The Next Chronicle (Book 2): Damage (14 page)

“No window, I assume?” Kit asked.

“No,” Waid said. “Which means we either give up now, or James has to teleport blind into a small space filled with people.”

A probable death sentence, Kit knew.

After James returned him to his room at the facility,
Ray
had to rush to make his appointment. Fortunately he had access to the internal transportation system, so getting to the research labs wasn't an ordeal.

After Fairmont and the botched suicide attempt he had been driven to by his guilt, Ray had consented to being placed in a coma and studied. He'd had no desire to attempt a normal life under the weight of the lives he had taken, and the idea that he might be able to help appealed to him. Dr. Nunez and his staff had learned a lot about Next, and that was with his powers mostly dormant.

Part of the deal Archer had struck with Robinson to allow Ray to become an agent was the continuation of that work. Ray's powers had evolved, or at least attained more of their potential, and Nunez was eager to study every scrap of data he could get.

Nunez never seemed to sleep, and was happy to schedule appointments at whatever time was convenient for Ray.

The lobby of the lab was packed with younger members of the department, playing video games as usual. Buried deep within the massive complex, Ray had often wondered why a huge lobby was even needed. Nunez shared the opinion, and so he allowed his employees to use it as their recreation room.

Ray waved at them absently as he jogged past and hurried into the lab proper. The path through the winding halls was second nature to him by now, his feet taking him where he needed to go without much need to think about it. Several people greeted him as he moved by, and the massive geneticist—McDonald, Ray thought his name was—chuckled as he pointed out that he was close to being late.

Nunez was flexible about scheduling the appointments, but he expected you to be there on time.

Ray burst into the private lab set aside for him just as the PA system overhead chimed the hour. Nunez turned from his work station, smiling at Ray. “Cutting it a little close, aren't you?”

“Sorry,” Ray said. “Lost track of the time.”

Nunez waved a hand. “It is no problem. Go ahead and change. We'll begin when you're ready.”

Ray shucked out of his suit and into a set of mint green scrubs. He wore no jewelry, socks, shoes, or even underwear. As he had learned the hard way, messing around with his powers ran the risk of disintegrating whatever he happened to have on at the time.

“First come over here and have a seat,” Nunez said, patting an exam table. Ray complied, hauling himself up with a grunt. Nunez rolled a table over, which held a tray with several instruments and one hypodermic needle.

Nunez went about his business efficiently, attaching leads to Ray's chest, checking and recording vital signs, and lastly rolling up his sleeve before injecting the contents of the syringe into the meat of his shoulder.

“What was that?” Ray asked.

“Same as last time,” Nunez replied as he put a taped square of gauze over the injection site. “The tracking fluid I designed to measure the energy absorption capabilities of your cells.”

Ray nodded. Nunez had seemed quite proud in his explanation of the stuff, which was a specialized molecule that reacted in predictable ways to varying levels of Surge energy. Ray didn't have the science to understand it (and thought that maybe no one on earth besides Nunez did) but made sure to appear suitably impressed.

Which he was, just more along the lines of a cave man being awed by fire rather than any real grasp of the achievement.

“What's on the menu tonight?” Ray asked as Nunez moved the table back.

“First, the standard tests. We'll do the usual measurements, but I think we've got all the data we need from stress testing, so you can stop looking so worried.” Nunez smiled. He knew how much Ray disliked those tests.

Running hadn't been terrible, though he was prone to not working out as much as possible. The tilt table had been much worse, and the sensory deprivation tank had ended with a need to buy a new one. He doubted Nunez had put 'irritated disintegration' on the requisition form, but you never knew.

Ray wanted to tell Nunez about his experience with Kit tonight, how he had managed to boost her powers, but worried the news would bring too many questions. Instead he sat in silence as the doctor attached wires to the leads on Ray's chest and ran him through the usual battery.

“Exactly what I expected,” Nunez said a little while later, examining the results. “Your ability to retain energy seems to increase smoothly over time. Fascinating. I wonder if it is a result of practicing control, or whether your physiology simply responds to the need as you use your powers more. I wish we could test that.”

Ray said nothing, but grimaced. They
could
test those things. It was physically possible. They just weren't allowed to. Robinson had insisted on the testing, though his interest was based more on security than scientific curiosity. As a result, he'd had a panel of experts put together hard guidelines for the process, and anything requiring Ray to push his abilities was off limits.

