The next few hours were a flurry of activity. The need to safely move the city's Next population was now critical. Using traditional means was clearly too dangerous. The entire thing was meant to draw Thomas Maggard out while also transporting the Next to safety, but the boy was simply too powerful. No one, not even Robinson, had guessed that his strength would grow so dramatically in such a short time.
All they could do was clean up and move the remaining Next from the site of the attack.
Robinson appeared in person to deal with the press and the local authorities. Kit was glad to wash her hands of it; she had more important things to deal with. After making arrangements for replacement vehicles and assigning every Black Band they had to security on that handful of cars, Kit began to work on ways to move the remaining Next to the facility.
Archer showed up while she sat next to Ben, who had an EMT fussing over his wounds.
“Sir, I need to take you to the hospital. You need stitches,” the uniformed man said.
“
I'm fine,” Ben replied.
Kit looked up from her notes, noticing Archer as he exited the Mustang. “Hey.”
Archer glanced around the ruins strewn about the county road. “Hey. Looks like you had an interesting time.”
Kit nodded. “Mind telling Ben he has to go to the hospital?” Archer quirked an eyebrow. “He won't listen to me,” Kit explained. “I'm thinking about firing him.”
To her surprise, Archer smiled. “Actually, you can't. I changed his assignment status to special operations. He reports directly to me.”
Kit frowned. “So tell him to go get stitched up.”
“Ben, go with the nice man,” Archer said. “I'll have someone pick you up later.”
With a flip of the bird to show his boss what he thought of the patronizing tone, Ben allowed himself to be carted away. Kit watched him go, thankful for whatever luck had saved him from being killed.
When they were alone, Kit rounded on Archer. “Why have Ben report to you?” she asked. “Is this a trust thing?”
Archer was caught off guard, surprise on his face. “God, no. Department regulations are a little more progressive than you might think. Because there are two directors, you can date a subordinate so long as you aren't his direct supervisor. That's kind of the reason we have special operations teams.”
“Oh, that's unexpected,” Kit replied, mollified. “Why would they allow a loophole like that?”
Archer grinned slyly. “There may have been a voice of reason who suggested it when they were finalizing the OSA guidelines. That person might have suggested that given the unusual job and high level of stress, it was a good idea to allow more leeway.”
Kit shook her head. “I bet you put that idea out there because someone in the facility caught your eye.”
“
She was beautiful,” Archer said. “Tall, and with the silkiest mocha skin you've ever seen.”
Kit smiled, but it was a short-lived expression. Her gaze couldn't miss the destruction surrounding them. “What are we going to do?” she asked. “This was a disaster.”
“No, it wasn't,” Archer said. “We know the kid is coming after the Next. Getting them to safety was—is—the right thing to do. Hell, it's part of our job, which is easy to forget since most of our time is spent locking up the bad ones.”
“
We can't do it like this,” Kit said. “Thomas is too dangerous. He'll come after them again.”
Archer tapped a finger against his chin. Then he grinned. “I have an idea.”
“Anything that makes you smile like that scares me,” Kit said.
He waved a dismissive hand. “No worries. This is only going to irritate Robinson.”
Light flared in the corner of the lab.
“
I hope you understand the value of the resources I'm giving you right now,” Robinson said.
“
Yes, sir,” Archer said sarcastically. “Being in charge of a billion-dollar government facility is nothing compared to you losing your ride.”
Kit bit her tongue to keep from laughing and inwardly shook her head at Archer's bravery. Robinson's only response was a level stare. “Very cute, Rowan. I've pulled all six of the department teleporters for this.”
“And we appreciate it, sir,” Kit said. “As do the many people whose lives they're saving.”
Another pair of people appeared, this time stepping through a hole in the air. Kit caught the movement from the corner of her eye. The Next who had opened the gateway was still on the other side, gesturing for his charge to move through. The living room on the other end looked like the epitome of college dorm room chic.
Six roped-off areas in the hub of the central lab served as arrival points. Each teleporter traveled to and from their assigned spot, as accidents involving the fabric of space-time were frowned on. Workplace safety and not shredding the fundamental building blocks of reality go hand in hand. Obvious, really.
Kit spied Nunez entering the lab. The older man saw her and swerved toward the group. Nunez greeted Robinson with a familiar and deferential nod. “Good evening,” he said to Robinson. “I wonder if I might borrow one of the directors for a short while.”
