The Gathering: Quantum Prophecy 2 (19 page)

“I don’t get how Paragon was able to, you know, fight and everything while he was flying.”

“He had years of experience. Plus his systems had an automatic balance feature. We didn’t have enough time to get something like that working. Now…your weapon.”

Dioxin turned his right arm over to show the small missile launcher.

“There are fourteen missiles in the cartridge. Because of their small size, the missiles have a range of only about a hundred yards. They’re not particularly accurate, but they should do the job. The payload is a combination of nitric acid and nitrobenzene.”

“Which means?”

“Point and shoot. Makes big bang.” Laurie stepped back. “I think you’re as ready as you’ll ever be.”

Moving slowly, Dioxin climbed down from the copter. He hit the radio switch on his helmet. “OK so far. Armor’s kinda heavy though. It’s harder to walk than I expected.”

“Get clear of the copter and start up the jetpack,” Laurie said.

Dioxin walked out a little farther. “Here goes…” He briefly touched the control on his left hand. The jetpack whined, but nothing happened.

“It’s pressure-sensitive,” Laurie’s voice said. “Try it again.”

Dioxin pressed harder on the control and could feel the jetpack pulling at his back. He increased the pressure a tiny amount and suddenly he was being lifted off the ground. “Yes!” He touched the control on his right palm and found himself drifting forward.

After an hour of practice, Dioxin had mastered the jetpack. He flew back to the copter and landed right inside the doorway. “When all this is over, I’m keeping this thing!”

Laurie said, “No, we’ll need it back. We haven’t had time to disassemble it yet. We’re not sure how it works.”

“How’s the fuel level?”

Laurie checked. “About half empty. You’re at least thirty pounds lighter than Solomon Cord, and with most of the armor’s circuits stripped out, the jetpack should have a much greater range.”

“Not bad…All right, top me up and then we’re going to have a little fun in the city of broken dreams.”

Even at seven o’clock in the morning, the streets of Las Vegas were busy. Late-night gamblers returning to their hotels waved bleary greetings to early-morning gamblers eager to get started.

Almost unnoticed among the millions of lights, a bright dot streaked out of the sky, slowing as it approached the famous Las Vegas Strip, the street on which the world’s most famous casinos stood.

A trio of drunken middle-aged men—all dressed in fishing gear because they’d told their wives they were spending a few days “on the lakes”—were the first to see the armored man descend from the sky and land heavily on the Strip.

“Hey! Hey, it’s Paragon! All right!” One of the men rushed over to the armored figure. “Hey, man! You’re my kid’s hero!”

Dioxin looked at the man, then at the other people who were now running toward him.

“Hey, how about an autograph, Paragon?” the man asked.

Dioxin swung his steel-clad fist, smashing it into the man’s grinning face.

Without a word, he raised his right arm, pointing it upward, and fired. A miniature rocket streaked out, crashing into the elaborate electronic display that covered the Strip.

The display shattered, showering everyone with millions of shards of glass. As the screams echoed around the Strip, the armored man aimed at the lobby of the nearest casino and fired again. Another massive explosion. He fired again and again.

A
T
S
AKKARA
,
THE ADULTS WERE DISCUSSING
the discovery of their new early-warning system: Mina’s auradetecting ability. They had gathered in the computer room, where, surrounded by the massive Cray XD4 supercomputers, Josh had been overseeing the accumulation of data regarding Dioxin’s attacks.

“We’ve shut down all but the most essential processes,” Josh said. “We’re analyzing
every
piece of data regarding the attacks, even down to the stores that sell the brand of spray paint they used at the airport. If there’s a pattern there, we’ll find it. Right now,” Josh said, “Mina’s on the lookout for any unknown superhuman auras. If Dioxin gets within about eight miles of here, she’ll know.”

Warren said, “That’s not good enough. We need to take her out, see if we can track him down.”

“He could be
anywhere
, Warren. At least if Mina’s here then we’ll be prepared for an attack.”

“We can’t just sit here and wait for him! What if he doesn’t come this way? Hundreds more people could die. We have to go looking for him.”

“No! Warren, I’m in charge here.
I
make the decisions.”

