Chapter Nine: SpaceGo to chapter: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 I was fighting for my life in a firestorm of raw energy, abrupt shifts in the fabric of space that could dislodge my gateway, and the dark clouds and white flashes that heralded a thunderstorm without weather, when I heard the scream. It was as if someone had ripped her heart out: it faded away quickly as she dropped to the ground, landing with the heavy thud that told me she was unconscious, or dead. Smoke rose from her purple shirt, which made me fear the worst: with the kind of power I'd just seen up there, a little charring of the clothing should have been cured instantly, whether she wanted it to be or not. Around me, the landscape looked like a meteor strike had hit it. Team Infinity wasn't in much better shape. Our leader, Reality, was lying facedown and immobile in the grass, unable to muster the mental energy to change form to something safer. He was in great pain, but still breathing, as Time informed us. We'd always thought he was invincible, that no man could ever seriously take him on if he didn't want him to. He was the strongest of us. Mars had showed us just how far we had to go before we were even ready to fight him six on one, much less beat him. Mind, the only one of us without extra physical protection, had been hit from behind by a twenty-pound chunk of rock in about the third or fourth earthquake and was bleeding a little from his scalp. Disoriented, able only to protect himself from the most obvious attacks, he was fighting a losing battle with unconsciousness. It was difficult for me not to rush to his side and help him up, but that would only have made me more vulnerable, and he wouldn't want that either. I had been prepared for that Armor thing Reality and Soul had made beforehand, but it was still impressive to watch. When Mars stepped up his attack and Soul rose to the challenge, I had time only for astonished glances; the rest was spent in a last-ditch effort of personal protection. Mars wasn't gunning especially for Soul, but for the whole team. He was toying with her, trying to see just how powerful she really was, and how he could push her over the edge. You know, I had been a bit of a doubting Thomas with the whole HSA thing. I'm pretty good friends with an mentalist and a precog myself, I know a lot about what they can and can't do. They certainly don't decide power orders based on some mysterious criteria that only they know. But they said Soul was by far the most powerful of us. They said she was one of the top 15 mutants in the country. Then they took a closer look and decided she was number three in America, coincidentally just behind the guy who makes the list and the guy we were fighting. Now, everybody found this just a teensy bit difficult to swallow. Heck, without Mizuno, Soul said she couldn't even tell when she was using her power, much less control it. They were right all along. The minute she started getting in control of her weird probability thing, she got into Armor, and almost beat Mars. When Reality was disassembled into his component atoms, she wasn't even fazed; she simply kept going even farther. Could she have been lying all this time, or have Mars or Mind somehow changed her, removed the instinctive barriers she built up around herself to save herself from her own power? I sure hope it's the latter. I mean, I'm not exactly Rick's biggest fan, but he'd never lie to us. Lia sure wouldn't, I know that. So here she was, just having shown us that she could probably take down an army division by accident before she even attacked them, lying in the freshly mowed grass, her shirt slowly starting to catch fire. Mars was, of course, as bright and chipper as ever, his clothes perfectly pressed and his hair impeccable. That little annoying feature of his had stopped bothering me after about the sixth time it happened. Still standing were me, Power, and Time. Power and I were as far from him as possible, and advanced quickly while he was still exulting in his grand victory in single combat. Time had his glasses on, had something small and silver in his hand, and was running at top speed straight for our remaining adversary. Mars began to lower himself to the ground slowly. He never saw the little geeky guy coming until it was too late. In all your martial arts training you are taught to let your body's energy out in a yell when you attack, to let it focus you and add to your strength. Time was completely silent, to the extent that when he stepped on a twig it did not break. When he jumped there was a soft swish of the wind on the leaves beneath him, and then a half-second later a crashing boom as the ground exploded: Mars finally realizing he had a new enemy and triggering his equivalent of a land mine, unwittingly playing right into my companion's hand. I knew my gateway would only hinder his progress. Power shouted, "No!" and I knew he didn't think Time had been hit, but he realized what I did. It was all playing out like the inevitable last scene of a tragedy. He was sacrificing himself to buy us some time. I picked up Timothy and threw him to shelter with a couple judicious placements of a trampoline I had been saving in my gateway for just such an