Black and White (38 page)

“Nervous?” Taser’s voice rolled out of the dark and startled her.

“Eager,” she lied. “What about you?”

He paused for a moment, and when he spoke, his tone was reflective. “Once, my unit got dropped over Siberia during a blizzard, winds about fifty, sixty miles an hour. I looked down and all I could see was white, going on forever. I was scared then. Not now.”

“So I was right,” she murmured. “You are ex-military.”

“You win some kind of bet on that one, darlin’?”

“Just with myself,” Iridium said.

Taser’s hand wrapped around hers, flexible Kevlar gloves rough on skin. “I’m glad I met you, Iridium. Know that.”

The lift slowed, and Iridium disentangled herself. “Now isn’t the time for mushy stuff, Taser. It’s not like either of us is planning to die a dramatic death.”

He laughed once. “I get the feeling it’s never the time with you.”

“If we pull this off, I might prove you wrong,” Iridium said, her voice low, throaty. She couldn’t tell in the dark, but she thought Taser probably grinned.

The light panel over the lift doors turned green, and Iridium clenched her fists. She reached for the Light, pushed it outward as the door swished back.

The glow erupted into the Ops control room with a bang, light and heat surging forth. If a flash grenade could work for Keanu Whatsit in his old movies, Iridium figured it could work for her.

Taser charged into the control room, shooting electrical bolts left and right. Runners slumped over their stations; the quicker ones screamed and retreated. Someone hit the alarm. Overhead, Klaxons began to whine.

Iridium strobed the Runners hiding behind their consoles, then shouted at Taser, “Turn off the damned alarms!”

He shocked the control panel, and the Klaxons cut off abruptly. “Not like anybody can hear them.”

Iridium was about to sit at the nearest console when something hit her between the shoulder blades. She stumbled and rolled, looking up into the sooty, enraged face of a dumpy, female, grounded hero—Weather Girl or Meteorology or something equally inane. At the Academy, she’d always eaten alone, studied alone, and passed Frostbite elaborately decorated love notes in the hallway.

Well, that last had turned out well for her; on any day other than today, Derek was probably stationed next to her.

The weather girl lowered her fire extinguisher and blinked at her. “Iridium?”

“None other.”

“Oh no …” Twitching, she stared around the room, took in the situation with her big, wide eyes. “What did you do?”

Iridium whipped her foot up and kicked her in the gut, then got to her feet and kicked her again. The former hero collapsed.

“Something really cool, trust me,” Iridium said. She jerked her head at Taser. “Load them into the lift. Lock the panel and send it to the basement.”

As he did so, she pulled herself up to a console, which was locked and flashing the Academy logo. Iridium slid Ivanoff’s digichip into the drive, marrying it to the console so it became the recognized processor, along with her fake access code. After a long moment, the screen popped up a password box, and Iridium waited for the crack program to engage.

“I’m in,” she said to Taser, who panted slightly as he shoved the last unconscious Ops flunky into the lift.

“You sound surprised,” he said, coming to stand behind her.

“Me? Never.” She scrolled through the data on-screen, an icon for each active hero with GPS positioning. They spread through the Rat Network like a small, lonely constellation.

Iridium was about to enter the shutdown command when a cluster of power grids in the corner of the screen caught her eye. “Hey, Taser. Check this out.”

He leaned in, putting one hand on her shoulder. Static popped between them. “What is that?”

“It’s frequencies,” she said. “Hundreds of them. Nothing connected to the comm network.”

“And nothing receiving,” said Taser. “Just broadcasting.”

Iridium felt a cold twist in her gut. “Broadcasting what?”

Taser shrugged. “You’re the genius.”

Iridium thought about comlink, the muddled thoughts that came with wearing the earpiece. She thought about Dawnlighter’s blank features. About how Jet had gone from a thin shadow to the darling of the Academy.

Jet and her earpiece.

Frostbite, his aged face grim.
Corp’s got something on Jet. You can be sure of that.

“I don’t care,” Iridium said out loud. “It’s time to end this.” She brought up the command window and typed in
TERMINATE ALL
.

ARE YOU SURE?

