CHAPTER 5 - SABRA
Sabra Kasembe awoke to the taste of blood and ash.
The nightmare evaporated as she opened her eyes, but the sensations clung to her like a chemical burn. It’d been a vivid one, and familiar, but that was about all she knew. There was just a feeling, an idea of vast, inescapable horror, but no recollection of it. Even when she had stumbled over to her sink and rinsed her mouth out, she was pretty sure she could still taste it.
Enough. Get your head in the game, Kasembe.
She splashed cold water on her face. Had to get her head in the game, her eye on the ball, her mind on the court. Tonight was the night—the pre-show to Asclepion’s next main event. She ducked and weaved in front of the mirror for a moment, shadowboxing with her reflection, and ran a hand across the rough hair of her freshly buzzed scalp.
“Showtime, babe,” she murmured to herself. “Eat your heart out, Sentinel.”
Sentinel was gone. Three months ago, the IESA had come through and knocked the golden tyrant from his throne, hauled him away in cuffs. For a time, Sabra had thought that it’d allow Asclepion—the City of Healing, the last hope of the Golden Age—to, well, heal.
But it hadn’t.
For nineteen years, Sabra had eked out a half-life among the ruins of history. She’d watched the dreams of her parents fade away, their hopes for a bright new future gone, and for what?
She was tired of it. Had been tired of it for years. But tonight, she’d be putting herself on the path to doing something about it, and she’d be doing it with her own hands. Her father always said that was why humans had hands: to create, to heal, to help when and whenever you could.
Such wisdom had earned him six little pieces of enlightenment. That was where the two of them differed, Sabra knew. Sometimes, you had to use your hands to fight.
----------------------------------------
It was a brisk evening, and the streets of Upsilon Block were clear. Flickering streetlights and the fractured Luna lit her way—like the city itself, the Moon had been broken for so long that the idea of it whole seemed bizarre and alien. But that was what everyone said. They also said the first superhero had fled to the ruined satellite, either because of the Collapse or that it was the trigger for it. Sabra wasn’t so sure about that.
Sabra took a deep breath in through her nose. The salty aroma of sea spray felt like it promised great things, and finally dispelled the last wisps of imaginary ash. She slipped into the backstreets and made her way through the secret network of alleys, hidden paths, and underground maintenance ducts, tracing a map that she knew as well as the lines of her palm.
She made good time to the meeting area, a basketball court set in the shadow of two derelict shops. If Asclepion was her home, then places like this were her arena. Few people—men or women—could match her when she stepped onto the court. Less could catch her when she broke into a sprint.
Sometimes it was like her whole life had led to this night.
Sabra set her pack down and withdrew her gear. Boots, gauntlets, and a visored helmet that she’d only started to paint green. Pieces of Tess that she’d been able to rig into working without the frame of the suit. As the helmet engaged, casting the world into the hyper-reality of a heads-up display, Sabra looked to the backboard and wondered how well she’d dunk on wings of fire.
No, she couldn’t let her mind wander. She had to be careful. It wasn’t that she was worried about herself, but her gear. It had taken weeks to salvage and two months to repair it into a functional state. But it wasn’t legal. No matter how much time she had put into stripping the logos and filing off the serial numbers, Tess had been police gear, and she couldn’t outrun the consequences forever. But, hell, they’d buy her a comfortable lead.
Besides, salvage was a thing, right?
“That you, Sabs?”
Sabra looked to the alley as Mike Romeo stepped out of the shadows. Like her, he was in costume. Unlike her, he actually had a superpower. The systems in her helmet finished booting and helpfully informed her that there were numerous warrants out for his arrest. But no major ones, not any where he’d hurt someone.
Otherwise, she’d have to kick his ass. He knew it, too.
“The one and only,” she replied.
“Figured. So, have you worked out a name yet?”
“Nah.” Names were hard. Important, too. But mostly hard.
Mike reached into his leather jacket as he approached and withdrew a small data chip, holding it between his fore and middle fingers. “You’re really doing this?”