Robinson glanced toward the slow but steady stream of people appearing. “Take Kitra. Rowan can stay and supervise. This will take quite a while.” Robinson hesitated, then turned to Archer. “I'm going to have Wes drop me off in DC when he gets back from his next trip. The attack is now a political football I have to deal with. Can I trust you to handle things while I'm gone?”
Archer betrayed no emotion. “Of course, sir.”
Robinson patted Archer's arm. “I thought you could.”
Kit caught Archer's eye, but the other man shook his head fractionally. Okay, then. Now was not the time to step up and defend his leadership.
“Come, Director,” Nunez said. “You will want to see this.”
A few minutes later they were in the morgue. It was an unusually large room, partially due to its duty as a research lab. Any Next prisoners who died were brought there to be studied. Given the number of prisoners dying during escape attempts, the room required a lot of storage space.
In a far corner, a huge man stood over the corpse of the Black Band who had been thrown through Kit's car. Hector Farrell, a name Kit only learned after his death.
Nunez gestured at the big man as they approached. “Thank you, Dr. McDonald. I will take over from here.”
The doctor nodded. “Of course,” he said, and pushed the scanning device hanging from the ceiling up and out of the way.
Nunez waited until the big man was gone. “Dr. McDonald is our most talented biologist and geneticist. Double doctorate before he could legally drink, and that was
before
the Surge made him smarter.”
Kit nodded toward the body. “What is it you wanted to show me?” she asked.
From a tray of tools, Nunez selected a scalpel. With a delicate movement he opened a small incision of a section of undamaged skin. “As you see, Mr. Farrell is quite vulnerable. His skin is as fragile as mine.”
Kit nodded, not seeing the point. “Yes, I read the file. He was like the Franklin boy, wasn't he? His power covered him in an energy field.”
“Yes,” Nunez agreed. “Quite right. But what you may not know is that the Next are like batteries. All of us use the Surge, and all of us store its energy to one degree or another. With the proper instruments it is possible to measure this effect.”
“
You're saying he should still have some juice?”
Nunez nodded. “Like all Black Bands, detailed measurements of Mr. Farrell are on file. Based on his abilities and retention of energy, he should not have suffered a scratch. In fact, we should not be able to perform an autopsy. The math says his powers would have faded over the course of at least thirty hours.”
Kit stared at the body. “And he's only been dead for a few.”
“
Yes,” Nunez said again. “At first we thought the Maggard boy must have a secondary ability similar to our pulse weapons. A brief disruption in Mr. Farrell's abilities would have been enough to kill him under the circumstances. But the EMP only alters the body signals and temporarily causes the power to falter. It has no effect on the energy the body has absorbed.”
Kit put her hands on the edge of the table to steady herself and closed her eyes. “You're saying this kid can drain the energy out of us? How many fucking powers does he have?”
A gentle hand fell on her shoulder. “I know this is not the news you wanted to hear, Director. But you needed to know. It seems certain you will confront the child again. This information could save your life.”
“
I know,” Kit said. “It's just another weight thrown onto the mountain we're already carrying. He's so damn strong, made worse because he's out of his mind. I don't know how to handle him.”
The doctor led her from the morgue and, rather than take her back to the staging area where Archer waited, veered into a well-stocked break room. The two interns chatting in front of the microwave suddenly had anywhere else to be.
Door closed, Nunez poured two cups of coffee. Kit took a seat with hers and accepted a generous splash of whiskey from a flask the doctor pulled from a pocket.
“
This is really good coffee,” Kit remarked after taking a sip.
Nunez smiled. “The bourbon is even better. Especially for days like today.” He raised his cup. She returned the gesture.
She slowly relaxed, tension easing from her body. It was surprising how effective being away for a few minutes could be. The small room was like ten thousand others in office buildings across the country, four white walls and the debris of a workforce finding haven fifteen minutes at a time.
“
We have a theory about the boy,” Nunez said after a while. “We have of course studied Ray Elliot extensively, and there are similarities.”
Kit took another sip of coffee. “Such as?”
“You wondered how many powers young Thomas has,” Nunez said. “We believe it is only one, but with many facets. Ray Elliot can selectively absorb energy directly from atoms, yet he can do many other things. I believe the first power is only an expression of a greater ability. Ray Elliot can control the Surge itself, to one degree or another. He interacts with it in many ways. The absorption of other energy is a means of making himself stronger and more able to manage the Surge as he manipulates it.”
Kit put her cup on the table. “You think Thomas is doing the same thing?”
