Super Powereds: Year 1 (80 page)

“I’m ready,” Vince said softly. Mr. Transport gave a curt nod and moved them through space. They reappeared at a central point in the fire, Mr. Transport lingering long enough only to be sure the heat didn’t render Vince unconscious. The boy stood stalwart, so Mr. Transport retreated to their previous position. Vince could survive such temperature though his ability, but Mr. Transport had no such protection. All he could do now was wait and try to have faith in the strange little silver-haired boy.

Vince didn’t breathe once he was dropped off. He’d had more than enough experience to know that in this environment the air would burn his lungs as it was already doing to his skin. Normally when he was absorbing, Vince had to reach out to connect to the energy, finding it amidst the ambient sources permeating the world around him. This time was different; from the moment he appeared, the heat was overpowering him, trying to choke and claw its way inside his fragile fleshy form. The heat wasn’t just knocking at the door, it was slamming its shoulder against it and screaming profanities in an effort to force its way in. Vince didn’t have to reach out this time. Instead he closed his eyes, steeled his nerves, and flung the door wide open, demanding every ounce of energy this fire could give.

For a sliver of an instant, nothing happened.

What followed next was captured on satellite imagery. The cause of it was debated for several years to come, with a wide variety of conspiracy theories centering around it and entire doctoral theses being written on the phenomenon. It wasn’t until Vince’s story was told and the dots were connected that the curious event finally made sense.

From the images, it initially seemed as though a glitch occurred in the system tracking the wildfire. It went from moving in standard pattern to turning inward, the direction of every path becoming a single uniform spot. The fire then began flowing in the direction of this spot. It moved at similar speeds to earlier at first, then steadily sped up in ever-increasing intervals. An image near the very end showed a circular pattern, as though the fire was swirling about like a hurricane as it was funneled down into a singularity. After that are two progressively smaller images of the fire before the final photo showing nothing.

Nothing except for miles of earth that had been scorched to the ground in mere minutes instead of the days it should have taken.

147.

The man’s skin was like coal dipped in midnight, his muscular body scarcely contained in his black suit. The lady across the table was quite the opposite, a middle-aged woman of small stature with just a few grey hairs woven amongst her blonde ones. She, too, wore a black suit, though she had eschewed the tie in favor of a more casual appearance.

“Numbers,” said the woman, her tone measured and even. “What a surprise. You must join us for tea.”

“I appreciate the offer, Mrs. Tracking, but I’m afraid my time constraints are somewhat pressing,” Mr. Numbers declined. He took a seat at their table, suppressing his urge to marvel at the glorious scenery their penthouse suite afforded them. Japan was always such a lovely place; Mr. Numbers intended to come back for a proper visit one day, just as he had intended for the better part of a decade.

“So I gathered. Transport did little more than a pop and drop. Quite rude,” Mrs. Tracking commented.

“I’m afraid it will be much the same when he picks me up. We have a lot to talk about and little time to work in,” Mr. Numbers replied. He glanced at the man, who sat so still one might believe he was little more than an exquisitely lifelike carving.

“I suppose I’ll take the cue,” the man said in a low, powerful baritone. He touched the hands of both Mr. Numbers and Mrs. Tracking. The world around them slowed to a crawl, then ceased to move at all from what they could discern.

“Thank you, Mr. Stop,” Mr. Numbers said. “What I need to discuss with you is off the record, off the books, and will most likely label me as off the reservation.”

“Oooh, sounds exciting,” Mrs. Tracking said, a bubble of vivaciousness welling up in her. “I do enjoy the occasional black bag operation.”

“What do you need?” Mr. Stop asked, vastly more stoic than his partner.

“Just a location,” Mr. Numbers replied. “Two of our current charges have been taken and they’ve disabled all the methods we had to pinpoint them.”

“That is hardly off the books. You’re doing your job,” Mrs. Tracking said, her voice rich in disappointment.

“No,” Mr. Numbers admitted. “I was given a direct order not to pursue.”

“I see,” Mrs. Tracking said. “That does change things.”

“I’m aware,” Mr. Numbers agreed.

“I believe I can fulfill your request, Numbers. All that’s left to determine is the price.” Mrs. Tracking flashed a grin that had signaled the end of many a man. “Let us negotiate.”