His tone made it clear that he thought it was impossible, or stupid. Sabra grinned.
“Yep.”
“I wish you wouldn’t,” Mike said.
“You don’t believe in me?”
“It’s not a matter of belief, Sabs. Listen, there’s still gaps in this data. We don’t have the command codes for the fences, and my inside man tells me that Dynazon has been speed-dialing extra security.”
Sabra shrugged. “It’s nothing I can’t handle.”
“If you’d just give me the rest of the week—”
“No,” Sabra said. “I’m not wasting anymore time. This’s my shot and I’m taking it.”
Mike shook his head.
“Jesus, Sabs. You’ve got some balls, you know that?”
She grinned. “Hey, watch it, you’re talking to a lady. Look, you know how it is. Some people just gotta get got.”
“Dynamic Horizons is not a person.”
“Cool,” Sabra said, and held her hand out. “Then I really won’t feel bad about it.”
After all, if it weren’t for their sponsored relief mission, then her father never would’ve been shot. They weren’t the ones who had cracked fusion and made Asclepion’s geothermal plants obsolete and put him out of work, but they had put him on that ship. She’d settle for them in lieu of the gunmen.
“Fine,” Mike said, passing over the chip. “But if you get caught, don’t you dare tell anyone where you got this from. Otherwise, I will find you, friend or not. I’m not tangling with any corporate teams.”
It wasn’t much of a threat, but Sabra took it in the spirit of which it was intended. Word was, he’d considered hitting the plant himself but had weighed it all up and decided it’d bring down too much heat—disrupt the good thing he had going.
Mike was a survivor, always had been, but he was a networker, too. Which meant he had no problem with letting someone else make use of his prep work, for the right price.
“Yeah, yeah,” Sabra said. “Won’t tell a soul, man.” She slipped the chip into the slot at the back of her helmet. “Don’t worry your handsome little head over it.”
“I’m only an inch shorter than you.”
Sabra shrugged. “Coming up short is coming up short, man.”
“I’ll take your word for it, Sabs. Good hunting.”
Sabra threw him a quick salute with her fingers, and set out in search of her monster.
----------------------------------------
The Dynazon plant was so brightly lit that Sabra had a bearing on it from blocks away. Back when she’d first floated this plan, Mike had pointed out that it was a risk to hit a target in her home block, but, according to any map, it was technically on the edge of Omicron. Besides, it wasn’t like the Australian capes ever left the bright and shiny center of the city. Or that the local cops really cared.
Mike had done his best to case the place, but there were gaps in the data, just as he had said. She now had a map of the place on her HUD, with enough credentials and data to plot the security robots and most of their routes. She was sure she could get in, find her prize, and get out.
Well, pretty sure.
She kept to the shadows and took stock of the situation. The fences were the first problem. Tall and glowing with hardlight laserwire. Couldn’t climb them, not without losing her limbs. But she’d planned around that one.
The second problem, and one she hadn’t planned around, was that there were people already there. Two men in the baggy garb of street soldiers clustered in the shadow of a fence pylon about halfway up the street, one of them keeping watch while the other worked. Pretty brazen, Sabra thought, before she noted that the security camera about halfway up the pylon had been knocked free.
She didn’t care if they got caught. It wasn’t like she knew them. The problem was that they could throw off her whole game plan. That, and she hadn’t counted on witnesses. Sure, she could scare them off, play the superhero, but that’d leave two people who knew she had been there.
And she wasn’t exactly intimidating, was she? So, it could come to a fight, and if that happened…
No, she wasn’t going to lay out anyone if she had to. I am because you are, her father always said. Any pain, any loss, diminishes the whole. She wondered if he still believed that.
The lookout spotted her as she approached, crossed his arms. Dark ink in the shape of an animal’s skull stood out against his well-built arms. “You good?” he asked, the cant of his chin more a challenge than his words.
“Yeah, man,” Sabra said. “Just out for a walk—you?”
“Just out for a walk.”