Nunez nodded. “It makes sense. His telekinesis is only an appendage of the larger power to alter the Surge. Elliot must absorb energy by breaking down matter, Thomas does it by touching objects and people with his mind.”
He paused, letting the implications unfold. If it were true, then there would eventually be others with similar abilities. It made sense. The Next were a natural system, and nature had a way of repeating successful experiments. No greater proof was needed than that which already existed; one Next who could control the
Surge itself, as Ray could, might be considered a fluke. Two was more than coincidence, skirting the edge of becoming a pattern.
“
How sure of this are you?” Kit asked.
Nunez shrugged. “Not very sure at all. The data leads me to believe this is the case, but it is possible each of them have many smaller powers all tied together by this strange ability to alter the
Surge. What I can say for certain is that Thomas Maggard somehow drew the reserves from Mr. Farrell, leaving him vulnerable. Ray Elliot seems to have a more passive version, though...” Nunez trailed off, looking disturbed.
“
What is it?” Kit asked.
“
We suspected Elliot had this power because of the manner of death associated with many of the victims of Fairmont. I have been over the reports myself, as has my staff.”
Kit's brow furrowed. “They fell into a giant hole in the ground,” she said.
“Most of them,” Nunez said. “Those closest to the epicenter died instantly. Within a two-hundred foot radius of Mr. Elliot, there was strong evidence suggesting those people died at the moment of the blast. As if he took their lives to fuel it.” Nunez paused, eyes searching Kit's. “Do you see what this suggests, director? Ray Elliot killed thousands with a thought. Not from the fall into the hole, but with his own ability and
he had no idea he was doing it
. If we are correct in assuming more Next with this peculiar power will surface, it will be disastrous.”
The pleasant relaxation had evaporated. Kit tossed back the rest of her coffee and stood. “Apex predators among the apex predators,” she said. “This day just keeps getting better. And now I'm off to figure out a way to fight one of them. Again.”
Nunez stood as well. “As for that, I've had a thought. If you give me until lunch tomorrow, I believe I can even the odds somewhat.”
“
Hooray,” Kit said in a flat voice. “I can't wait to see what new toys you dream up.”
“
Stop fiddling with it,” Ray said. “You're making a scene.”
Kit yanked her heavy coat straight for the dozenth time since leaving the facility. “I can't help it, this thing is really uncomfortable.”
Ray sighed in a long-suffering way that made Kit want to punch him in the head. “It's a prototype thrown together by a couple mad scientists in twelve hours, Kit. It's not like they had time to tailor it for you.”
The heavily modified vest beneath her frumpy coat itched in places as it rubbed her sweater against her skin, and pinched in others. Bundles of wires snaked from it, connected to electrodes all over her body. It was basically several pulse grenades taken apart and juiced up, along with added sensory equipment. Nunez promised her no normal amount of force would trip the sensors. Only the consistent strength of Thomas's telekinesis spread over a large area of her body would do the trick.
“Yeah, fine,” she said, resisting the urge to fiddle with her coat again. “Let's hustle. I want to get to The Bean as fast as we can.”
“
What's the rush?” Ray asked. “It's a nice day, and isn't the point of us being here to draw the kid out?”
“
Yeah,” Kit replied. “But two things. One, I'm hungry. If I'm going to get killed, I'd rather do it on a full stomach. Two? I'm wearing a vest with wires sticking out of it and I'm brown. Do the math.”
Ray shook his head. “Wow. Well, at least no one can see through your coat.”
Kit snorted. “You assume. We managed to bring in all the registered Next. Just my luck if there's some guy walking around with X-Ray vision who decides I'm a terrorist.”
The area surrounding
Baker Street was different. Quieter. The philosopher in her would have said it was less alive. The drive through downtown felt the same way. Without the occasional pizza guy sailing overhead or street performers creating and juggling fire, the city seemed somehow diminished. Baker Street was the Chinatown of the local Next, and with most of them safely locked away in the facility, the place was barren. Even the Black Bands had been asked to remain in protective custody. Few argued, as news of Hector Farrell's death had spread quickly.
They slipped into The Bean without a fuss. There was only one other patron, an older gentleman with enormous horn-rimmed glasses reading a large print romance novel. The kind Kit's mother had derided and called trashy, but read by the dozen.
Peep smiled, coming from around the counter. “Didn't expect to see you here,” she said. She turned to Ray and eyed him, her expression becoming more guarded. “I know who you are. Uncle R...Rowan told me.”
