*****
Jane strode through the front doors of the Academy some hours later, alone – daylight and her indignation having faded, her sense of self‑righteousness having not. As she stepped into the halls he passed dregs of exhausted Acolytes, some dusted in grime or blood or still wearing dirty armour. They huddled together and whispered as she approached, though most fell silent when she got closer. Some stood to attention, some just stared, some saluted. Those that motioned to her, Jane met with curt nods. She was right, she thought as her boots strode across the powder-blue carpet. She knew she was right. And if Matt couldn’t see it, well, that was his problem. She’d keep on saving him anyway.
Jane made her way up the stairs and around to the third-floor computer lab, not bothering to change out of her uniform or to give the many people staring at her an errant thought or the time of day.
“What have you got for me?” she demanded, striding without announcement into Azleena’s command centre. The genius was, as ever, behind her computer screens, wearing what Jane noted with approval were the same clothes she’d been in this morning.
“A study on monozygotic twins,” Azleena replied, glancing up, “That theorised in rare cases congenital superhuman abilities could manifest in complementary asynchronous phenotypes.”
“Azleena,” Jane sighed in monumental exasperation, rolling her eyes, “It’s just me.”
“Oh. Right. Sorry. You were right. What you were saying on the comms before. Seems like identical twins sometimes each share half a normal superpower.”
“Great.”
“Much more interesting is the fact that you were able to combine them, at least internally,” the genius murmured. She peered up at Jane with an expression of a scientist considering dissection. “That warrants further research.”
“Can it wait?”
“Yes. Obviously. Probably today’s least interesting development.” She flicked open new windows on her screen as Jane strode around the computer desk to be able to see them. “Clean-up operations are well underway. Crews are under strict orders not to dispose of the bodies.” Azleena glanced at her. “I’ve informed the authorities that the cause of the wave was an Aurora Nirvanas‑style prototype some mad scientist cooked up illegally in their basement. Consequently, the dead bodies are not ‘dead’, simply in a ‘6 Day Slumber’-style coma. They’re being moved to hospitals for ‘monitoring’, i.e. for when you get round to see them.”
“Very nice,” Jane complimented her, “Well done.”
“Thank you. I thought it circumvented questions of a more metaphysical or religious nature, as I assumed you had no desire for a conversation with the Pope.”
“You assumed correct. What else?”
“Qiang and Liang Cao Duan,” the genius continued, “Have been moved to one of our secure storage facilities in the Appalachians. They have their hands covered and bound, they’re being telekinetically floated everywhere, and each has a personal neutraliser staring holes into them around the clock.”
“Excellent. Do we know what they were fighting over?”
“There’s been no interrogation.”
“Good. I’ll go and see them when we’re done. Next?”
“Of Matt’s attackers,” Azleena sighed, “We have nothing. No, that’s not entirely correct. We have pulled out eight bodies from a collapsed Department of Agriculture and Fisheries construction site. They’ve all been identified. I’m still running the list of names but my initial impression is that they’re mercenaries. Mostly ex‑military, guns for hire, I presume pretty high‑grade and pretty expensive to be taking on this kind of job. I suspect once we check their bank records we will find large wire transfers.”
“Trace their every movement,” Jane demanded, “I want to know everything.”
“I will try, but it may be difficult,” Azleena replied, the words dry. Her small head turned, and she fixed Jane with a raised and meaningful eyebrow. “Seeing as all of them are dead.”
Jane raised her own eyebrow just an inch. “Interesting. Let me consider that.”
“Good. On the communications blackout front, we can confirm the device recovered from one of the nearby buildings matches the one stolen from the Department of Defence lockup some weeks ago.”
“I put two and two together.”
“Well, just confirming.” The genius paused. “I haven’t had time to go much deeper into those server records Matt procured for me. I’ll get around to it, but-”
“No, I understand,” said Jane, “Higher priorities. Find time when you can.”
“Time is the one thing we geniuses never have enough of.” Azleena tilted her head slightly she said it, and Jane got the impression the genius was deliberately averting her eyes.
“Something you want to say?”
“Not in this context,” the girl replied, “But I would be keen to schedule a discussion.” She paused and returned to her screens. “Other than, um… well, there’s no classes tomorrow. Everyone’s on general R‑and-R.”