“Nice night for it.”
“Yeah, but my guy here is taking his time tying up his shoes.”
Sabra glanced past the lookout, to the second gang member. He had a small tablet connected to something in the pylon, tapping at it every so often. She tried to place their colors and ink, but couldn’t. Strange.
Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.
“You think he’s heard about velcro?” Sabra asked.
The lookout laughed. “Nah, man. So, you got a name?”
“Not yet. Relax, I’m not gonna stop whatever this science experiment is.”
“Smart. I’m Bryce and that’s Khalid.” Bryce rubbed at his chin, staring at her, fingers tracing along his chinstrap beard. “You know, I think I know you. Seen you with Mike, yeah? It’s all good. I won’t mention your name, I get it.”
Huh. So the two of them were members of the Forgotten. Was one of them Mike’s man on the inside? Maybe he hadn’t informed them that he’d moved up his plans a week. Sabra figured it didn’t matter much.
“Thanks,” she said. “So, you run with Mike?”
“Yeah.”
“What’re you doing here? Mike didn’t mention sending any help.”
“He didn’t say anything about you showing up either,” Bryce replied, shrugging. “But we’ve got our own job to do, and we’ve got a way past the fence—you want in?”
Sabra turned her head to consider the fences. Her plan had been to jump them, but it was a risk—the jumpjets in her boots weren’t intended to be used without the rest of the suit. Without the frame of the armor to absorb the impact, it’d be like throwing herself from a three-story building. Land wrong, and she’d snap her legs like chopsticks. And then where would her parents be?
“Sure,” Sabra said. “Let’s do it.”
----------------------------------------
Five minutes later, a section of laserwire vanished and the three of them stepped across the perimeter. Khalid had said that the system would correct for his bug in seconds, and he hadn’t been lying. Had she still had her braids, Sabra was sure they would’ve been an inch or two shorter.
“We’re in,” Bryce said, but he wasn’t speaking to her.
The three of them paused. Watched, waited, listened. Sabra knew there were robots, but they were all in the complex itself. Were there human guards, too? Probably, right? And would they have dogs? Robot dogs? Oh, Christ and Allah, she should’ve done more research...
Head in the game, Kasembe. Eyes on the prize.
“Let’s get moving,” Bryce added. “Come on.”
“Hold up,” Sabra said, pointing to her helmet. “I’ve got a map. The doors are all locked and alarmed. I can get us in, but I don’t know how much time we’ll have once that happens.”
“Doubt we’ll see any APD,” Bryce said. “Corporate goons, maybe.”
“Yeah, and if I’ve burned all my luck already, then it’ll be some bored superhero.”
“That a problem?”
It didn’t matter who responded, really. She hadn’t come this far to lose.
“Nope,” she said.
Sabra led the way to the closest fire door. She tapped her gauntlets together, firing up the capacitors in the forearms, and pressed one set of armored knuckles against the electric lock. Something popped, and it shorted out. Sabra wrenched open the door and stepped inside.
The interior of the plant was dim, but the work never stopped—Sabra could hear all kinds of machines operating deeper into the complex. Maintenance and cleaning robots trundled and rolled here and there. Sabra ignored them and they ignored her. They weren’t programmed to stop her, and the only concern they had was with the dirt she had tracked in.
“Where’re you headed?” Bryce asked.
“Didn’t think we were talking about that,” Sabra replied.
“Way I see it, we’re in this together now—unless you’ve got another way out past the fences?”
She didn’t.
“Cell storage,” Sabra said. “You?”
“Data center. Same side of the complex.”
“And,” Sabra said, checking the map laid over her HUD, “the only route is across the main assembly floor. There’s bots patrolling the other routes.”
“Could you take ‘em out?”
“Not smart,” Khalid said. “A system like this almost always has a watchdog AI.”
“Like a robot dog?” Sabra asked.
Khalid gave her a dubious look. “No. A dumb AI, like, a fancy assistant. It monitors for certain things—noises, lock status, something like that. If any of the bots deviate, or if it hears anything suspicious, an alarm will go right off.”
