The Ascension: A Super Human Clash (7 page)

As the vehicle neared, he could hear the voices of the men inside:

“Satellites spotted him six minutes ago, heading south. Scanned and transmitted the biometrics back to Central. They're backed up right now, but ten'll get you one that the kid doesn't have authorization to be out.”

“Farmhand, maybe?” another voice asked.

“On a
skateboard
? Unlikely. You want to apprehend him?”

A third voice, deeper and older: “What do we have him on?”

“We've definitely got him on Habzone breach and unauthorized mode of transport, Captain. If he's been within six miles of the base, we might be able to get him on attempted infiltration of a military installation.”

The captain said, “Hmm. Identity?”

“It's just coming through…. OK, biometrics give a ninety-six percent probability that he's James Percival Klaus, age sixteen. Listed residence is eighty-seven Maple Towers, Midway. No known dissident connections. Son of Shawna Quillan Klaus, adopted son of Rufus Kenneth Halliburton. One half sister, Shiho, age seven.”

“What's he doing out here on a school day?”

“According to school records he was logged in this morning along with the rest of the students. No idea how he ended up this far away….
Here's
something. His birth father is Darrien Tobias Klaus. Original owner of the land now occupied by the base.”

There was a pause, and then the captain said, “All right. I'm thinking we haven't seen a Habzone breach like this in a long time…. Could be a diversion—I wouldn't put it past Daedalus to use a kid. Contact Central. Tell them we need flyers—Skimmers and Jetmen should do it. Full-blanket coverage, twenty-mile radius of the base. They spot anything else unusual, they're to go in with all guns blazing. We've had enough weird stuff happening already today. Maximum speed. Let's see whether Klaus runs or surrenders.”

James cursed himself for not sticking to the back roads.
All right, then. They know who I am, but they don't know what I can do. There's no way I can outrun them. And I'm sure not going to surrender.

He concentrated on the sound generated by the patrol vehicle's engine, modified it, and sent it back with an underlying grinding noise.

“What the heck is
that
?” the captain asked.

“Uh, sounds like we've stripped a bearing, Captain.”

“Any change in our speed?”

“No, sir.”

“Keep on him.”

Rats!
James thought.
I was sure that would work. OK, try
this
for size.

He generated a sphere of silence around the vehicle: Now, no matter how much noise they made, they wouldn't be able to hear each other. One disadvantage was that James could no longer hear the vehicle's engines—he could only hope that the disorientation was slowing them down.

There's no way I can outrun them—nowhere to hide.

What I wouldn't give for a jetpack like Paragon's right now
, James thought.
Dumb sound-control powers! Why couldn't I have gotten flight or super-speed or something more useful?

I could blast their truck with sound waves—that might work.

Then he grinned.
Or I could just generate shock waves right behind me, use them to push me along.

He crouched low on the skateboard, then concentrated, triggered a powerful shock wave in the air right behind him.

The force hit him like a sudden gust of wind, so strong it almost knocked him off the board. He crouched lower and gripped the edges, and tried again. There was another brief surge of speed. He followed it with two shock waves in quick succession.

Yes! Who needs a jetpack when you've got superpowers?

He let loose a steady burst of shock waves, and within seconds the skateboard was hurtling along the road at a speed far greater than its manufacturers had ever anticipated.

This must be what it feels like for Paragon
, James thought.

For a moment he considered dropping the cocoon of silence from the pursuing vehicle, just to hear what they were saying about him, but realized that it was better to leave them confused and panicking.

So who's this Daedalus guy they mentioned? A superhuman?

And if Krodin only reappeared a few years ago, what happened to all the
other
superhumans?

SIX YEARS ago…

Krodin watched from the shelter of an abandoned store doorway as a terrified woman darted across the rain-slicked street followed by two cruel-looking young men. The sobbing woman passed Krodin without noticing him, heading for the entrance of the nearby dark alley, reaching it only a few seconds before her pursuers.

A few minutes later Krodin heard her screams. Then—less than a minute after that—the two men emerged from the alley, one of them tossing the woman's now-empty pocketbook into the gutter as he handed his companion a share of the takings.

Krodin had arrived in Detroit a week ago. This was the tenth major city he had visited in the four months since his arrival in America, and he was quickly reaching the conclusion that the people of this era were considerably less sophisticated than those of his own time, forty-five centuries in the past.

They are reckless, lawless…. They lack guidance and discipline. Above all, they lack control.

The gleeful men boldly strode past the doorway, and one of them noticed Krodin. He flipped his long, rain-drenched hair away from his face. “Wotchoo lookin' at, freak?”

Krodin ignored him.
Their concept of democracy is flawed. Their leaders spend all their time in office either trying not to offend anyone or working only to secure their next term. And all the while the nation is stumbling along behind them. If the humans cannot understand that, then their race is doomed.