“They can do what they like,” Jane said, indifferent, “That’s a matter for Giselle.”
“I’ll leave it to her then. What else. The DoD and the State Department both want to debrief, I’m ignoring them. Media are having a field day but the marketing teams says it’ll come out as good PR. The mayor of New York wants to give us the key to the city; I’ll add it to the collection. The Eastborough Baptists have declared the end of days, same as they do every couple of months. Oh and some beauty pageant hotel owner is suing us – I’ve flicked it to legal.” She paused and glanced up. “I’m still working on Matt’s mech suit.”
“It can be a lower priority.” Jane didn’t know whether she said that because she was less worried about Matt dying now, or because the last time she’d seen him he stormed away. Maybe both.
“Where is he?”
“Taking some time.”
For a moment Azleena was silent. “Doesn’t he need to come back?” she eventually asked.
“Not immediately,” Jane replied, trying to sound indifferent, “Celeste is with him. If he’s going to be a princess she can be his dragon.”
“Oh, that reminds me,” said Azleena, turning back to her computer, “I have to forward some emails to her. She’s had three requests for paid appearances at Renaissance Fairs.”
“Wonderful,” said Jane, who genuinely did not care, “Unless there’s more, I’m going to interrogate the twins.”
“Giselle will want to come with you. Hang on let me just send… she’ll meet you in the grounds.”
“Good.” Jane strode out without a backwards glance. As she did a little voice inside her head that sounded suspiciously like Matt reminded her to say ‘thank you’, but Jane had heard enough from Matt for one day. She shoved the voice aside. Azleena was doing her job.
Jane marched back down the stairs and through the corridors, ignoring again the Acolytes’ whispers and stares and salutations, those who shouted thanks or clapped or held out their hands for high fives. Jane didn’t need them. She didn’t need any of them.
She hiked down the long grassy hill for once instead of flying, finding something cathartic in the stomping of her boots. She found Will and Giselle waiting for her by the tree‑line, speaking in low whispers. As she approached, their conversation slid to a halt.
“Hey,” said Giselle. She gave Jane a smile, but it was stiff. “There you are. What a, what a day huh?”
“It went well,” Jane replied simply, her mouth staying taunt. “Let’s get this over with.”
The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.
“Jane, I-” The Legion’s leader glanced between her and Will, seeming unsure what words she was trying to stammer out. “I think… There’s been a lot of… Do you need to…”
“What I need,” Jane snapped, “Is for everyone to stop wasting my time, and to go and talk to these prisoners.”
Giselle and Will exchanged further glances, the former opening her mouth as if to say something, the latter staying deliberately silent. Eventually, Giselle seemed to think better of it. Jane took Will’s arm, her hands still bare as she hadn’t got around to replacing her gloves. The teleporter recoiled slightly.
“Hang on,” he said, completely unnecessarily, and once more they were transported through a tunnel of darkness pushing in on all sides.
They reappeared atop a mountainside, at the summit of a small dirt path leading back down several hundred feet into a waiting forest below. A bus‑sized metal door lay before them, embedded into a semi‑circular wall of concrete which was itself sunk into the mountain beneath a shady rocky outcrop. The sun was setting. Without any preamble Giselle stepped up to the metal door and knocked three times, causing it open and allow them all through.
“Welcome,” came a voice, familiar though somewhat strained, “Welcome, do come in. Welcome to my mountain abode.”
“Hey baby,” Will smiled, pecking the waiting Wally on the cheek. Giselle greeted him the same while Jane just grunted and made no physical contact. The psychic ushered them all into a low room which was mainly concrete, a few folding chairs and table, a makeshift kitchen and a small television with a DVD player, closing the door behind them. “Big day.”
“No rest for the wicked,” the teleporter replied.
“I’ve put on a pot of coffee.”
“Where are they?” demanded Jane, looking around the small bunker, “I don’t see them.”
“They’re in the back,” Wally explained, “We cleared out a few old storage rooms, Midas’d in some glass. One‑way mirrors. Not the fanciest but-”
“It’ll do,” said Jane. She turned to the psychic. “Have you talked to them?”
“Beyond checking if they want coffee? No. Kabir and Waverley are still neutralising, but neither seems to be doing anything to escape. One keeps crying.” Wally looked around, his eyebrows furrowed. “Where’s Matt?”