occasion. Power rocketed fast and low, grabbing Reality and Soul by their shirt collars and depositing them in the same place. He didn't land directly in front of me, but beside me, close enough that our eyes met. I thought that Power hated us for his own reasons. Certainly he despised Reality. But as I saw now, with a flash of insight, he couldn't give us up. He would not abandon us, and he would never, ever abandon Soul. He started gathering force for another blast, a hopeless one but the only thing he could do. I extended my gateway to cover him as well and readied my staff. He was tall, I noticed, tall and surprisingly muscular for someone who played video games and did drama shows. He wore black, always black, and he was on my side. It was a funny thought, but somehow it was right. Once again another team member rose to the challenge against a foe so powerful that we had the edge of desperation in our actions and our voices. There is no one so dangerous as a man backed into a corner, as the adage goes, I think. That boom echoed in our ears because of the total silence that followed it. The force of the explosion carried Time six feet in the air, straight as an arrow up towards Mars' position as he levitated. He grabbed his ankle and pulled downward as much as he could, throwing himself upwards a little bit more. His left fist landed square in Mars' solar plexus, bringing his head down; the fist opened a second later and slammed his nose up into his brain with the flat of Time's palm. There was a dimming of the light around him, and he was as hearty as anyone just afterward. A small wet slicing sound carried to us, and I realized with horror that the object in Time's other hand was a long knife. He stabbed Mars in the kidney, yanked it out with a twist, waited for Mars to regenerate, then slashed his throat open in a spray of blood. Mars was getting angrier and angrier, unable to respond against physical pain so strong it triggered his unconscious reflex to regenerate constantly. He tried to block the knife, only to have his block cut short by a vicious knee to the groin and followup stab through the heart. I had seen Time at work, and he was fast, and I always knew he had a ruthless streak in him, but even Power cringed at the sight of one guy kneeing another in his sensitive region right before coating his hands with the other man's blood. Mars regenerated time and time again, but the blood remained. Time tried for a punch to the jaw, but Mars had finally anticipated it and caught his arm. They struggled for a bit, a pure physical strength contest that Mars easily won, so Time simply spun himself around (still in midair, though the two were now falling together), and in one deft maneuver, kicked upward off Mars' arm. With a loud crunch, the arm broke, Mars' fingers opened, and Time went upward a little while Mars slammed to the ground. Our enemy hit the floor and didn't bounce, because he'd been pinned to the ground by a knife thrown through his neck. Now that the two of them were separated, I erected my gateway between the two of them as fast as I could. It was still only just fast enough to catch the lethal blast of radiation that poured from Mars as he regenerated and counterattacked. He dodged out of the way of my return stroke, made a quick slash across Time's face that shattered his glasses and left a small but incredibly fine cut on the bridge of his nose, floated quickly over to Power, and got his own blast ready. From the expressions on their faces, they both knew who would win this contest of forces. Mars had the energy to do something a million times more powerful than Soul's little friend could ever dream, and the will to do it. He'd done what he came for - beaten the notorious Soul and her buddies - and now had no compunctions about killing those of us still standing, just to prove his point. When all hope was lost, Power turned not to sadness or fear or resignation, but to rage. He yelled wildly, more out of control than he'd been, I think, since before he met Soul. Time's glasses were gone, and he looked at Power, then at Mars, then back at Power. He fell to his knees, hands clasped in a prayer of thanksgiving. As the saying goes, there are no atheists in foxholes. The two unleashed their most powerful attacks at the same moment. They met each other and simply... petered out of existence. Mars' levitation was completely gone; he landed and almost lost his balance, completely flabbergasted. My gateway wasn't there, either. It was as though it had simply left for a moment and would be back when I needed it. We all tried over and over, but nothing happened. Typically, Time realized what had happened before the rest of us. "It's over, Mars," he said. "You've won the battle, proved yourself better than we are, than anyone is. But you've lost the war. It took you so much energy to defeat Soul that there simply wasn't any left to finish the rest of us. "Now, without your power, you are nothing. You didn't like being physically powerful, did you? So you didn't think that maybe one day you'd need it. The three of us can easily restrain you until the police get here." "Wait! How could this possibly happen?" "You fool. You really don't understand how your ability works, do