The young man's friend stopped, came back to stand behind him.

“I aksed you, freak, wotchoo lookin' at?”

Krodin tilted his head to the side as he examined the young man. He was thin, shorter than Krodin, but had a wild look in his eyes.
He cannot honestly want to fight me
, Krodin thought.
He has no reason to believe I'm a threat to him.

The young man's friend said, “Ferget 'im, Gino. Lookit this guy—he smells like he lives in a Dumpster.”

Gino's eyes narrowed as a sly grin spread across his face. “Nah, I don't like the way he's eyeballin' me. He thinks I'm scum. You think I'm scum, doncha, freakoid?”

Krodin considered this. “Yes.”

Gino faltered, and Krodin knew that the man had been expecting fear, or passionate denial. Anything but agreement.

“What?”

“I think you and your friends are scum. In a world of greedy, small-minded, cruel humans, you are surely among the lowest. You are utterly worthless. You bring nothing of value to this world. When you are dead, the quality of the human race will rise by a considerable amount.”

Gino's left arm flashed out, as Krodin knew it would. But the four-inch blade in his hand didn't reach its target.

Krodin locked his right hand around the man's wrist, planted his left against his chest, and pulled.

As Gino lay screaming on the ground and his friend raced away into the night, Krodin thought,
I have seen enough. If the human race is incapable of saving itself, then it falls to me to take control.

After the attack by Pyrokine, when his enemies seemed to disappear, Krodin had simply walked away from the suddenly empty field and located the nearest settlement, a town called Windfield. Despite his being unclothed from the waist up, and barefoot, few of the town's inhabitants had given him more than a cursory glance as he strolled its streets listening to their conversations and learning more of their language.

For weeks, he had no idea what had happened to him, until he found a local newspaper that featured a drawing of a nuclear power plant that was scheduled to begin construction: It was the same building in which he had materialized after Slaughter and Pyrokine took him from his own time. Then, construction on the power plant had almost been complete. But according to the newspaper's accompanying article, it was expected to be completed in six years.

Krodin knew then that he had traveled to the past—to a time when most of his attackers were only young children. He didn't know their names, or how to find them, but he remembered their faces.

But there was one he did know, a young man he would never forget. The man had somehow linked his mind with Krodin's, tried to control him. For a while it had worked, but Krodin's defenses had adapted to the attack.

In this time he doesn't know who I am. But if he truly
does
possess the power to control men's minds, then I can use him.

Krodin tossed Gino's severed left arm into the gutter as casually as Gino had thrown away the woman's pocketbook, then stepped out of the doorway and into the rain.

As he passed the mouth of the alley, he saw the woman lying on the ground. Her face and hands were cut and bruised, her clothing torn to shreds.

She opened one bloodshot eye, stared at him. “Help…” Her voice was coarse, barely a whisper. “Please, help me!”

Krodin puzzled over this for a moment. “Why?” He turned away and resumed walking.

WHEN ROZ HAD RECOVERED from the effects of Cataxia—the knockout drug contained in the darts—she was able to get her first good look at the vehicle in which she was being carried.

She had already guessed from the gentle swaying and dipping and the constant speed that it was flying. It seemed to be a larger version of the construction craft she'd seen working on the strange towering building in Central Park.

At the front of the craft two men were clearly pilots; the remaining four soldiers—three men and Agent Paquette—didn't seem to have any part in controlling the vehicle.

“Feeling any better?” Agent Paquette asked.

“A bit. You said something about Max?”

The woman nodded. “He disappeared from the facility in Louisiana at the same time you materialized in that couple's apartment. And you weren't the only ones. The project's controller disappeared along with your brother—we still haven't found him. And one of the monsters…Well, I know it sounds crazy because they should all be dead, but one of them suddenly appeared in the middle of a prison.”

Roz was finding it tough to take all this in at once.
One of the monsters? She said that as though I'm supposed to know what it means.
“Is Max OK?”

“I believe so. Rosalyn, the Chancellor's taking a direct interest in this phenomenon. He was with the team in Louisiana. The system seems to have worked perfectly—more than once, obviously—but if what happened to you and your brother is connected, then clearly
something
went wrong. Max was right there when it happened, so maybe that could be explained away as some sort of fluctuation in the energy field, but why would it affect you?”

None of this makes sense!
“And the, uh, the monster?”

“Well, obviously
he's
superhuman.”

“I know, but who is he? Is there any connection between him and the rest of us?”

Agent Paquette shrugged. “It doesn't seem likely. Almost all of the creatures died in Anchorage with the rest of them. Or that's what we believed until today, when this one suddenly showed up. He's about thirteen feet tall, hairless, blue skin. Immensely strong and very fast.”