“Easy, man,” Bryce said. “We don’t need the full textbook.”
“Let’s assume the alarm’s already tripped,” Sabra said. “Come on.”
The assembly floor was silent and dead, robotic manufacturing limbs hanging still and ominous like mantises ready to strike. Dynazon was one of the world’s leaders in advanced hardware—robots, power armor, and more than a few mecha. Sabra weaved around the machinery at a brisk jog, sparing a quick glance towards the building’s massive skylight. What, did the robots appreciate the view?
They came to a t-intersection in a maze of seemingly identical corridors and storage rooms. “Here’s where we split up,” Bryce said. “Meet you back here in five minutes.” They went right, she went left.
Her helmet guided her straight to her target. The room was locked, like all the others, but a tap of her knuckles popped the door open. Inside was row after row of metal prisms about the size of her fist.
“Bingo,” Sabra whispered.
People called them micro-fusion cells, which was basically just marketing speak for ‘fancy battery.’ But they were powerful, too, and any of them could run for basically forever. Just one of them would keep Sabra in the superhero business for a very long time.
One of the few things that her father had told her about Sudan was that, on birthday, it was far more common to receive money than gifts. So, if Sabra took a reasonable birthday contribution from Dynazon, multiplied it by nineteen, and added a comfortable amount of interest (haram as it was...)
Turned out, the math came out to precisely the cost of a single fusion cell. More or less.
“Happy birthday to me,” Sabra murmured and scooped one up—carefully, deliberately—and set it in her pack.
Bryce and Khalid met her back at the intersection, right on time. All they had to do now was escape. They’d made it halfway across the manufacturing floor before someone threw a curveball.
The skylight exploded inward, showering the floor with shards of broken glass. Sabra heard them bounce off her helmet as the three of them dived for cover and something hit the factory floor with all the force of a missile. “Fuck,” Sabra hissed. There was only one type of responder that would make an entrance like that.
A superhero.
“Shit,” murmured Bryce.
“Stay cool,” Sabra said. “I’ve got this.”
She stole a glance at her opponent. They—no, she—wore all black, with something glimmering beneath the hood of her jacket. Some kind of visor or mask—the hood wasn’t bulky enough to hide a full helmet.
“I have already alerted the authorities,” the cape said, their voice electronically neutral. “As of this moment, you’re only looking at trespassing, breaking and entering, unauthorized access of corporate property, and theft. Do not think about adding assault to the list,” she added, “you will not prevail.”
“It’s three on one,” Bryce hissed. “We can take her.”
"Christ and Allah, man, shut it,” Sabra replied.
She didn’t recognize the superhero. Whoever they were, they weren’t wearing the gold-and-silver of Sentinel’s old guard, nor the blue-and-green of the Australian Star Patrol. So they had to be new. Well, if she had to knock them down to get out with her prize, then so be it.
Her father had taught her to box from a young age, and she’d learned well enough to keep all of her teeth, to trade in pain for medals. ‘For when you need it,’ he had said, when she had first put on the gloves. When, not if. The Collapse left long, deep scars.
It wouldn’t be too different from fighting in the ring. Sure, you might miss a move and catch a bloody lip, but you wouldn’t be killed or crippled. It was just how empowered fights worked—well, when the fate of the world wasn’t in the balance. But only an idiot fought an opponent without any idea of their capabilities, pulled punches or not. And only the Queen of Idiots sat where she was, thinking instead of acting.
Could she outrun her? Sabra stole another look at her opponent. Probably not, she decided. The hero was wearing angular, bulky boots. Similar to her own, but larger. Hazard stripes around her heels indicated maneuvering vanes or thrusters or something that seemed better than her own gear.
But there was only one of her.
“You know, you’re right,” Sabra said. “She can’t get all three of us. You two go left, and I’ll run interference.”
“It’ll take time to drop the fences,” Khalid said.