“Ah, well,” Nunez said as he turned to face Ray. “We're still getting excellent data. Tell me, have you been working on refining your control over the Surge itself?”

“Yeah, sure,” Ray said casually. “I've got disrupting down, just need to get faster at it. You'll have to come up with something new for me to try pretty soon.” He said this with a disarming smile, but Nunez pursed his lips rubbing the back of his fingers along his beard thoughtfully.

“What is it?” Ray asked. “You're debating something.”

Nunez met his eyes, then seemed to come to a decision. “I have been studying you, your powers, your tissue samples, for years. The truth is that I have been struggling with whether to tell you everything we have learned from you, rather than just what has been approved.”

Ray blinked. “Wait, you mean there's more?”

Nunez nodded solemnly. “Much more. Most of it considered too dangerous for general consumption.”

“I'm all ears,” Ray said. “Especially if it's something that could prevent me from hurting people again.”

“As to that, I cannot be certain,” Nunez said. “Though I expect you may take some satisfaction in knowing just how much our research has expanded what we know about the Next.”

Ray gestured for the doctor to continue. Instead, Nunez asked a question.

“Do you know how many varieties of Next there are?”

Ray shook his head. “Too many to count. Fliers, speedsters...” He trailed off at Nunez shaking his head.

“No, that is not what I mean. Abilities are expressions of type, not necessarily indicators. What I'm talking about is more concrete. There are people like me, for example. My ability is singular; my intelligence is beyond anyone who has ever lived. By a large degree.”

Ray knew that for a certainty. He had once asked Nunez how many doctorates he had, and the man had shrugged. “Lost count,” he had said.

Nunez continued. “But if you used your disruptive abilities on me, I would not suddenly become stupid. Nothing would happen to me at all, in fact, except that during the brief time your powers were focused on me, I would not become
more
intelligent.”

Ray frowned. “Why?”

“Because my power shares qualities with Kitra's. It changes me on a physical level, and those changes cannot be undone. My memory is perfect, capable of remembering in ways normal humans cannot. My synapses are more efficient by magnitudes, and connected in ways even I do not fully understand. These are permanent changes, yet my powers constantly push my brain to new levels.”

He gave Ray a meaningful look. “As you no doubt have realized, the Next are slowly getting more powerful. What you may not know is that Next in proximity to you are doing so faster than the rest.”

Ray nodded. “Yeah, I figured that out. Because I'm slowly radiating Surge energy, right?”

“Yes,” Nunez said. “You break down matter and convert it into Surge power, which you are now learning to manipulate. This information, combined with knowing you are making others improve slightly faster, should tell you something.”

Ray might not have the genius the doctor possessed, but he was still fairly smart. “It's the Surge itself pushing our abilities. The amount of improvement is affected by the level of energy.”

“Correct,” Nunez said with an approving nod. “Every scrap of research points toward the Surge being an extra-dimensional energy, intruding into our universe despite numerous models predicting such an event being instantly and catastrophically destructive. That energy continues to intrude, and in greater concentrations.”

Ray was following along well enough. He had years of practice wrapping his head around similar concepts. Thanks,
Star Trek
.

“Which brings me to my point. There are Next whose powers change them physically, others who are otherwise human but capable of doing incredible things, and many degrees in between. The common factor between all of them is the fact that continued exposure to the Surge increases their abilities. The Surge itself is opening the floodgates in their genes ever wider.”

“Okay,” Ray said slowly, “so what does that have to do with me?”

“Everything,” Nunez said. “What happened at Fairmont obviously sent a concentrated wave of Surge energy around the world, pushing those floodgates open with a shove. That is why so many people developed powers so rapidly. But it worked first and most strongly on
you
. Your genetics, your physiology, is a road map to what all of us might become.”

There was something in his voice, a sort of restraint Ray couldn't put a finger on. For all his talk of telling Ray truths kept from him, instinct practically screamed that the man would continue to hold something back.

“So, what are we talking about here?” Ray asked lightly. “Am I going to grow some new arms, start hearing what animals are thinking?”

Nunez smiled flatly. “Less fantastic than that,” he said. “The long and short of it is that we have discovered that every Next has the same genes when it comes to their abilities. Fliers have certain combinations of genes turned on, people with super speed others. But
all
have the potential for every ability.”

Nunez leaned forward. “I believe the Surge may be able to unlock more abilities. Not on its own, but when directed, pushed.” His eyes bored into Ray. “By you.”