Iridium keyed
ENTER
and waited.

SHUTTING DOWN OPERATIONS MAINFRAME.

“Now!” Iridium snapped at Taser. “Fry the network so it can’t do a hard boot!”

Taser stuck out his hand and shocked the bank of servers underneath the console.

A great hum died away, like blood had stopped flowing in and out. Every Ops screen went black.

Taser circled back behind Iridium. She could see him now, clearly reflected in her dead datascreen. “We did it,” she said. Her heart was thudding, and she could feel sweat under her unikilt. Unbelievable as it was to be sitting in the bastion of her enemies, it was real. She let herself grin. “We fucking did it!”

“Never doubted,” said Taser softly. “Makes me almost sorry.”

Iridium frowned. “Sorry …?”

Taser grabbed her by the hair and slammed her forehead against the console once, twice. Blood spattered over Iridium’s vision.

“Don’t fight, Calista,” Taser said.

“My name is not Calista!” Iridium summoned strobes, sent them backward blindly as Taser slammed her head
again. Pain overtook her, and she dimly felt the strobes fizzling harmlessly.

Taser jerked her out of the workstation chair and sent her sliding across the floor. Iridium’s vision was all blurs and light, blood and blackness.

From his sleeve, Taser drew out a flat disc and shook it until it irised into the silvery network of wires and metal she recognized.

That bastard had stolen her own neural inhibitor.

“I want you to know I don’t enjoy this,” said Taser. “I respect you. Not many people get my respect. This is just business.”

“Oh, go to—” Before she could finish the insult, Taser slipped the neural inhibitor over her brow, then she didn’t know anything except nothingness.

I
n her bedroom, Jet was pacing. Had been for a long, long while. Terry had popped her head in at one point and scolded her, but a look from Jet was enough to send Terry scampering back to the other side of the apartment.

Corp and Everyman were working together.

The very thought made Jet’s stomach clench and her chest feel too tight. It was a slap in the face, a burn on her soul. Everyman despised extrahumans. And what they’d done in the past was inexcusable.

And yet Corp was working with them.

Worse, Night knew about it. And was going along with it.

Night, who she’d thought had been going mad. Night, who she’d thought was sending her on a wild-goose chase
by asking her to investigate Lynda Kidder’s disappearance.

Night had known all along.

It’s a plan
, Jet told herself, wearing the carpet thin from all her striding.
Some sort of master plan from the Corp EC, to lull Everyman into lowering their guard, then the Squadron would come in and arrest them all for their crimes against us. Against humanity.

Corp wouldn’t condone it otherwise. Corp stood for justice.

Corp supported the Squadron and all extrahumans.

Corp was good.

Corp was in bed with Everyman.

Everyman hated extrahumans. An Everyman had killed Sam. An Everyman had nearly killed Iri.

Iri, who’d tried to tell her that day, five years ago …

A slash of pain cut Jet’s thought, made her clutch her head and bite back a cry. She tried to push through the pain, like they’d been taught back at the Academy—
the Academy, the educational branch of Corp, oh Light, everything they’ve been teaching has been from Corp and mandated from Corp and Corp is working with Everyman—

Another stab through her mind, brutal, agonizing. Her world narrowed until it was just her head and the hot blade slicing through it, searing her until she couldn’t think, could barely breathe.

Blindly, she staggered to her nightstand, turned the white-noise device all the way to eleven. She was drowning in a waterfall, clutching wildly to the sound, trying to stay afloat before the pain dragged her under.

It did no good; her brain felt like it was on fire.

Desperate, Jet pawed inside her nightstand drawer until she grabbed her comlink. Shoved it into her ear. Clicked it onto the white-noise setting.

Still nothing. And now just beyond the scream of torment in her mind, she thought she heard whispers. Giggles.

Rumbles of anticipation.

“No,” she said aloud. She tapped her earpiece to connect her to Ops—

—and yanked the device from her ear as the deafening alarm shrilled on and on and on. Tears streamed down her face; she couldn’t catch her breath. Her heart thumped frantically, as if trying to break free from her rib cage. Sweating, shaking, Jet collapsed to her knees, her hands pressed to her head.

