoria?” Roz forced herself to remain calm as she said the name. She had spent much of the night trying not to think about how the girl had suffered.

Suzanne said, “When this is finished, we'll send some people to collect the bodies of her family. We'll give them a proper funeral.”

Joe Ward entered the room carrying a large carryall. “Morning, Roz. Got some gear for you here. Bulletproof vest, helmet, pants, and gloves. And your very own gun.”

“I don't use a gun.”

“You do today, kitten.”

 

“Coming into Manhattan now,” the Shrike pilot, Brandon Santamaría, told Lance. The partition blocking the rear of the craft from the pilot's area deactivated and slid down.

Lance stared openmouthed at the scene through the Shrike's front windshield. “Oh wow. That's the Citadel?”

Brandon nodded. “Almost complete. One hundred and fifty floors on the highest tower.”

The rectangular base of the Citadel took up almost half of Central Park. Its sides tapered in for the first forty floors before it broke into a series of towers of different heights. At the upper levels many of the towers were connected by a complex network of glass walkways.

The Shrike approached the Citadel from the southwest, coming in low over West Fifty-seventh Street and then ascending toward the southern-most tower.

“It's enormous…. How long did this take to build?”

“About a year, so far.” Brandon pointed to one of the towers on the northern side. “Still some work to be done on the last tower, but the base was completed in two months, and it's been inhabited ever since.”

The Shrike circled around the southern tower as it ascended, and slowed as it neared the top. “Floor one-thirty. Mr. Dalton's apartment.”

“He gets a whole floor? That's got to be the size of a city block!”

“Almost. The Vice-Chancellor
is
the second most powerful man in the country.”

“Where does Krodin live?”

“The center tower. The largest one.”

“How many floors does he have?”

“See there, where the central tower extends from the base? From there up. One hundred and ten floors. About three million square feet.”

Lance whistled. “Three million square feet in the middle of Manhattan. Sure hope it's rent-controlled.”

The Shrike slowed to a stop on the southern side of the tower and a long ramp extended to meet it, closely followed by side rails and a thin, transparent canopy.

Brandon shut down the craft and opened the doors. “You can get out now.”

Lance looked down at the ramp for a moment. “
How
high up are we?”

“About a quarter of a mile. I promise you the ramp is perfectly safe.”

Lance gingerly put down one foot, then the other. The ramp did seem solid enough.

“If you step to the side and look behind you…”

Lance looked. The view over lower Manhattan was staggering. Countless skyscrapers glistened in the dawn light while dozens of Raptors and other flying vehicles drifted silently between them.

“It's so quiet. Peaceful. So…what's the word? Serene.”

Brandon climbed out and stood behind Lance. “Because curfew is still in effect.”

Without looking at him, Lance said, “Way to spoil the mood, dingbat. I was almost getting poetic there for a second. You had to remind me that this is all the work of an insane immortal dictator.”

“Please come with me, Mr. McKendrick.”

Reluctantly, Lance dragged himself away from the view and turned around to face Brandon, then automatically took a step back. So far, he had only seen the pilot sitting down; he hadn't expected the man to be almost seven feet tall. “Whoa…”

Brandon sighed and said, “Yes. I'm very tall.”

“I wasn't going to say that,” Lance lied.

“Sure you were. Everyone does. We should get inside.”

Lance followed the pilot along the ramp to the doorway. As they reached the door, it slid open automatically, and a ten-year-old boy came running out.

The boy stopped when he saw Lance. “Who's this? Where're Max and Roz?”

“Your brother and sister are busy, Joshua. This is Lance, a friend. He might be staying with us for a while.”

“All right,” Joshua said. “How old are you, Lance?”

“Fourteen.”

“OK then.” Apparently satisfied with the answer, the boy turned to the pilot. “You're in time for breakfast, Brandon.”

They followed Joshua into the apartment. It reminded Lance of the lobby of the most expensive hotel in Fairview. It was enormous, split over two floors with a wide glass staircase leading to the upper floor. The lower floor was dotted with clusters of luxurious leather sofas, large potted ferns, TV screens as big as a classroom blackboard, and, in one corner, a pair of full-sized snooker tables.

Lance whistled. “Man, you'd need a taxi to get from one side of this place to the other. You live here too?”

Brandon nodded. “Staff quarters are downstairs, on the north side.”

“I could get used to living somewhere like this,” Lance said.

From deep within the apartment Joshua's voice called, “Brandon? Are you coming?”

Lance followed the pilot through the apartment to a set of doors on the eastern side.

“The eating quarters,” Brandon said. “The housekeeper is an excellent cook. She'll prepare anything you want.”

The doors to the eating quarters silently slid open as they approached. The room was about twice the size of the kitchen in Lance's house and sparsely furnished, containing only a glass-topped table and six chairs.

