Absolute Power. Michael Carroll

       6

      IN SAKKARA, DANNY and Razor stood in the doorway of Ops, watching the monitor over the heads of everyone else in the packed room.

      “We’re in trouble now,” Razor muttered.

      At the far side of the room, General Piers hit the remote control to turn off the monitor, then swivelled back to face everyone.

      Danny thought he’d never seen the General look so old, so tired.

      For a moment, Piers was silent, then he took a deep breath and looked around the room. “Any thoughts?”

      Sitting next to him, Maxwell Dalton quietly said, “Someone set us up. And they did a good job of it too.” He looked up at Impervia. “You scanned the place?”

      The woman nodded. “Twice. Danny did a high-speed pass, then I scanned it again as I approached. Obviously, they’ve found a way to mask their cameras from the scanner.”

      General Piers said, “Obviously.” He turned to Razor. “How?”

      “Probably used fibre-optic cameras. There are models that can run with minimal electricity. The scanners would only pick them up if they were specifically looking for them. You don’t set up something like that because you’re afraid someone might attack. They knew.”

      At the far side of the room, Caroline Wagner cleared her throat and said, “I think we’re avoiding something here. Why did you go all that way to destroy food supplies?”

      Impervia glared at the younger woman. “We didn’t. We thought we were going after a weapons cache.”

      “Either you’re lying or you were wrong. If you were wrong then what else have you been wrong about? And if you’re lying—”

      “All right, that’ll do!” General Piers said. “I’ve had the Secretary of Defence on the phone three times already and our press office has been bombarded with calls from every media source on the planet. I’m putting a hiatus on everything but the Paragon project until we find out who set us up. Maybe it was the Trutopians themselves, maybe it was a foreign power. God knows there are more than a few nations jealous that we have superhumans.” He turned his attention to the computer in front of him. “Meeting’s over.”

      As they filed out of the room, Renata and Butler caught up with Danny and Razor.

      “I’m really getting sick of this place!” Renata said. “They’re the ones who messed up, but we get treated like it’s our fault!”

      “Right,” Razor said, “and we don’t even get paid! I work at least fourteen hours a day, seven days a week, and in return all I get is food and a bed. I got better food and a better bed in Florida, and all I had to do was take out the trash in the mornings.”

      A voice said, “And if you want to return to that life, that can be arranged.”

      They turned to see Impervia standing behind them. “Razor, back to the machine room. The rest of you…Go to your rooms and get some rest. I want to see you in my office in one hour.”

      In the small town of Moate, Indiana, two teenage girls kept their eyes fixed straight ahead as they approached a large abandoned factory.

      Erica van Piet and Karen Zemsty passed the factory every morning on their way to school, and they knew better than to even glance at it. The cluster of half-demolished, graffiti-covered buildings was well-known as a haven for local drug addicts and gang members. This wasn’t the worst part of town – there were places where even the police didn’t dare go alone – but it was bad enough that the girls knew better than to pass through on their own. There was some safety in numbers.

      Erica was tall, slim and dark-skinned, while Karen was shorter and pale-skinned with long red hair. The day they met, Karen had told Erica, “The gangs’ll mostly leave you alone, ‘less you draw attention to yourself. Never make eye contact. Never carry more than a coupla bucks. You don’t want them to think you’re worth mugging.”

      Erica and Karen crossed the barely-used, pot-hole-riddled street and quietly and quickly walked past the gaps in the rusted chain-link fence.

      Only a few more minutes…Erica thought. Her backpack was slung over her left shoulder, and she kept a loose grip on it.

      She sensed Karen stiffen as something moved inside the complex – the faint scrape of metal on stone – and they increased their speed.

      Someone should do something about that place! About this whole damn town. I wish we’d never come here. I wish—

      From behind, a rough, sneering voice called, “Hey, honeys! Hey, I jus’ wanna aks you somethin’!”

      “Oh God,” Karen muttered.

      “Just keep walking,” Erica whispered. She glanced around to see a teenage boy striding quickly towards them. He had a red bandanna tied around his head, and something sharp and metallic half-hidden in his hand. “Sorry,” she said, “Can’t stop. Late for school.”

      I know I can out-run him, but Karen can’t.

      Red-bandanna had almost reached them. “Didn’t you hear me?”

      Erica took a deep breath and clenched her fists.

      Then there was another noise behind them, a brief scuffle of footsteps, a muttered swearword from Red-bandanna. Erica glanced back to see a tall, well-built teenage boy racing across the street, slamming the mugger against the chain-link fence. She stopped and stared.

      The boy was wearing a ski-mask and gloves, and a blue t-shirt with a white lightning-bolt painted on it.

      Oh no…

      The would-be superhero ploughed his fist into red-bandanna’s stomach, doubling him over.

      God, I hope he knows what he’s doing! Erica swallowed hard. She knew what was coming next: two other gang members raced out of the shadows. The one with the crew-cut was carrying a short, rusted-metal bar. The other was empty-handed, but it was clear to Erica from his muscular, tattooed arms that he didn’t need a weapon.

      The masked boy elbowed Crew-cut in the face, then yelled to Karen and Erica, “Get out of here! I can take care of myself!”

      No you can’t, Erica thought. You’re big and strong, but you don’t know how to fight.

      She felt Karen tugging at her hand, dragging her away.

      “Erica, come on!” Karen said.

      But Erica van Piet wasn’t even listening. She was watching the gang members: Red-bandanna was holding the young man down while Tattoo was punching him in the face and stomach. Crew-cut was swearing loudly, nursing his bloodied nose.

      Erica winced as Tattoo landed a savage kick square in the boy’s chest.

      I promised I’d keep a low profile…But I can’t just…They’ll kill him!

      The boy was on the ground now, on his side, curled into a ball to shield himself from the kicking. Crew-cut approached, slapping the short metal bar against his open hand, waiting for his turn.

      “For