“Taking a goddamn walk,” Jane snapped, “Where were you?”
“What do you mean?” The psychic looked taken aback.
“Today. You weren’t at the battle site.”
“I was in the skeleton crew,” Wally replied blankly, “At Morningstar. People always hang back to guard the Academy, you know this.”
Jane grumbled something under her breath but was unable to articulate any objection further. She had known that actually.
“Besides,” Will chimed in, “It’s not like I could’ve come got him.”
“Exactly,” the psychic agreed, “And Natalia handled it.”
“Handled herself well, actually,” Will grinned.
“Of course she did,” Wally laughed, “Mad bitch, when has she ever not?”
“Enough,” Jane snapped, “Take me to them. Let’s get this over with.”
The three Legionnaires exchanged glances, but after a moment Wally gave a small flourishing bow and began leading the way. He led them through a low steel door and into a tight rounded concrete hallway, where two doors stood to the right beside large, out of place panes of glass. Two Acolytes, a dark‑skinned boy and a white bushy‑haired girl, stood against the wall opposite, standing to attention as they stared through their respective windows.
Jane stepped up against the wall before the two neutralisers, looking through both mirrors at the men detained within. Both sat at rectangular metal tables, their hands bound in thick mitt‑like restraints and handcuffed to the back of their chairs. The one on the right, the one with the torn white jacket and buzz fade, was just staring blank, not saying anything. The one of the left, still all in black, with strands of black hair dangling down his face, was openly weeping.
“They haven’t said anything?” Jane asked, looking between the Acolytes and Wally. All three shook their heads.
“The one in white has been considering asking for a lawyer,” said the red‑headed psychic, “But he keeps thinking better of it. The other one…” Wally shrugged. “He’s only thinking about a girl.”
“You’ve read their minds?”
“I’ve done some… light digging,” the psychic replied, “Figured while they were sitting here it couldn’t hurt to have a gentle… ruffle around?”
“Is that legal?” Will asked, one eyebrow raised in mild concern.
“Is what legal?” Wally replied airily, “There’s no evidence these men have been telepathically examined. Not a single blip or errant thought. I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Jane clenched closed her eyes. For some reason, even though he was being helpful, she found the psychic’s playful tone extremely irritating.
“So what can you tell us?” she demanded, glaring at the twins – though of course her words did not carry into the sealed cells, and neither man could see her.
“They’re Qiang and Liang Cao Duan.” He pronounced it ‘Chang’ and ‘Lee-ang’. “Twin brothers, in case that wasn’t obvious. Liang works, or worked, for the Chinese Communist Party as their state executioner. He can bring the dead back to life by touching them, only for someone else nearby to die. Qiang was recently rented out to the American Department of Justice. His power’s the opposite, he kills anyone who touches him and then a few seconds later someone comes back to life. Which is ironically what started this all.” Wally paused and looked at Jane. “He killed a girl.”
“Right,” said Jane, chewing the word.
“Accidentally. Anyway Liang is a drug fiend party boy, and Qiang needs about twenty years’ worth of therapy before he’s ready to re‑engage with society. Which one do you want to talk to first?”
“Which one’s going to be most useful?”
“Qiang at this point has essentially no emotional barriers,” Wally advised her, “If you went in there and asked him to cut you out his organs he’d probably do it, and in my view you’d be liable for duress. Liang might be a little more recalcitrant. Although he’s got a deep sense of having screwed up.” The psychic paused. “If you’re going to talk to him-” he nodded at Qiang, “-be careful. He’s fragile.”
“I don’t care.”
Wally frowned, but before he could say another word Jane strode over and opened the door, barging into the black‑clad man’s room. The riveted metal door swung shut behind her, blocking out all sound, replacing the noise of the bunker’s halls with the prisoner’s sobbing, which continued oblivious to her entry.
“Do you know who I am?” Jane demanded. She loomed over the Chinese murderer with her arms pushing down against the steel table. “Do you speak English?”
It took a few moments, but eventually the black‑clad twin’s sobbing ceased, and the man looked up. Behind lengths of lank hair, his eyes were no longer pitch black, but normal white with brown irises. The edges were red from crying.
“Yes,” he murmured.