Joshua was already sitting at the table, and as Lance entered, a pair of saloon-style doors on the far side of the room swung open and a middle-aged woman came through carrying a plate of ham and eggs.

“Two more for breakfast?” she asked as she put the plate in front of Josh.

The pilot said, “Not for me, Maria. But this is Lance McKendrick, a friend of Mr. Dalton.” He patted Lance on the shoulder. “Don't go anywhere until Mr. Dalton returns. Not that you could—the elevators won't operate without the correct codes.” He moved toward the door, paused for a moment as though about to add something, then just smiled and left.

What was
that
about?
Lance wondered. He suddenly felt a little more awkward, more alone, but wasn't sure why.

“Sit down,” the woman said to Lance as she pushed open the doors to the kitchen. “There's more than enough for two.”

“If it's no trouble, thanks.” Lance sat down at the table next to Josh.

The boy was already wolfing down his breakfast. Around a mouthful of pancakes he asked, “What's your name again?”

“Lance.”

“How do you know Max?”

“Oh, me and Max go way back.”

“Where?”

“I mean, I've known him for a while. So, do you prefer Josh or Joshua?”

The boy shrugged. “I don't care. Want to watch cartoons?”

“Maybe when I've finished eating.”

Josh said, “Cool. Do you want to see my coolest thing?”

“Sure.”

“Max gave it to me.” Josh reached into the pocket of his jeans and pulled out a round piece of blackened rock no bigger than his thumb. “Isn't that cool? Brandon says it's probably, like,
millions
of years old.”

“It's a rock. All rocks are millions of years old.”

“It's not just a rock. It's a tektite,” Josh said. “Brandon says they're formed when a meteorite hits the ground so hot that it melts on impact. This is one of the drops. Brandon knows all about astronomy and space stuff, and he's teaching me. This one was found in Georgia last year.” He held it up to the light. “This actually came from outer space! How cool is that?”

Lance shrugged.

“It's
way
cool,” Josh said, sounding a little hurt. “Have
you
ever seen anything that came from outer space?”

“Sunlight?” Lance ventured. “Comes from the sun. That's in outer space.”

“That's not the same,” Josh said. “Brandon says that lots of asteroids and meteors are made up of iron and stuff and that there could even be gold or diamonds up there.”

But Lance had stopped listening.
Brandon's gone
, he realized.
Max ordered him to stay with me at all times. Either Max wasn't using his mind control on him when he gave the order—and it sure
looked
like he was—or Brandon's immune.

Does Max know about that? No, he can't. There's no way he'd have someone he couldn't control working for him. And he definitely wouldn't employ someone whose mind he couldn't read.

So that has to mean that Brandon is not only immune to Max's power but able to fake his own thoughts so that Max can't tell.

IN ANOTHER CABIN DEEP inside Krodin's enormous flying craft, James Klaus winced as he swung his legs off the bed and sat up. “He's letting us wander free? Seriously?”

“That's what he said,” Abby said. She was sitting on the edge of the chair opposite him. “He's
that
confident that we can't stop him.”

“As long as we can't use our powers, he's probably right.” James raised his hand to his forehead. “How does it look?”

“I can't tell because of the bandage. You were lucky you didn't get your eye poked out.” Then she thumped him on the arm. “You idiot—after you let go of me, I fell over the edge of a cliff! If you'd just set me down, I could have gotten to you a lot quicker!”

“How was I to know? It looked like an ordinary hill from the other side. Anyway, you
told
me—” He tried to stand but his knees were too weak.

Abby grabbed his hand and pulled him upright.

“They get Brawn too?” James asked.

“Yeah. Max said they didn't have a room big enough for him, so they have him outside on the landing deck. That's why the Carrier's moving so slowly—they don't want him to fall off.”

As he followed her into the corridor, James noticed that Abby was walking with some difficulty. “You're limping.”

“Yeah. Hey, remember that time when I told you about how I fell off a cliff?”

He stepped back from her. “Should be me helping you, then.” He looked around the corridor. Four Praetorian guards stood watching him.

“These two are mine,” Abby said, pointing to the man and woman on the left, “so I guess the others are yours. They don't answer questions, so it's not worth your time speaking to them.”

Out of habit more than courtesy, James nodded to the guards, then at the far end of the corridor he spotted Max Dalton talking to a muscular, casually dressed man. “That's him, isn't it?”

“The Fifth King,” Abby said. “He's probably right about us not being able to stop him. It'd be like ants attacking an elephant.”

“Well, with
enough
ants…” James forced a smile—he didn't want Abby to know how he really felt.

Krodin looked toward them and casually raised his hand. It was almost a friendly greeting.