Ray flinched, though there was no venom in the woman's soft words. “I'm sorry,” he said.
Peep ignored his words, letting her expression become sunnier. “So, you two are bait, huh?”
“
I can't believe he told you,” Kit said. “Does he even realize how many laws he's breaking?”
With a laugh, Peep shrugged. “I don't think he cares. My uncle and I lost everyone but each other in Fairmont. He likes to keep me informed because he thinks it'll keep me safe.”
Ray cocked his head. “Does it?”
“
Did you miss the part where you're both bait for the psychotic superhuman and about to sit down and have my famous BLT?” Peep asked.
“
We weren't planning to stay,” Kit said. “We don't want to put you in—”
“
Shut your face,” Peep said sweetly. “I don't scare easy.” When Kit opened her mouth to protest further, Peep frowned. The expression was enough to shut her whole argument down.
“
Fine,” Kit said. “But you might want to ask the old guy to leave.”
Their hostess went the extra mile. After clearing The Bean of its only other customer, she sent both employees home and flipped the sign from open to closed. Peep served drinks and took their orders—Ray ordered enough for five people—and left them alone while she prepared their meals.
During the lull, Kit explained Nunez's theory about his and Thomas Maggard's powers.
“
So, what,” Ray said after she finished. “He thinks we're some kind of fail-safe? Like a breaker, but capable of shutting off super powers?”
Kit shook her head. “No, not really. I think about it like athletes. People with the ability to play pro sports are few and far between. They're almost a class of their own. But even among them you have a Michael Jordan or a LeBron James.”
“Who?” Ray asked.
“
Never mind,” Kit said. “The point is, there will always be people at the far end of the bell curve. The few among the few. Nunez thinks people like you and the kid are the extreme example, the most powerful, period.”
Ray stared out the window for a while. “You're telling me this why, exactly?”
Kit unzipped her jacket and pulled a rolled-up file from one of the large inner pockets. “Because you should know.” She tossed the file in front of him. “A lot of people treat you like a monster, Ray. What you did was terrible. I won't lie to you and say you don't scare me.”
Ray clenched his jaw, the tendons standing out. “I know.”
Kit gently rapped her knuckles on the table. “No, you don't. I'm showing you this file because you stepped up and offered to help us. You faced this kid and saved my life. You think some people see you as a monster, and they do. But I don't. You're dangerous because of
what
you are, not
who
you are.”
His eyes locked on hers, vibrant and blazing. “You don't even know me, Kit. What if I lose control again? What if I lose myself in the power and end up like that little boy?”
“You might,” she agreed. “Though I doubt it. Nunez thinks what happened at Fairmont was a one-time thing. A combination of you being at full strength as your powers emerged and not knowing what you were doing. But you know what? I think you're safe even if you managed to reach that same level all over again. You spent all that time learning to control yourself, and what was the first thing you did when you woke up? You offered to help.”
Kit smiled. “That tells me everything I need to know about you, Ray. And if you're worried you'll end up like Thomas, I suggest you read that file before you begin fretting about power corrupting.”
Peep appeared with their food a few minutes later, then dashed off to clean up for the day. Kit ate and watched Ray's eyes scan the words in front of him, pausing every now and then to take a bite. She read every reaction on his face. Of course, she knew what to look for. She had read the file earlier in the day.
It was everything the Metro police could find on Thomas Maggard, and it was a hell of a read.
Eventually Ray closed the file and looked at Kit in stunned disbelief. “Is all that true?”
She nodded. “Checked and rechecked. It's culled from every reliable source we could get. Took a few days for the court order to get the kid's medical records. Thomas Maggard is only eight, but has been seeing a psychiatrist for three years for a host of mental problems. Intermittent Explosive Disorder was the primary diagnosis, but our doctors tell us it may be something else, maybe several problems all stewing together. They're certain his mind couldn't handle what he did. I mean, there are a lot of healthy adults who would lose their minds. What chance did a mentally ill child have?”
Ray absently fiddled with the edge of the file. “This is so fucked up,” he said. “I actually feel bad for him.”
“
You should,” Kit said. “Like you, he didn't know what he was doing. Unlike you, he wasn't healthy enough to deal with the consequences. This,” she said, tapping the file, “is the reason I want you with me. As dangerous as he is, every other agent is going to err on the side of caution on this. I can't say I blame them, but it's my choice, and I want someone at my back who will try to help Thomas first and foremost. I don't want to hurt him unless we have to. I can't think of anyone else on the planet with the perspective you have.”