“Don’t worry. I’ll keep her busy. Okay? On three. One, two...”
On three, Bryce and Khalid broke out and to the left. And Sabra kicked in her jets and went for the skylight.
She almost made it. She slammed into the edge of the skylight and marshaled all of her strength, willing herself to hold on. Asclepion might’ve held to the unspoken rules of the cape game, but they didn’t say anything about people who were stupid enough to hurt themselves by taking stupid chances trying to get away from the superheroes.
“What the fuck?” Bryce shouted. Then there were the sounds of a scuffle, the sharp crack of a stunner. Sabra hauled herself up and onto the roof with a grunt. There was an old saying: you didn’t need to escape the bear, you just had to be faster than anyone else.
The superhero crashed down next to her. Sabra whirled about and squared her stance, fists up, and tapped her knuckles together to draw charge from her capacitors. And, perhaps, as a challenge.
“Going somewhere?” the cape asked, looking ever so slightly up to meet her eyes. The moonlight caught on the cheek of her mask. An androgynous chrome face, the expression cold and distant and highlighted with gold details. It reminded Sabra of nothing more than a judgmental angel.
“Just leaving,” Sabra said.
“I can not let you do that.”
Sabra snorted. “You’re really going to throw down over a fucking battery?”
“Yes,” the cape replied, sarcasm thick enough that it made it through the filter of her mask. “I’m really going to throw down over a fucking battery.”
“Suit yourself—bring it on.”
“As you wish,” the cape said, and charged.
Even with those bulky boots, the cape could move. She was on Sabra in a second, fists deflecting off her armored forearms. She was no amateur, either—she knew how to fight. The cape was staying close, counting on her proximity to nullify Sabra’s height and reach.
Last time that’d happened, she’d been sixteen and in the ring, and she’d gotten her butt kicked. Too much riding on it now to go down for two others, or to get arrested over a battery.
Sabra hopped back, feigning weakness or fear, and let the cape follow. When she closed the gap, Sabra brought her right fist around like a meteor, nailing her with one hell of a haymaker as the capacitors discharged with a loud pop and an acrid flare of ozone.
The cape lurched backward, took two steps, and didn’t go down.
She hadn’t even stumbled. Christ and Allah, were her clothes hardened against electrical shock? Or was she just that fucking tough?
“Nice trick,” the cape said. “It might have worked on anyone else. But standard-issue APD powersuit gauntlets only hold enough charge for three uses. Got anything better?”
There were sirens now, howling in the near-distance. The police were only minutes away. Sabra pumped her arms and slammed her knuckles together once more.
“Fuck around and find out.”
The cape tilted her head. “As you wish.”
They crashed together once more, blocking and punching, feinting and weaving. Sabra caught the cape in the solar plexus—resistance, she was wearing armor—just as the cape caught her on the chin with an uppercut.
The helmet dulled much of the blow, but it was still enough to snap Sabra’s head back. Her vision swam for a moment, and she kicked in her jets, pulling backwards to open what distance she could. The cape followed her on golden plumes and that was when Sabra saw her victory.
This time, Sabra surged forward to meet her. She shoved her back with both hands and turned on her heel, sweeping her legs, heel like a hammer.
It was a clumsy blow, and they both went down. The adrenaline sang up and down her veins and behind her eyes as she climbed to her feet, her opponent matching her. The only thing she could hear over the sound of the blood pounding in her ears were the sirens, closer every second.
If only she hadn’t been wearing the helmet. Then the superhero could’ve stared her in the eyes as she won.
“Bye!” Sabra called, sprinting for the edge of the roof and the glowing fence line beyond.
Out of the corner of her eye, she caught the fireworks of the cape’s boot thruster, damaged in the strike or the fall or both, failing in a lurching hop. Golden sparks and sputtering flame.
“You bitch!”
Laughing, Sabra launched herself off the roof and twisted to face the cape. The last thing she’d see of her as she flew over the fence and made good on her escape was her two middle fingers—two barrels of handheld defiance—raised in farewell.