* * *

Alice stepped into the common room wearing jeans and a t-shirt. She wished she had an outfit that better screamed “Warrior” but the only thing that came close was her Lander uniform. She didn’t want to face the coaches dressed like a student; something about that just felt wrong.

Vince was already waiting, his own outfit similar to hers. He glanced up at her as she entered, giving her a quick nod. If he was feeling anything like her then his stomach would be twisting in knots of worry.

“Mr. Transport went to pick up Mr. Numbers,” Vince told her. “He’ll be back in a second.”

“Okay,” Alice said, sitting down next to him.

“Nervous?” Vince asked.

“God, yes.”

“Good,” Vince said. “We’re taking on a near-impossible task. It’s going to be hard enough with just the three of us.”

“Two of us, Vince. Nick isn’t coming.”

“He’ll come,” Vince said.

“He won’t. It’s just two of us.”

“Three,” Vince corrected.

“Two.”

“Three.”

“Two.”

“Three,” Nick said, the door to the boys’ side whispering shut behind him. He was dressed in a pinstriped suit, a deep purple shirt left open at the collar. His shoes were black, well-fitted to the foot and competent for all forms of movement. His jacket was buttoned only on its top button, holding the shape together without pulling it taut to his frame.

“You’re coming?” Alice asked.

“Of course he’s coming,” Vince said, standing from the couch. “Though I’m not sure why he’s dressed like that.”

Nick shrugged. “Up until this year I’ve always dressed this way. When we do this thing I don’t want to be dressed like the ineffectual smart ass. I want to feel like the version of me that can get things done.”

“Whatever works,” Vince said, patting his friend on the back.

Nick stared at Vince for a moment. “You never waver, do you, Silver?”

“Why would I waver on the things I know?”

“Heaven save me from honest men and lunatics,” Nick replied. He looked at Alice who had risen to her feet and was staring him down.

“What changed your mind?”

“Honestly? I’m not sure,” Nick admitted. “Let’s just chalk it up to the fact that I haven’t gotten to really cut loose in a while and this seems like a good outlet.”

“You expect me to believe that?”

“Nope, which is why I didn’t bother with the truth. No sense in wasting it when you won’t trust anything I say,” Nick replied.

“She’ll trust you to help our friends,” Vince assured him.

Mr. Transport and Mr. Numbers reappeared in the room, looking at the Melbrook residents.

“I have the place. Are you ready?”

The three looked at each other,

“Now or never,” Nick said.

“Then I pick now,” Alice said, forcing more courage than she felt into her voice.

“We’re ready,” Vince said. They gathered around Mr. Transport and Mr. Numbers.

An instant later there was only an empty room, echoes of voices still gently reverberating off the walls.

148.

The night was strangely bright as Nick, Alice, and Vince stood on the dusty road. It was still used by the locals during the day, but by this time of night the only ones traveling its worn lengths were the local wildlife and the occasional tourist who got lost. There were some lights scattered about; however, if not for the moonlight, the visibility would have been greatly reduced. Nick wasn’t sure if that suited their purposes well or hurt them. He suspected he wouldn’t know for sure until this whole affair had concluded.

“We’re sure they’re coming down this route?” Alice asked, yet again.

Nick nodded. “Mr. Numbers said his coworker could tell they were moving fifty miles an hour down this highway. It’s off the beaten path so if we’d launched a manhunt they wouldn’t easily be spotted, but the inverse is that there aren’t exits to the highway between where they were and us. They’re coming this way, presumably doing the speed limit so as not to get pulled over, which means we have a couple more minutes by my calculations.”

“I know, I just... what if they stop for the night? Or get a teleporter to help them? Or if wherever they’re going is on this road and they’ve already reached it?”

“Relax,” Nick ordered her. “If they had a teleporter they could use then they wouldn’t be taking a truck. As for stopping, Mr. Numbers will contact us if his source senses any dramatic change in their movement. They’re coming, Alice.”

“Okay,” Alice said, vainly willing her heart to cease its mad pounding. “Okay.”

“You’ll be fine,” Vince assured her. “Just stick to the plan.”

“Right. Get Hershel whiskey and get Mary away,” Alice said.