Warren was about to reply when he was interrupted by Façade’s voice over the intercom. “Guys, I’ve got bad news.” There was panic in his voice. “My God…Josh, turn on the TV!”

Josh switched the monitor to a television channel. It showed a shaky, grainy aerial view of complete devastation. Millions of tons of rubble, half-destroyed buildings. Dozens of emergency workers were milling about, coordinating the removal of the rubble.

Warren swore. “That…that’s Las Vegas! What the hell happened to it?”

Josh turned up the volume and a reporter’s shaken voice boomed out. “…less than an hour ago. The famous Sands Hotel has been completely destroyed. There are walking wounded everywhere. First estimates from the emergency services indicate that the fatalities could be in the hundreds. If you’ve just joined us, you’re looking at the shocking remains of one of the world’s best-loved cities: Las Vegas, Nevada. Yesterday, the city was packed with holidaymakers. Now, the Las Vegas Strip has been reduced to rubble…”

The scene changed to a handheld camera on the ground, pointed toward a grime-covered man who was stumbling over the wreckage. The man’s face was streaked with blood and tears. “Help us!” the man shouted, his voice cracking. “Put down that damn camera and
help
us!” Then, behind him, one side of a fifteen-story hotel suddenly collapsed. A thick gray cloud of concrete dust rushed toward the camera, enveloping the man. The camera bobbed and weaved as its operator ran for cover.

A reporter’s voice—out of breath—said, “Good God, that hotel…Unbelievable! I’m told that the hotel had
not
been fully evacuated.”

The cameraman ran back to the scene as the dust began to settle. The whole street was covered in rubble and fragments of
brick. Then the camera zoomed in on a dust-covered shape in the middle of the street. The man was not moving.

Josh switched over to another channel. It showed the same scene.

A third channel showed more footage from the air. The reporter said, “…former superhero known as Paragon, who recently resurfaced after ten years.”

Solomon Cord stared at the screen. “What the hell…?”

“Eyewitnesses claim—I’m sorry, I’ve just been told that we have Reginald Kinsella, leader of the Trutopian movement, on the line right now. Mr. Kinsella, what’s your take on all this?”

A photo of Kinsella appeared in the corner of the screen. Kinsella’s voice said, “Well, I’m shocked, David. Just shocked. To think that someone of Paragon’s reputation would—for whatever reason—stoop to such a callous, barbaric act is, frankly, beyond belief.”

Solomon roared: “No!”

Kinsella’s voice continued. “If the eyewitnesses are correct, then there is no doubt that the attacker was indeed Paragon. His armor is unique. It couldn’t be anyone else. It’s inconceivable to think that this…this
murderer
…has been operating with the full support of this country’s government and the United Nations.”

Then the reporter cut in. “Sorry to interrupt, Mr. Kinsella…we’re getting reports of a
second
attack by Paragon, this one just northwest of Spring Valley. According to the reports, the former hero has just targeted a mile-long section of state highway one-fifty-nine. Mr. Kinsella, could these incidents be in any way connected to the recent Sakkara attacks?”

“I don’t know, David, I really don’t. I
can
tell you that just a few hours ago one of the new heroes—Diamond—personally told me that Sakkara is
not
the name of the terrorist group. This suggested to me that they know more about the attacks than we do. But now we find out that Paragon himself could well be the one behind the attacks.” Kinsella hesitated for a second. “David, you of course will be aware that the Trutopians have for some time been following the activities of the new heroes, and we’ve also been investigating the
former
superheroes. In the past few days we’ve uncovered some facts that we chose not to make public, but in light of this morning’s events…I can tell you that Paragon’s real name is Solomon Cord.”

Despite the luxury of the hotel suite that Reginald Kinsella had booked for her, Renata had had a restless night. The meeting with her mother, and the later meeting with Kinsella, had rattled her. Kinsella’s arguments had been very convincing; the world was not going to get better on its own. It needed a push.
But who is he to decide what’s right for everyone else?

Then again, the thought had occurred to Renata that the average person was more concerned with his or her own happiness than with investing in the future of the planet.
Maybe it
will
take someone like Kinsella to change things. Someone with a strong, clear vision of how the future should be and the resources to make that future happen.