you?" Time was on a post-fight andrenaline high, and loved to gloat even when it wasn't as warranted as it was now. "You're tapping into the energy inherent in empty space to fuel your manipulations. It's not infinite, it's just big and easy to get. The two of you have drained everything in the immediate area dry. And since Soul can't use her power either, you can bet the HSA will be there with the latest, fully functioning anti-mutant equipment." Mars seemed to be taking this a little too calmly, so when he jumped at Time, he got a little warning shot from my staff, which fortunately hadn't been destroyed in the battle. He may have been desperate, but he wasn't stupid, so he subsided. Time, meanwhile, managed to revive Mind with a couple slaps to the face, while Power tended to the other two team members. It was quite a shock when I saw Armor for the first time; I can only imagine what it must have been to Rick. With his natural reluctance to open up, I just hoped he'd find some way to communicate his feelings to Lia. But it wasn't my problem, and so I stayed out of it, a rule that most of the rest of the team had a tendency to forget from time to time. Mind woke up to the news that the battle was over; all he had to do was keep watch on Mars so we could stop any attempt at escape before it happened. He dutifully sat down cross-legged, head in hands, facing Mars, who refused to muss his perfectly pressed suit by doing the same. I was off to the side and behind Mars, positioned at a good distance to make use of my weapon's natural range advantage over Mars' untutored fists. I didn't expect anything from him that Mind wouldn't let me know, but a little extra preparation couldn't hurt. The HSA arrived in what was probably record time for them: Alnora, knowing any battle involving Mars wouldn't last very long, had probably put the Washington division on red alert when he sensed the impending battle in someone's mind, it didn't matter whose. It doesn't really matter, except that it didn't seem like much of a wait before Agent Ted Kavalec stepped out of an unmarked police cruiser, just as I remembered him: brown nondescript hair and navy blue nondescript official outfit, neuroscrambler briefcase in one hand and dart gun in the other, a smile that didn't quite reach to his eyes, green tie like the one the agents wear in the Matrix. Actually, the tie was new, and actually rather reassuring, as it indicated the guy had some humor left in him. Ted (everybody called him Ted, except maybe his boss) took custody of Mars quickly and easily. Before getting into the car, he walked over to Reality's prone form, speaking loudly enough that the rest of us could hear, and said, "Meet me back at what passes for your team headquarters. I have to discuss certain things with you. This time it's not optional." And with that, he was off and the local police stayed behind to write up reports and get their evidence. I didn't envy them their job, especially after Mind did his usual tricks with them so they'd forget what we looked and sounded like as soon as we left. That boy comes in more handy than he thinks he does. Certainly after all the adventures we've had, I look at the comic books and wonder how they ever got by without their friendly neighborhood empath! * * * * Ted, not knowing how informed Alex's parents were, simply pulled rank on them without giving any specifics. He also took care to arrive after we did, so that he wouldn't appear to be looking for all six of us at once. This was a good sign: he wasn't going to disband the team, at least. Not that he could stop us short of arresting us, but still, it was the thought that counted, as my old man always told me. So far, the way he'd acted didn't fit the stereotypical description of HSA agents as the bumbling but dangerous police in gangster movies at all. Sure, he was always serious, but this was his job, after all. He told us as much when we were in Alex's basement, our chairs pulled up to face him in a semicircle. "It is not the HSA's policy to discourage privately operated neighborhood watch groups" and all that. He told us quite frankly the real reason he was letting us operate, though. Quite simply, we tended to win. There was no guarantee that we'd be able to fight Mars to a standstill a second time, now that he was wise to our tricks, but it was a good guess that we could "keep the peace" by taking out the other rogue mutants in our area. The HSA would rather deal with our team, who at least pretended to obey the laws (although Ted never passed up an opportunity to remind us that he could have us all hauled in on miscellaneous felony charges), than waste time and energy on small-time mutant criminals. Or so he said; I got the impression that he had a twinkle in his eye. I'd have to ask Timothy to know for sure. After he'd established that we could do whatever as long as we were good little kids, he took out a large, heavy cardboard box and gave it to Lia. It contained a dart pistol - identical to Ted's sidearm and fully functional, as Ben verified for us with a quick once-over - and plenty of spare ammunition. We were all wondering at this gift, except for Ben (of course) and Lia. She said only, "Thank you. I don't quite know what to