“Bingo,” Nick said. “I’ll help you if I can, but my main goal is to provide Vince with cover while he fights the coaches. Hopefully, however they’re holding Hershel is something Roy can easily overcome. Mary will definitely be unconscious, though.”

“Why are you so sure about that?” Alice asked.

“Because if she was awake they’d be no way to stop her from trashing the vehicle. Even Persephone’s nerve twitch pheromone didn’t stop me from thinking. If she can think then she can kick ass.”

“All you have to do is get her clear,” Vince reiterated. “We’ll meet up with you down the road. If for any reason we’re delayed, call Mr. Transport after five minutes for pickup.”

“But you won’t be delayed, right? You’re going to get away.”

“Of course we will,” Vince assured her. “But it never hurts to have a backup plan.”

Alice looked away from him, staring down the dark road instead. She didn’t think Vince was lying: just believing in the happiest possible scenario. Alice didn’t quite feel the optimism welling up in herself; her mind kept dwelling on all the ways this could go to shit.

“Heh.” A nervous giggle escaped Alice’s lips. “This sort of feels wrong, doing it at night. Shouldn’t we be having our showdown at high noon?”

“Personally speaking, I prefer poor lighting and shadow when facing overwhelming forces,” Nick replied.

“Don’t count on a whole lot of that,” Vince said.

Nick shot his friend a curious glance. The boy had obviously done something to prep for this fight, but he hadn’t shared it with his comrades. In fact, Vince hadn’t contributed much to any of their hurried planning process. His eyes had been sharp and focused, but not on anything the others could see. For as lunatic a situation as they were in, Vince had been calm and detached nearly the entire time. This was another variable that Nick wasn’t sure if he found comforting or terrifying.

As it would ultimately turn out, the answer was both.

* * *

The man wore a grey silk shirt, black pants, and an expression of extreme derision as he paced in front of Mr. Numbers and Mr. Transport.

“So I’m expected to believe that two of our top operatives were surprised and overpowered by a group of children?”

“Teens, actually, all of them old enough to be counted as adults. Except with drinking,” Mr. Transport pointed out.

The man stopped and delivered a withering glare. “This is not the time for semantics or splitting hairs. What you are telling me indicates tremendous incompetence at best and full-out betrayal at worst. I trust I don’t need to explain to you what happens if it’s determined to be the latter?”

Both men would have gulped if they’d had more control over their bodies. However, Mr. Move was not notorious for his mercy or kindness, so as soon as he had heard the bad news, Mr. Move had taken over control of everything in their bodies except for speech.

“I have to tell you, I‘ve very disappointed in you two,” Mr. Move said, taking a seat on the table in front of them.

“I am certain that our supervisors will find our actions both understandable and non-traitorous. We were taken by surprise and bested. No one is perfect, after all,” Mr. Numbers defended.

“Maybe they will,” Mr. Move agreed. “But we’ll be finding out soon. Mr. Transport is going to take us to the home office so that you two can explain things in person.”

Mr. Transport and Mr. Numbers would have shared a look of concern, had they been capable. They’d known this reaction was within the realm of possibility and had tried to take action to mitigate it. Unfortunately, they had yet to see the results they were hoping for, which could prove detrimental to the plan. If they went to the head office they wouldn’t have their phones, and that would result in no one being on hand to retrieve their charges once the mission was complete.

“An excellent idea,” Mr. Transport said. “Won’t you need to give them advanced notice, though? It is a late hour, after all.”

“No need,” Mr. Move replied. “They were already assembled to decide how to react to the initial kidnapping. I was given full authorization to move personnel to their location should a need arise.”

“Well then... excellent,” Mr. Transport said, unable to think of an alternative argument. He could refuse to use his power: Mr. Move only overtook their bodies, not the abilities that they wielded. That move would end the game, though, labeling him and Mr. Numbers as traitors and moving their own safety far higher on their immediate concerns list. Still, it was a viable strategy, and one he might have to employ.

Mr. Transport was saved from his decision by a loud, authoritative knock on the door. Mr. Numbers and Mr. Transport couldn’t see one another from the way their heads were positioned. If they had been able to, they would have known they were both smiling quite unprofessionally.