Corp stands for justice
, she thought wildly.
Corp looks out for the common citizen. The Academy teaches, the Squadron protects. Duty first, always.

Duty first.

Slowly, so very slowly, the pain receded. She recited the Academy Mission Statement as fast as she could, and again, and a third time. And then, finally, the pain was gone, leaving only echoes in its wake.

Oh sweet Light, that had hurt.

She stared at the comlink, which was still whining in alarm. With a trembling hand, Jet reached out and tapped it. Silence, except for her rapid breathing, her slowing heartbeat.

What had just happened?

Jet pulled herself to her feet, her gaze riveted on the earpiece. Her head was a mess, and her comlink was broken.

And Corp and Everyman …

A warning buzz in her head. Biting her lip, Jet thought,
I! Serve! Corp!
She even smiled.

And the buzzing faded.

She sank down onto her bed, her eyes wide. By all that was Light, they’d gotten into her mind. Somehow, they’d brainwashed her. Corp or Everyman or both.

She saw Martin Moore, grinning. Pictured him in the crisp white lab coat that all the doctors in the Mental wing
sported, saying:
“Who do you think did this to you in the first place?”

And Frostbite, stunned and yet smug, asking her:
“How long’ve they had you on a leash?”

Longer than she’d ever guessed.

On the floor, her comlink seemed to wink.

Her eyes narrowed, and she clenched her fist so hard that her nails gouged the sensitive flesh of her palm. Someone had a lot of explaining to do. Blackness seeped out between her fingers, covered her hand in Shadow until she shook it away.
A lot
of explaining.

And she wouldn’t take no for an answer.

First, a shower. Get clean. Scrub away the remnants of what was starting to feel like a mental rape.

She dashed into her bathroom, ignoring Terry’s outburst. No time for any of that. She showered in record time, was toweling herself dry as she raced back into her bedroom. Terry didn’t try to stop her, at least.

She dressed quickly—undergarments, skinsuit—and wrapped her hair into two thick coils and pinned them back. She strode down the hall and to the front of the living room, headed straight for the low table by the front door. She grabbed her boots and yanked them on, then clipped on her belt. Her hands slid into her leather gauntlets. Oh, it felt good to be back in uniform. Ready to take action.

Jet smiled grimly as she snatched her cape and cowl from the hook by the door.
Oh yes
, she thought, fastening the cloak so that it rested comfortably over her shoulders. She was ready for action. And answers. She wouldn’t stop until she got answers.

Almost ready—except her optiframes were missing.

“Terry,” she called out, “where—”

The lights cut out.

Even though it was about eleven in the morning, the living room was pitch black, as if it were storming outside
and the sun couldn’t break through the pollution layer … or as if someone had reinforced the shades.

Her breath caught in her throat for a moment, then she pushed the reaction away. No time to be afraid. Get the lights on before the voices start to whisper.

But duty first: Get the civilian out of danger. “Terry,” Jet called out, tugging her hood to cover her head. “Are you all right?”

“Terry’s not here, darlin’,” a man’s voice replied—cocky, almost a verbal swagger. She’d heard that voice before, and fury swirled through her, slashed through her fear of the dark. “I gave her the afternoon off.”

The voice was coming from the bedroom.

Distract him. Get the lights on.

“You shouldn’t have, she’s paid through tomorrow,” Jet said, circling into the kitchen and pressing the lightpad—to no avail. She moved back into the living room, tried the front door—hissed as something shocked her, right through her leather gauntlets.

“Sounds like you’re having some electrical issues.” His voice was closer now—moving down the hall.

Aiming her hand toward the hallway entrance, Jet said, “Where’s your mistress?”

“Who?” Still closer.

“Iridium,” she said, lining up a shot. “You know. Tall. Mouthy. Tends to wear white.” Come on, say something else, just one more thing …

“My mistress, huh? Now that’s cute.”

Jet let fly a blast of Shadow. It crashed into something, but she didn’t hear a grunt or a cry, so she assumed she missed.
Damn it to Darkness, I need light.

From behind her: laughter. “Iridium couldn’t be here. She’s a little tied up.”