When she finally drifted off to sleep, these thoughts ran through her head and infected her dreams. She dreamed of a good world, a clean world. A utopia where every human being
lived in peace and without fear. Then her dreams were shattered by an all-too-familiar sound…police sirens.

Renata sat up, instantly awake, and realized that the sirens were coming from a television set in the room next door.

She had a quick shower and returned to the bedroom. As she was pulling on her uniform, she noticed that the noise from the adjoining room was still continuing. She turned on her own television set, switched it to the news channel. “What…?” She turned up the volume.

On screen, a terrified, shaking woman was saying, “He had these rockets that came out of his arms and he just started blasting everything around him! He didn’t care that there were
people
in those places!”

A bloodied and bruised man pushed his way in front of the woman. “Somethin’ oughta be done about those superheroes! They’re supposed to be the good guys! They’re supposed to protect us, not destroy the places where we live and work!”

Renata could feel her blood running cold. “Oh God…”

The screen cut to a TV studio where a slim, well-dressed man was being interviewed. “Las Vegas was a city of sin and vice,” the man said calmly. “A modern-day Gomorrah. Some would say that its destruction is long overdue.”

Offscreen, the interviewer asked, “Would
you
say that, Reverend?”

The minister smiled slightly. “The actions of this man, this Paragon—the very name is a contradiction—are certainly questionable.”

Renata gasped.

“Questionable?”
the interviewer said. “Paragon has quite possibly killed hundreds of people. What’s your take on that?”

“I would never condone the willful destruction of property, nor the injuring of
innocent
people. I don’t need to remind you that the wages of sin is death.”

Renata turned off the television set and grabbed for the telephone. She dialed a number. After four rings, it was answered. “Milton’s Stapler Services, how may I help you?”

“This is Renata Soliz.”

“Putting you through now, Miss Soliz.”

A few seconds later, Danny Cooper’s voice said, “Renata? Where are you?”

“Cleveland. Danny, tell Josh to pick me up. I’ve just seen the news…Is it true?”

“It wasn’t Sol. They stole his armor. He’s freaking out, Renata. They’re working like crazy to get the new armor up and running, but Razor reckons they’re still weeks away. We have no idea where Dioxin is. We don’t know where to start. But we do have…” He paused. “Look, I’ll tell you when you get here. How far away is Cleveland?”

“About eight hundred miles.”

“We’ll send someone to pick you up, but it’s a long way. Can you start heading in this direction?”

“How? I don’t have any way to get there.”

“OK. Well, we’ll think of something. You just keep in touch. And look after yourself, all right?”

“I will. You too.” Renata said good-bye and hung up the phone.
What am I going to do? It’ll take ages to get back to Sakkara.
Then she glanced at the business card on the bedside table and picked up the phone again.

She dialed the number on the card, and seconds later a voice said, “Reginald Kinsella. Talk to me.”

“Mr. Kinsella, this is Renata.”

“Renata, this isn’t a good time…Have you been watching the news?”

“Yes. You said I was to call you if I needed anything. Well, I do need something. I need transport.
Fast
transport.”

“To where?”

“Sorry, I can’t tell you that.”

“I understand. But if you can at least give me some idea of the distance, then I’ll know whether you need a car or a helicopter.”

“A helicopter.”

“You’re still in the hotel in Breckin Falls?”

“Yes.”

“Be outside in five minutes.”

“And I need a cell phone too.”

“That’s not a problem. The pilot will have one.”

“Thank you, Mr. Kinsella. I promise I’ll make it up to you!”

He chuckled. “Oh, you shouldn’t say something like that to me, Renata. I have a tendency to hold people to their promises.”

The new heroes were assembled in Ops as Joshua Dalton spoke on the phone with the U.S. president. Colin stood leaning against the wall, watching Josh and listening to the voice on the other end of the phone. Colin had heard the president’s voice many times before, but that had always been on television, when he was calm and everything was under control.

“We can’t
find
him!” Joshua Dalton roared. “If
your
people can’t, how the heck are
we
supposed to?”

“I’m told that the most recent sighting of Paragon was—” the president said.