Ray considered that, then smiled. “Or it could be you just need someone who can see him coming.”
“That too,” Kit said seriously. “Without that small advantage, we're screwed.”
Ray was right; the general idea was to be the only targets in the city. Kit worried it would not be enough. There were almost certainly unregistered Next out there, both those unaware of their powers and those who hid them. An unspoken agreement between the OSA and the latter group existed. We won't come looking for you unless you give us a reason.
That was perhaps the only thing allowing the current state of affairs. Despite lawsuits filed by every civil rights organization and agency in the western hemisphere, the McDonnell Act remained in force. So long as the agencies responsible for regulating and policing the superhuman population were reactive only, and broad screenings were illegal, the pressure never built up. Law-abiding Next registered and were tested, then left alone so long as they kept their noses clean. Those who chose not to were ignored until they became a problem.
“I don't think you need to worry,” Ray said, interrupting her train of thought. They were walking down a nearly empty street mostly composed of ancient brick buildings full of trendy shops.
“
About what?” Kit asked.
“
You were talking to yourself,” he said. “Something about the kid going after the unregistered Next in the city. I said you didn't have to worry.”
“
I didn't realize that was out loud,” Kit said.
Ray shrugged. “Lots of people talk to themselves without knowing it. Anyway, Thomas will eventually see us if we keep this up long enough. He'll come for us.”
“How do you know?” Kit asked.
“
Two reasons. He'll recognize us, which I'm sure will be a huge selling point, and because I'm the brightest spot in the city. He goes after powerful Next. I'm the powerfulest.”
“
That's not a word,” Kit said.
“
It is now,” he replied with a smile.
She stopped in front of a store. “You know, it's a nice day. As long as we're bait, we might as well get some shopping done.”
Looking pleased, Ray agreed. “That's a good idea. I was wondering when you'd take the time.”
Kit frowned. “What's that supposed to mean?”
He opened the door for her. “I changed in your room the other day, remember? I've seen your wardrobe. And at the risk of hitting the gay best friend stereotype right on the head, you need an upgrade. Everything you own is business or tactical. You have no everyday clothes.”
Ray followed her inside. “That's not true,” Kit protested. “I'm wearing this sweater.”
“Which you borrowed from Nicki,” Ray said.
Kit rolled her eyes. “Fine, I'll grab a few things. But you know I was talking about getting clothes for you, not me.”
Ray smiled, but there was sadness in it. “Do you think they'll let me stay awake long enough to need them?”
The question stopped her. It wasn't something she had even considered. He chose to be put under, and chose to wake up no matter how odd the circumstances. Could Robinson—or even Archer—force him to go back? Ray wasn't an outlaw since no laws covered what happened at Farimont, but going back into the world wasn't much of a possibility either.
“If you want to have a life, I'll do everything I can to make sure that happens,” Kit said. “That may not mean very much if this situation isn't resolved soon, but you have my word.”
Standing just inside the entrance to the store, surrounded by racks of clothes and accessories guaranteed to be the newest and best, they gazed at each other. Kit wondered what drove her to promise, but in her mind Archer's voice answered the question at once.
Ray was an outcast. Through no fault of his own he had committed one of the worst crimes in the history of the human race, outside of actual wars. The desire to rejoin the world, to risk discovery and fight for a place in it, was brave.
Of course, the false Archer in her head pointed out that she too was something of an outcast, and maybe it was her way of showing solidarity.
“Thank you,” Ray said softly. “I'm not used to people being nice to me. Not that I've had much experience lately.”
“
Don't start crying or anything,” Kit said lightly, “because I'm going to have to pay for your new threads.”
Ray grinned. “Actually, no. And I'll pay for yours. Call it a gift.” He pulled out a wallet, old and battered, and opened it to show a thick sheaf of hundred dollar bills.
“You knock over a bank when I wasn't looking?” she asked.
Sliding the wallet back into his pocket, Ray chuckled. “Nah, Archer had someone withdraw it from my account for me. Before I went under, Robinson had it all set up so it wouldn't go inactive. There have been regular deposits since then, and the interest helps.”
“What did you do before...you know,” she asked carefully. An employee was approaching, having decided to check on them despite the fact they were clearly having a conversation. Kit raised a finger at the worker, telling him to wait a minute.
“
You don't know?” Ray asked. “I would have guessed you read my file as soon as you found out I was alive.”