say. Ben?" Taking his cue, he said, "I can assure you that she'll put this to good use, sir. It's just what she needs." Ted nodded, reminded Lia that the #topten IRC channel was always being monitored by at least one HSA agent in case she had any questions, and indicated that he wanted to talk to Alex in private. I'm not sure what they said, as I was upstairs being served milk and cookies by Alex's mom at the time and Alex hasn't said much. I only know that it wasn't precisely good news: either it was something bad in the future or something he'd been trying to suppress that he'd known about for a while. Ben was interested in the whys and wherefores, as usual: What did Ted have to say? Why now, instead of in a couple weeks when it would have occasioned less comment? More importantly, did Ted secretly sympathize with us or was he against us, or could he simply not care less? Timothy was able to answer that last one fairly quickly. Ted was at least nominally on our side, mainly because he felt he could trust our fearless leader, but he wouldn't hesitate to bring the HSA to bear down on us if we got out of line. Someone handy for information, but we shouldn't expect any breaks. You didn't need a mentalist to figure that kind of thing out, but it always helps to be sure, especially when your future is on the line. When prompted, afterwards, Ben explained about the gift of his gun to Lia. It was simply an avenue of common sense that none of us had thought about. Judging by her performance against Mars, she obviously could exercise some degree of control over her powers now. Her ability was so wide-reaching and centered on what she was doing that it should be a cinch to give her perfect aim with just a little exercise of power. In fact, it even helped that she'd never shot a gun before, since it allowed her to move "randomly" - outside of conscious control and thus more easily swayed by the exercise of her power. Ted still didn't know how she worked, since she was the only one with anywhere near her magnitude of probability control that the HSA or its Russian and British counterparts knew of, and the unconscious nature meant Alnora couldn't probe her mind to determine the full truth of how she did it. Oh, I almost forgot to mention Jill! Ted was pleased to hear that she'd been keeping below the radar, which meant she could quickly be relocated to a home where she could be monitored by the HSA against anyone who might come after her for some reason, as well as lead a relatively normal life. I was glad to see her out of the picture, for her sake and mine. Yes, I know it sounds callous, but it's the truth, and I really haven't been feeling the need to put a good shine on the truth lately. Timothy drove her to Ted's office in Washington after her things were packed. * * * * Lia kept the gun in her backpack. I kept the ammo inside my gateway. Whenever she saw her weapon it seemed to make her world a little grimmer. Some lingering shades of her reluctance to admit her own strength, I suspected, as well as maybe a realization that she had a responsibility she never wanted in the first place. Like it or not, until Mars got out of prison - it was always "until" for her, never "if" - she was the most powerful freelancer mutant in the country. There was no one even remotely close to her power level in the Washington metropolitan area. If anything mutant-related went wrong, it would be ultimately her fault, not Ted's. I know I would have a hard time accepting that I'd suddenly been thrust into a position with so much responsibility for essentially zero personal gain. Timothy adamantly refused to tell me what she was thinking, and probably for good reason, but that doesn't mean I wasn't frustrated. I only wanted to see what I could do; there's always some way, that's my motto. Ben says he wishes he could take a picture of the two of us, Rick and I, and put us on his wall, the girl in white and the boy in black, back to back, acting both as if we didn't notice the other one existed and as if we wouldn't know what to do without the other. I didn't see it quite that way, and I doubt Rick had even thought that much about the whole thing, but I figured there was no harm in having Ben dramatize things a little bit. Who knows, maybe he was right. On March the fourteenth, Friday afternoon, almost a week after we'd fought Mars, Timothy and I were in our usual spot: a booth in one corner of the local Starbucks, sipping our frappucinos side by side, the other patrons pleasantly unaware of us or our conversation from just a touch of mental trickery. He had his natural attractiveness turned off, as usual; it was the reason we were there, in fact, to talk as equals the way he couldn't do with anyone else. He was kind of troubled today, though. Maybe a little nervous. I wondered what was on his mind. "There's something different in the air now, Sarah." I sniffed. "Well, I don't smell anything except coffee. Nothing new under the sun." This brought a smile to his face, cheered him up a bit. The humor in my voice glinted off my eyes as he looked at me, took up temporary lodging in his. "You know what I mean," he said. "We've all been going through changes lately. Part of it, I think, is that we're just naturally growing