“We've lost,” Abby said. “He's so much better than we are that there's no point in even trying. He said…He said we should join him. With us on his side the war will be over a lot sooner. Fewer people will die.”

“You don't believe that, do you?”

“I don't know. But I'm going to keep fighting anyway. If we can find a way to disable his teleporter, then we have a much greater chance of beating him.” She began to move back along the corridor. “We can get access to the hull this way.”

Dogged by the guards, James followed Abby through the corridors, up a metal stairwell, along another corridor, and then to a ladder that led up to a closed portal.

Moving with some difficulty, Abby climbed the ladder. As she reached the top, the portal slid open and a blast of cold air rushed in. “There are handrails,” she called down to James. “Seems safe enough.”

He followed her up and out. The topside of the Carrier's hull was designed to hold half a dozen Raptors at once. Right now, there were three Raptors, eight guards, and one blue giant.

Brawn was lying on his back, his legs crossed at the ankles and his hands behind his head, as though he were simply sunbathing. He looked up as James and Abby approached, and stood up. He glanced at the guards following them, then pointed an accusatory finger at James. “You. You nearly killed me!”

“That wasn't the plan,” James said. “But you survived.”

Brawn sighed, sat down cross-legged, and looked at James. “So you've got these guys shadowing you as well. Not a lot of fun, are they? Thanks for the save. They were really going to use napalm on me?”

“That's what I heard.”

Abby said, “Max told me that they weren't trying to kill you. They were going to drop a ring of napalm around you to stop you from running. Krodin wants you alive—he wants to know why you're here. The Brawn from this reality is, well…He's dead.”

The giant shook his head. “Man, these are some nasty people. We should have killed that guy back in Windfield. How'd he get here, anyway?” He slapped his hand down on the deck. “And where did this thing come from?”

Brawn listened without comment as Abby told him everything she knew about the situation.

Is he getting this at all?
James wondered.

When Abby was finished, Brawn said, “So. Parallel universe. Well, that makes sense.”

James couldn't help smiling at that. “Yeah, but it's not that simple…. It's not like our universe is still there.”

“Then how come we remember the way things should be?”

“Now, that I don't know.”

To Abby, the giant said, “So, you again. Abby, right? Have you thought of a good superhero name yet?”

“Not yet,” Abby said. “How've you been?”

“In prison. Got a hearing coming up next week. Or I did, before everything went nuts. What about you? And the other girl, Dalton's sister?”

James left Abby telling Brawn about Roz and Lance, and walked back toward the portal. Even without his enhanced hearing he could tell that his two guards were following; their heavy boots pounded on the metal landing deck.

They followed James through the portal and were never more than two yards behind him as he retraced his steps through the Carrier. He found Krodin standing in front of the large picture window, talking to a man who looked vaguely familiar.

The Fifth King turned to face him. “James Percival Klaus, also known as Thunder. That was quite a display of power, James. You took out a dozen Raptors with one sonic blast. Work with me and you'll never have to worry about anything again. Your family will be given whatever they wish. We can send your sister to the best schools. We can even—”

“Shut up. We're going to stop you,” James said. “If we have to, we'll kill you. Do you understand me?”

Krodin grinned at him. “I figured you people had an oath never to kill.”

“For you I'm willing to make an exception.”

“You're welcome to try. But you'll fail, and a lot of innocent people will suffer in the process.”

“Better that we die on our feet than live on our knees.”

“Tell that to all the people who are going to die because you don't understand how the world works. Grow up, James,” Krodin said, and turned back to his colleague.

For a moment, it seemed to James that he wasn't talking to Krodin at all, but to his stepfather. An arrogant, self-assured man, swaggering, indifferent to the feelings of those he felt were beneath him. “Don't dismiss me!” James shouted.

Krodin flicked out his arm and caught James across the chin, sent him spinning to the floor. He skidded to a stop in front of his guards.

“Mr. Klaus, even with your powers you were no more a danger to me than a light rain. So be a good little boy and walk away while you can still walk.”

Facedown on the ground, James coughed blood onto the floor. He felt like he'd been hit by a bus. His jaw ached and his vision was blurred. He rolled over onto his back.
He's making a mistake. We'll find a way. We'll stop him.

 

In the tunnels beneath Manhattan, Roz Dalton followed Joe Ward and Suzanne Housten—she still couldn't see the young woman as anyone other than Slaughter—and thirty other members of the resistance as they converged on the Fifty-ninth Street–Columbus Circle subway station.

They were all wearing black jeans, sweaters, and jackets, and most of the time Roz could tell that they were there only because of their footsteps and steady breathing.

It was a long, weary trek, and Roz was exhausted. Her attempts to sleep in the storeroom had given her little rest, and her legs felt as though she had just run a marathon.

“What exactly is the plan?” Roz asked.