“Yes to what?”
“Yes. Both.”
“Good,” said Jane. She pulled herself into the seat opposite him, the only other chair at the rectangular metal table. “Your name’s Qiang.”
“Yes.”
“Do you remember what happened?”
“I…” Fresh tears leaked from his eyes. “Some of it.”
“Which parts?”
“Before we got to New York. After that… it’s blurry.” He hiccupped, then gazed up, slow revelation dawning. “You were there.”
Jane already knew that. “What happened?” she demanded, “Why were you and your brother fighting?”
She had expected some supernatural answer – that they had gotten too close together, that in close proximity, unknowingly, they had triggered some reaction in powers, the force of Divine polar‑opposite. She had not expected Qiang to slump forward and start crying again.
“I killed her,” he moaned, almost a whisper. Fresh tears trickled down his cheeks. “I killed her, I dropped the glass, it’s all my fault.”
“Glass, what glass, what’re you talking about? Who did you kill?”
“I…” Qiang hiccupped again. “She used to deliver things to my house, I, I invited her inside, I, I loved her, but she touched my face and-”
“And your brother was angry at your for killing this girl?” Jane pushed, “You both knew her?”
“No,” the broken man whispered, “He didn’t… a few weeks ago, his own girlfriend, Melody, he… he used… he revived her. I begged him to do the same. He refused. I…” His head dipped further. “…I couldn’t stand it. I just wanted her back. I wanted him dead.” Fat tears leaked from the corners of his eyes. “I’m so sorry.”
“If a mistake’s been made with the girl, I can correct it,” Jane said dismissively, “Did anyone speak to you leading up to the conflict with your brother?”
“No,” Qiang replied, sniffing. He looked back up at her, confused. “What do you mean correct it? She’s dead.”
“I have your power,” said Jane, “Yours and Liangs. If you tell me where the body is I can arrange for it to be collected and I can revive her. We’re doing the same to everyone you killed in New York.”
Qiang’s breath flew in so sharp it could’ve punctured a lung. “You can… fix her?” he asked, leaning forward, his eyes wide, pulling unconsciously against his restraints as though he didn’t dare believe it.
“Yes,” Jane sighed, trying not to grind her teeth. There was nothing new about this. She didn’t care about some dead delivery girl. “You’re missing the point. Other things happened while you and your brother were fighting. Stuff that made it seem like the whole thing had been planned. What do you know about that? How can that be?”
“Planned?” said Qiang, and his mouth puckered as if he’d tasted something sour, “None of this was planned. I didn’t mean to, I ruined…” He stared back at her, desperation shining on his tear‑stained face. “But you can do it? Please? You can save Emily?”
“I can save whoever I-” Suddenly Jane stopped. For something had just snagged in her brain.
She abruptly stood. “Thank you for your time. Someone will be in shortly. Goodbye.” Jane turned on her heel and strode out into the hallway, slamming the door behind her before the man could get out another word.
“Do we have a connection up here?” she demanded of the Legion members assembled outside. Giselle and Will glanced at Wally, who shrugged.
“Probably out on the hilltop,” he said, “Until something more permanent gets put in. Why?”
“I need to speak to Azleena,” Jane replied.
“Okay. Why?”
“The fight was over a girl.”
“Okay,” Wally said again, shrugging, “Are we… is that outside the realm of possibility? I know it’s a huge disaster, but isn’t that kind of a universal human truth? Earth‑shattering things stem from trivial causes?”
“It’s not the fight that bothers me,” said Jane, “It’s her.”
Without further explanation she pushed past them, leaving the twins to their holding rooms and the neutralisers on guard. She strode through the bunker, back out onto the mountainside. The second Jane smelled fresh air she pressed her finger to her earpiece.
“Azleena.”
“Copy.”
“The girl in the server records. The one there were so many documents about. Whose life they were trying to ruin – who was it? What was her name?”
High atop the mountain, staring out over the valley below, Jane’s head spun with a sensation that wasn’t vertigo. She knew the answer already, she remembered it from last night, though the conversation felt as if it had been in another lifetime. Even so, Jane clung to the possibility that her memories were false, that she’d misheard or misremembered, though she knew the hope was in vain. She had no doubt. She didn’t even need to hear the genius say it.
“Emily?”