up, learning who we are and what we want to do with ourselves." I waited patiently; when he wanted to explain something, he always started from square one, and there was no use changing that. "Especially since Mars fought us--" "Shhh, quiet!" I admonished him. "Somebody will hear us!" But it was a futile and reflexive protest, and we both knew it. Of course his power was working well enough to prevent us from being overheard. It had to be, since I cared enough to be worried that it wasn't. Just one of the more delightful problems in logic you get from hanging around mentalists, I guess. He smiled halfheartedly, looked down, and took a sip of frappucino, then continued talking. "Especially since Mars fought us, I feel like we're on the home stretch. I can't think of anything we couldn't tackle right now; we're riding high." I responded quietly, patting his hand, "That doesn't mean we don't have things left to do, dear. We had to work harder than we've ever worked to do what we did." "I know that. What I'm trying to say is that the team means a lot to me, especially you. And here we are now, at the end of the age, as Gandalf would say." "Gandalf?" "Haven't you ever read the Lord of the Rings? Gandalf the White, come back at the end of the age!" "Remember, I'm not that stupid." This with a smile. "I don't think Sauron is quite at the borders of Gondor yet, but I think I see what you're getting at." He paused a little, gathering up his courage, removing the tremor from his voice. He wasn't exactly the most suave of people with his powers off, but this was unusual even for him. I was listening, and he knew it without having to look at me. He raised his gaze from the table and clasped my hand suddenly. "Sarah, I love you. I mean, you've been the best friend a guy could hope to have. I don't know where we're going, but I'm glad I'm going there with you." It was all I could do to speak. "Me too." He put his other arm around me and drew me close, shut his eyes, and kissed me briefly, then looked at me with an unspoken question. I nodded. He turned his power back on and kissed me again. It was much more fun this time. * * * * LiveJournal user purplelia46 [Lia] wrote on 2003-03-20: A very interesting day today. Really depressed lately. Why isn't there anybody else who knows what I feel? I suppose I'll always be alone. Maybe. Argh, more on this later. I don't feel like writing now. * * * * LiveJournal user purplelia46 wrote on 2003-03-21: So anyway, here's what I was going to say yesterday. Walking home from school in the afternoon, I was having fun, enjoying myself out in nature, with only the road next to me to disturb things. But the road was pretty sparse today. I wonder if I had something to do with that, but I told myself a long time ago that speculation of that sort is futile. I heard someone calling my name, so I turned around and there they were. The Olympians, back to make trouble. I can't believe that only a few months ago I was scared that Venus would come and erase my mind in my sleep. I mean, she probably could still do it, since Timothy wasn't around, but she couldn't hold a candle to what Team Infinity had become these days. After Mars, everything seems like a waste of time, hardly worth mentioning on LJ. I just think the rest of the guys would be interested to know. I cut off their little speech wanting a challenge by saying, "You're not ready for a rematch. You're not ready to fight any team that has me in it. I don't care how much more you've trained. Face the facts and leave." They'd spoiled my good mood. It's hard to do that these days, which kind of scares me. I mean, it's not that I don't like having good moods, I just don't like what I know is causing them. Venus sputtered as usual, and I needed to get home, so I looked around for inspiration. There it was. Our little buddy Mercury, still hanging with his loser crowd. Apparently Alex had failed to talk him into working for the good guys. I called out, "Mercury! Pick a number between one and ten!" He was confused, and answered with a slow "Yeah, k." I rolled my eyes and asked him what it was - why are people so stupid!? - and it was 7. So I took out my gun, looked the other way, rummaged around for the chapstick with my left hand to get my mind onto something trivial, and shot him seven times. I put the gun back in the backpack and swung the thing over my shoulder, ready to keep walking without looking back. The tail end of the backpack brushed Mercury's side as he tried to attack me and he went crashing into the bushes in front of me. I jerked involuntarily as he passed, but wasn't a bit surprised. That boy had some potential, at least, even if he was taking orders from someone with the leadership skills of a ham and cheese sandwich. My mood was by this time thoroughly black. I'd remembered some homework I had to do, and I'd remembered that Mercury had seen a little of what I could do back when he was imprisoned with us. He should have known better than to try a frontal attack, even when my back was turned. Especially when my back was turned; that's the second-easiest side to defend against, next to the very edge of your peripheral vision that you normally don't notice but still gets to your brain. He was still conscious, so I