“I'm on record saying this is the worst idea anyone has ever had, right?” James asked.

“Noted,” Kit replied. “Still gonna do it.”

They stood in front of the vault door, which didn't resemble its name at all. It was a plain steel door with a heavy, custom locking mechanism built into it, set in a concrete wall. Waid had given them the dimensions of the room beyond, along with a running commentary of the activity behind the door. They—meaning Kit—had come up with a workable idea, though it would mean disaster for all of them if she failed.

At worst, she would be killed and her identity revealed. That would almost certainly make James and Waid fugitives, as any investigator worth the title could figure out the teleporter and technopath had to be connected to her.

She would be dead, and thus beyond worrying about it, but she had no desire to ruin their lives if avoidable.

“I'm ready,” Kit said.

She held a baton in each hand, arms and legs spread wide. James touched her shoulder and suddenly she was falling. This time it wasn't from cruising altitude and she was ready for it.

The batons were already swinging as she materialized facing down in the air above the guards behind the door. While the floor space was limited, the ceiling was eleven feet high, giving her enough room to appear without doing so inside the space occupied by another body.

The flash of light signaling her arrival wasn't bright enough to distract the guards from their intense concentration. Right on cue, James slammed something into the door, causing a distraction.

None of them saw Kit coming. Or falling.

Two helmets cracked and split as the whistling tips of her batons smashed into them, the guards dropping instantly. Kit's knees came down on the other two men, her weight unexpected enough to drive them to their knees. She tried to catch herself as the fall and ensuing tangle of bodies threw her wildly off balance, and was met with partial success. Kit managed to get a hand under herself as she and the floor got reacquainted, but at the cost of several broken fingers.

Ignoring the flare of pain in her hand, Kit pushed against the ground for balance and donkey-kicked the two staggered guards in the chest. The force of it launched them up and back, helmets slamming on the far wall, while Kit was hurled forward. She spun and twisted as she tried to land in a crouch, but ended up sliding backward on her knees.

She waited for movement, but there was none. She quickly moved between the men, making sure she hadn't killed any of them.

All had pulses, and none of them were bleeding. All four had knots on their heads, and the two she had kicked probably sported broken ribs, but overall they seemed to be in good shape. There were none of the sounds or smells she would have recognized from a rib fragment sticking into a lung.

Kit signaled James to transport in, and they hurriedly restrained the unconscious men.

“I'm not going to be much help finding the hard copy,” Waid said over their earpieces. “There aren't any other guards inside the vault that I can see, and it looks like every inch of the place is covered by cameras.”

“Did you find anything new in any of the other systems?” Kit asked as she and James moved down a long concrete hallway toward the vault proper.

“No,” Waid said. “I'm still looking, but it appears the information I found before was scanned and entered in by mistake. Looks like that file was supposed to be in the vault, but got misplaced. You're going to be looking for shelf seven, but I don't know what section it'll be in. There's no electronic index for me to search, but the file I found before was labeled 2KF. Maybe look for that.”

“Okay,” Kit said. “We'll look around. Keep searching.”

“Will do,” Waid said.

James sighed. “How long do you think this will take?”

“We can't stay here too much longer,” Kit said. “Chances are someone is going to wonder why this place went radio silent, and that's going to bring attention.”

The hallway came to an end, capped by another heavy steel door. This one sat cracked open, a rock shoved between it and the jamb. Apparently the guards hadn't expected to lose.

Kit pushed the door open, ready to search her way through the vault's three levels. Instead, she stopped as soon as she took in what was in front of her.

“Holy shit,” James said as he stepped up beside her.

“Yeah,” Kit said.

Boxes of files were stacked in neat rows stretching all the way to the ceiling. They stood at the end of the rows, able to see the parallel towers running the length of the room. Kit counted twenty rows, and the room itself was nearly sixty feet deep.

Every single box was stamped 2KF.

“Dammit,” Kit said as they began pulling down boxes. “There's no way we're going to be able to search more than a fraction of this place.” She stopped, turning to James. “Wait. Between how much is here and how well organized it is, there has to be some kind of index. A file system, something. Look around.”

James darted away as Kit began to sort through the contents of a box. Her fingers blurred over the files, eyes scanning for anything that might stand out. From what she could tell, the entire box was full of records and invoices dealing with...concrete? There were reports on the strengths of different mixtures, costs per cubic yard, a yawn-inspiring variety of structural integrity estimates.