“Brawn!” Roz said.

“He certainly has that, and more. The guards shot at him a dozen times—didn't even slow him down. None of the other monsters have reappeared, as far as we know. A blessing, really. You've heard about the one who dripped acid?” She shuddered. “I saw him once—he was ugly as sin and vicious with it.”

So that's what she means by monsters—superhumans whose powers have brought on a physical change.
“The man who runs the project…I don't think I've met him either.”

“No, you wouldn't have. They keep him locked away. For his own safety more than anything else. He's not quite one of us, but he's got a remarkable brain.” Agent Paquette swept her arm in a gesture to take in the craft in which they were flying. “We wouldn't have any of this if it hadn't been for him. There has to be
some
connection between him and the rest of you.”

One of the pilots called, “Thirty seconds, ma'am.”

“Good. One more question before we land, Rosalyn…. At the apartment the Praetorians didn't recognize you, which is understandable given what they went through. But why did you attack them? Why did you run? Surely you knew you weren't in any danger.”

Uh-oh
, Roz thought. “I wasn't thinking clearly. I hope I didn't hurt any of them.”

“No, but they're being shipped back to boot camp for retraining. They made some dumb mistakes. Obviously they were rookies—we weren't about to risk sending experienced troops through.” She smiled. “But the important thing is that it worked, right?”

Roz returned the smile. “Absolutely. Today's a good day.”

The hum from the flying craft's engines began to increase in volume. Then there was a slight bump and Agent Paquette opened a hatch in the side.

As Roz followed Agent Paquette out of the craft, a voice inside her head said, “Roz, say nothing. Just act like you've seen it all before.”

Max?

“Just keep calm, Roz. We've got to get away from here as soon as possible, but we won't be able to do that if they suspect we're not who they think we are.”

They had landed on a flat concrete expanse ringed by a large structure that was in the process of being constructed—or demolished. Hundred-foot-high metal beams protruded from the ground, many connected to each other by heavy crossbeams. To Roz it had the appearance of an enormous steel Stonehenge.

The agent led Roz—trailed by the three other soldiers—toward a low black-painted building at the north end. She glanced back at the craft: It was roughly rectangular, perhaps fifteen feet high, twice as wide, three times as long, painted a dark military green.

Beyond the craft were three others, identical except for the numbers stenciled on the sides.

“They're called Raptors,” Max's voice said. “I have no idea how they work—it's a propulsion system like nothing we've ever seen. I think it might be something to do with the white lights on the underside, but I won't be able to tell for sure until I can pick the brains of someone who knows more about them.”

Roz thought,
Max, where's Josh?

“He's safe, back home in Manhattan. We have to find a way to get him out of the city without drawing too much attention. I've been in touch with Paragon and Abby—they were dragged over to this world too. They're in Midway right now.”

Roz hurried to catch up with Agent Paquette, and Max's voice said, “So Impervia's still around…. Aside from those of us who crossed over, she and Brawn are the only other superhumans I'm sure are still here.”

Yeah, but what happened to the others? And there's something familiar about this place. Where are we?

“East Rutherford, New Jersey,” Max's voice replied. “This used to be a stadium, the home of the New York Giants. Apparently football has been outlawed in this world—along with every other form of mass gathering. So many people in one location is considered a major security risk. Roz, I'm going to tell you something and I want you to remain calm, got it?”

OK.
Ahead, Roz could see a door opening in the black building. Her brother walked out, flanked by two soldiers.

“On the way here I was contacted by a man with the code name Daedalus. A superhuman, I think. He's working with the resistance and they've got spies everywhere. He says that almost every other country in the world is terrified that Krodin is going to start expanding his empire. They've banded together and formed what they call Unity.”

So they can help defend each other?
Roz asked.

“No. So they can perform a preemptive strike. They're planning to attack America before Krodin attacks them.”

Roz felt the bile rush to her throat again, and had to clap her hands over her mouth so she wouldn't throw up.
No…That's crazy! Millions of people would be killed!

They had almost reached Max now. Inside Roz's head, his voice said, “That's why we've got to get to safety. We'll talk more later. Just remember what I said, OK? Stay calm. You don't know anything about this.”

Agent Paquette stopped in front of Max and saluted.

Max nodded. “Agent Paquette.”

She arched an eyebrow. “So formal, Vice-Chancellor Dalton?”

“We
are
on duty,” Max said, smiling. He nodded toward Roz. “See you found my sister. Walk with me, Amanda. We need to start putting this together. Figure out what happened.”

How can he be so casual about everything?
Roz wondered. She followed Max and Agent Paquette into the black building—this close, she could see that it wasn't painted at all: Its entire surface seemed to be covered in three-inch-square black panels.