told him to get rid of his teammates, all of whom had one or more perfectly shot darts in them. Mercury had managed to dodge his dart, nothing I could do about it, and at least he was up to take care of this incident before somebody called the cops for the unconscious Olympians on the sidewalk. There would be a cab or some form of transportation waiting for him, I supposed. There usually was, since it would be oh so convenient for me. A story like that would be a major event in somebody else's life. I held off an entire gang of experienced mutant ruffians with ease and aplomb. But for me, it's just what happened this afternoon, nothing special. Maybe this is what Ted feels. It must be a boring job, waking up and finding some young punk has killed the schoolyard bully by telekinesis again, tracking him down by the usual methods and hauling him in to court-mandated counseling. Only once in a long while does something come up that's worth mentioning. Like me, I think. Ted had my file and decided, Here is my chance to make a start with someone who really matters. * * * * LiveJournal user purplelia46 wrote on 2003-03-21: Reading old journal entries and my previous entry, I realize how I've changed. When I came here, I would never have said that I'm the one who really matters. It would have been the height of arrogance, presumption, everything my mother specifically taught me not to do. But now, I've had the lesson beat into me. "Some people are born for greatness, others have it thrust upon them" and all that. I suppose I still think of myself in the second category, but the truth is that I'm the first. There's no path I took that made me who I am today. I can't even blame fate, because fate is the one thing I can't trust when my power is on. With the knowledge of my power I have to look back on my past and ask myself: How much of that was coincidence? How much was me? That night, what seems like years ago, at the party, it was me. I was introduced to everybody, Becky steered me towards Rick as things were winding down, and he ended up driving everybody home a little too reluctantly. Dozens of chances for my power to activate when no one was looking, or even when someone was - I still don't know what the flash does, but it certainly isn't necessary for me to work. Maybe this is what Timothy feels. He clings to Sarah like she's the last lifeboat off the Titanic. She loves him back, but she can't help that, nyow. It eats him up inside just like it does me. But he has Sarah, he can be sure that at least one person really understands him. I don't have anybody like that. Rick's a great guy. Becky keeps telling me I really couldn't ask for a better boyfriend: he's caring, he's got a good sense for when I need to be alone and when I need someone beside me, he's genuinely interested when I talk to him, and he thinks the world of me. Actually, maybe that's the reason. It would take so little to make him happy, but it wouldn't be the best for either of us in the end. We're friends, I don't want to lose that, and there is some part of me that doesn't want to lose the shadow over my right shoulder either. But mostly I think he needs to mature a little, and he's not going to do that while I'm around. It sounds callous, it sounds afraid, it hurts more than a little. And that's how I know it's real - if it were my power, things would be fine. Hehe, have to tell Becky about that sometime. It's kinda ironic, when you think about it. Alex would find it funny, too, for that matter. He's just hilarious in general. Funny, really. I'm always complaining that no one understands me, and here I have Alex, who's literally been inside my head in a way not even Alnora or Mizuno can match. If anyone understands me, he does - but he doesn't say anything. Maybe it's just what I need. He fancies that he and I are in the same situation; our powers are certainly far above the level of the rest of the team and most our enemies to boot. But I know he's just refusing to realize what I'm capable of. When he's working at it, he's nearly invincible, and with only a little bit of pain he can do anything he wants. But in a fight between us, there's no doubt who would win. (Me, of course. We're both invincible, but it won't tire me out to make myself that way.) I'm always on to some degree. I'm trying to turn it off like Timothy, but the habit is so hard to break. At nights, thinking of how things went wrong, I want to let my power rage out of control for just one second, fix all my problems and bring me down a windfall that I alone among all the men on God's green earth could conjure up. Maybe this is what Mars feels. At any time, he could demonstrate his superiority to us mere mortals. But he doesn't, because he doesn't need to. But he says it took him a lot of destruction to get there. His advice to me, direct from mutant prison, like a grandfather to his granddaughter, is to save myself all the trouble he went through, go on a wild exercise of power to push myself to the brink of self-destruction and then draw back, forever confident, forever safe. But I still have enough morals left to shy away from that sort of thing. Sometimes I fear I am too powerful to handle. Sometimes I fear I'll never become powerful enough. THE END |