Joe said, “You'll see when we get there, Roz. Obviously yesterday's events moved up our schedule and changed a few of the details. And by ‘a few' I mean most. But we have you, and we have an extra-special guest we'll be meeting at Columbus. We've also got some people inside the Citadel.”

A few minutes later they emerged into the dark and dust-filled main concourse of the Columbus Circle station. Another dozen people were waiting, all strong-looking men and women carrying a variety of weapons.

Joe whispered to Roz, “These are some of the folks Suzanne smuggled in. Lent to us by Unity. Specialists in infiltration.”

There was a brief round of nodded greetings, and then everyone gathered around Suzanne.

She turned in a slow circle as she spoke: “You're all expecting a motivational speech. Right. Here it is. Do what you're supposed to do and don't get killed if you can avoid it. Joe will brief you on the details. Where's the prisoner?”

The crowd parted and two men dragged a gagged, blindfolded, and handcuffed man into the clearing and pushed him down onto his knees in front of Suzanne.

Suzanne beckoned Roz closer. “Assuming what you told us is true, you need to see this.” She grabbed hold of the man's blindfold and ripped it off.

Staring up at them with wild eyes was an African American man Roz had never seen before. “Who is he?”

Suzanne paused. “You don't know him?”

“No.”

“But…”

Roz reached out with her telekinesis and gently removed the man's gag. He coughed and spat, then said, “Roz—please try to talk some sense into these people!”

“This is Solomon Cord,” Suzanne said. “Krodin's pet superhuman genius. The man who gave him the means to rule the world.”

Roz said, “Paragon? I…I never saw his face before. Let him up—take off his handcuffs!”

Suzanne began, “That wouldn't be wise. He—”

“Do it!” Roz said.

She moved toward Cord, but Suzanne stepped in front of her. Roz tried to go around her, but the woman grabbed her arms. “Roz, he's Krodin's chief architect. He's the only real leverage we have.”

Roz struggled to pull free of Suzanne's grip. “Let him go. You
know
he's not the same Solomon Cord. He's not a superhuman—he's an ordinary human.”

Then Joe said, “We know that. But there's a chance that Krodin doesn't. We have to leave a message for him. This is how it works, Roz. You get us in. We take certain key people hostage. And we leave Cord's body for Krodin to find.”

“He's an innocent man. He's a hero!”

General Westwood appeared behind Cord, placed his hand on his shoulder. “This is war, Ms. Dalton. Sacrifices have to be made.”

“No!” With tears welling up in her eyes Roz lashed out at Suzanne's face with a telekinetic jab. The woman's head snapped back, but she recovered instantly.

“Stop struggling, Roz,” Suzanne said. “I mean it. If we have to, we'll find another way into the Citadel and we'll leave
two
bodies for Krodin. Do you understand? This is more important than any of our lives.”

Cord shrugged the general's hand away, then awkwardly got to his feet. He turned to Suzanne. “You people are supposed to be experts, but you don't know the first thing about conducting a war of attrition—your plan
stinks
. It's foolhardy and a far greater risk than the benefits warrant. It's suicide. You think Krodin cares enough about any of his people to be upset that they've died? Even if he did care, he's got an eternity to get over it. You might find a way to slow him down, but what about ten years from now? A hundred years? A thousand? He'll still be around. But let me go and I'll show you how to get rid of him forever.”

After a long pause, Suzanne let Roz go and stepped away from her. “If you're not on the level, Cord, I'll kill you here and now.” She turned to the guards. “Release him.”

One of the men stepped forward and unlocked Cord's handcuffs. Cord flexed his arms and arched his back, then turned in a slow circle. “All right. This is the plan. Roz? That telekinetic shield of yours can also be used as a weapon. Do you understand what I mean?”

Roz nodded.

“Now.”

Roz closed her eyes and concentrated. She pictured her telekinesis forming a cocoon around herself and Cord, then instantly expanded it. She could feel it ripping out from her body, slamming into the resistance fighters, pressing them against the walls.

“Run!” Cord yelled.

Roz darted for the exit while Cord pulled the gun from the hands of the nearest man.

She raced up the steps and slowed—the subway entrance's gate was locked.
No time to pick it….
She used her telekinesis to smash the gates apart, and stepped over their shattered remains as she continued up the steps with Cord's heavy footfalls right behind her.

They emerged on the west side of Columbus Circle. The area was packed with civilians, some of whom glanced at them before continuing on their way.

“Now what?” Roz asked, looking around for any sign of Praetorians.

“Use your shield to keep the entrance blocked.”

She turned back, and saw that Cord was not alone. An unconscious man was slung over his shoulder. Cord turned around and she saw that it was Joe Ward.

“I'm guessing you do have a plan?” Roz asked.

Cord grinned. “Me? I
never
have a plan.”