“Some type of photovoltaic cells,” Max's voice said. “Supposed to be close to one hundred percent efficient—that's way better than anything we have back in our world. If we ever get back, I'm taking all this technology with us.”

Max, we have to
do
something! We can't just—

Max looked at her, and thought, “Roz. Let it go.”

She took a deep breath, held it for a second, then let it out slowly.
OK
, she said to herself.
We're not in any immediate danger. We play this game until we see a chance to get away.

Inside the black building was a wide stairwell leading down. Max chatted to Agent Paquette as they descended, and Roz knew from experience that Max was probing the agent's mind, asking key questions to bring specific memories to the surface.

The steps led down to what appeared to be a long, wide corridor—but as they reached the bottom, Roz realized it was a single large room.

Roz swallowed.
Oh wow…

The room was almost the size of the disused football field above. Hundreds of technicians were working at large benches, assembling countless suits of polished steel armor. The suits were bristling with powerful-looking weapons, and many of them were being fitted with large jetpacks on the back.

Agent Paquette noticed Roz's reaction. “You haven't been here before, have you? This is the first proper phase of the Jetman project. The prototypes have been a tremendous success. If we're going to have any chance of stopping Daedalus, this is it. The factory in Minnesota has just shipped the rest of the pieces. There are still a few bugs to iron out of the system, but we already have Jetmen accompanying patrols in sensitive areas.”

Max exchanged a quick glance with Roz, then, to Agent Paquette, said, “This is how we're going to win the war against Unity.”

“We have eight hundred here, another ten thousand ready to go into production for phase three.”

“Very impressive to see them all in one go,” Max said. “What do you think, Roz?”

“I, uh…” She forced a smile and walked over to the closest bench. “Any chance of getting one of these jetpacks for myself?”

Inside Roz's head, Max said, “Now we know how this universe's version of Paragon has been keeping himself busy.”

 

Lance McKendrick didn't know what else to do: He went to school.

It's not fair—it's summer break! I shouldn't have to go to school. And what's with the note? A permission slip to be allowed out on the street…How could the world have turned into this?

When he'd left the house, he had been surprised by how quiet everything was. There were no pedestrians and there was almost no traffic. Cameras were everywhere, on lampposts, attached to the eaves of houses and stores, strung on thick cables across the streets.
You wouldn't want to scratch your butt in public,
Lance thought.

On the next block he passed the small drugstore where he bought his comics on Wednesday evenings—it was closed. Even the twenty-four-hour laundry next door had its shutters down.

A humming noise approached Lance from behind, and he turned to see a black-uniformed man heading toward him on what he first took to be a motorbike. But as the man reached him, Lance saw that the vehicle didn't have wheels. Instead, it hovered over the ground at a height of about four inches.

Oh man, I want one of those!

The officer was wearing thick black leathers, a helmet that would have looked more at home on a fighter pilot, and slim dark glasses.

“Papers,” the man said, his voice laced with boredom.

Lance handed over the permission slip.

The officer glanced at it, handed it back. “Unexpected illness?”

“Felt a bit sick,” Lance said. “I'm over it now, though.” He slapped his hands together and in a cheery voice said, “Eager to get back to school and hit the books.”

The officer stared at him, unmoving.

Not exactly a world-class party animal, are you?
Lance thought. “Uh…Is that it?”

“Name?”

“Lance McKendrick. Like it says on the permission slip.”

“School?”

“Martin Van Buren High.”

Another long pause, then the officer beckoned Lance forward with his black-gloved hand. “Get on the back. I'll take you there.”

Lance pointed in the direction he'd been walking. “Thanks, but I'm OK. It's not too far, and I could do with the fresh air. You know—blow away the cobwebs.”

Through gritted teeth, the man said, “Get on. That was not a request.”

Lance walked around to the back of the flying bike—there was just enough room behind the officer for him to sit. He swung one leg over the seat. “What do I hold on to?”

“Grips under your thighs.”

Lance looked down—metal rods had sprung from the sides of the craft. He grabbed hold of them.

The bike surged away from the sidewalk, then cut straight across the street and through a junction without slowing. With so little traffic on the road there didn't seem to be much need for the officer to follow the traffic rules.

Lance felt that he should say something. It didn't always work, but sometimes cops went easy on you if you pretended to be interested in police work. “So, how long have you been—”

The officer interrupted him. “Do not speak to the driver.”

“Gotcha. Sorry.”

Two minutes later the officer steered the bike through the gateway of Martin Van Buren High School. Lance was intrigued that security was much heavier than back in his own world. There, the school had gates that were locked during the school day to prevent any undesirables from getting in—or getting out—but in this world there was a manned gatepost that reminded Lance of something out of a war movie.

The three guards at the gate nodded to the officer and allowed him to pass through. The officer rode the bike straight up the steps and stopped outside the door. “Get off.”