The next box wasn't much better. Rather than waste time looking all the way through each box, even by skimming, she risked missing something hidden by abandoning a box if the first few files were mundane things.

It was on the sixth container stuffed with files that the common thread between them became obvious; the sheer amounts of building materials and labor costs meant the records had to do with an enormous structure. An image from that very first box flashed in her mind, that of an inverted concrete dome, and it was suddenly obvious to her.

This was all from the facility. Her facility.

But why put it in this vault, secret it away? While the media was discouraged from discussing the underground structure, it wasn't as if people didn't know about it. There was no need to hide such boring information, at least not one apparent to her.

Hell, Kit even knew that someone, probably a group of people, had known Fairmont was going to happen. Had maybe even made it happen. That was the whole impetus behind tonight's activities. A quick scan of the dates on several pieces of paper confirmed that no one had been stupid enough to date any of it, leaving no obvious evidence that the research had been done before the destruction of the town.

What was it, then? What was she missing?

“Bingo,” Waid said through her ear bud. “There's a computer on the bottom level with an index on it. Thing is old, has no outside connections, but I made it in. I'm scanning the list now...”

James popped into existence just in front of the door, apparently alerted by Waid.

“Okay, I think I've got something. Head down to the bottom level and go to the fourth row to the right of the door. If I'm getting the system they're using, you want the sixth column back, boxes two and three.”

“From the top or bottom?” James asked as they jogged toward the stairs.

“No idea,” Waid said. “But you guys might want to hurry, the system is getting incoming calls. People are going to start noticing no one is home.”

Kit swore. “We need more time.” She put a hand on James' chest, stopping him. “Can you go up there and get him, and pop back directly to the vault?”

“Sure,” James said. “As long as I've been there before, it shouldn't be a problem.”

“Good,” Kit said. “Do it now, then the two of you run down to the bottom level. I'm going to make sure no one can get through that door.”

James vanished, and Kit ran back to the entrance. Pulling a handful of plastic bags out of a pouch she sized up the steel door and frame. She set the bags down and pulled a small container of putty from another pouch. With quick, efficient motions she slathered putty on the bags, stuffed them as far as she could into the crack between the door and frame, and stuck a thin piece of metal in each. The last bit was important; they wouldn't catch nearly as easily without those strips of magnesium.

Using a small but powerful butane torch cigarette lighter she'd picked up at a gas station, she lit the magnesium fuses and stepped back with her head turned away. Staring at a thermite reaction was a bad idea.

The bundles went up in sun-bright flares, the stench of burning metal suddenly oppressively strong. Kit kept her eyes squinted but still noticed when James reappeared, Waid at his side, both men giving startled yelps at the fiery halo surrounding the door.

After a short time the fuel burned out. Glowing metal showed at each of the spots she had rigged, sloppy welds formed. The one she was really worried about was the lock mechanism, but a quick glance was all she needed to see it wouldn't open short of being cut through.

“Think that bought us some time,” Kit said, gesturing for the others to follow.

When they reached the bottom floor and stopped in front of the column of boxes Waid indicated, Kit felt a rush of raw excitement. She grabbed the stack halfway up and put those boxes on the floor, taking off lids as fast as she could. James and Waid joined in without being asked.

“What am I looking for?” Kit asked as she scanned the contents.

“I'm not sure,” he replied. “The index was mostly stuff about the construction of the facility, based on the headings I read. The stuff on this level looks to be hard copy of the early responses to the Next. These boxes were labeled with a date before Fairmont, though. They were the only ones like that.”

Of course, there were no dates on the physical boxes. Kit lucked out and found something while digging into the second box. There was a lot of chemistry in there, right alongside medical records. Under the 'Subject' heading were the initials R.E.

Ray Elliot.

Something about the files bothered her, but she couldn't zero in on it. She needed more time.

“How much can you take with you when you teleport?” she asked James.

“I think I could take four or five boxes, if that's what you're asking,” he said. “More if I leave you two here and come back for you.”

“Do it,” Kit said. “Take this stack to my apartment, then we're out. Now that you've been here, we can come back if we need to. Assuming they don't move everything out of here after we leave.”

“Uh, guys,” Waid said, holding up a yellowed piece of paper. “You'll want to see this.”

“What is it?” Kit asked impatiently.

He handed the paper to her. It was a filing form, and while it was dated after Fairmont, it clearly listed the contents of the box Kit had been looking through. In the same handwriting was a signature Kit knew well.

Robinson.