Stronger: A Super Human Clash (13 page)

Without looking at her, I asked, “Is that an order? Are you going to murder my folks if I don’t go to bed?”

She didn’t respond, and soon the echoing click of her heels on the concrete faded away.

At dawn the guards’ shift came to an end, and fresh ones took their place. “Inside,” I was told. “You know the rules.”

“Make me.”

Harmony turned up shortly afterward. “Brawn, if you insist on behaving like this, it’s not going to end well.”

I yawned and rolled onto my side, my back to her.

She walked around to face me again. “You don’t understand what’s happening here. You think you do, but you’re wrong. The human race is on the edge of a precipice, looking down into oblivion. Two centuries ago there were a billion people on the planet. After one hundred years it had almost doubled. Since then, it’s more than tripled to six billion. What do you think it will be like in
another
hundred years? Do you know how to calculate exponential growth?”

“Skip ahead to the bit that you think is going to make me care.”

“If the population doubles in the first century and then triples in the next, the pattern suggests that in the following hundred years it will quadruple. That’s twenty-four billion people, Brawn. A hundred years after that, and it’ll quintuple: one hundred and twenty billion. Another hundred years, we’re looking at three quarters of a trillion people. Do you want me to continue?”

“I didn’t want you to start.”

“The Earth is already overpopulated. We’re consuming resources faster than the planet can replenish them. Ninety-nine percent of the world’s wealth is controlled by less than one percent of the population. Half the world is starving, and
what’s the reaction from those of us in the lucky half? We hold rock concerts and telethons to raise enough money to feed the hungry children of the third world. We give them a chance to live, to grow up, and have children of their own. We like to think we’re saving them from famine, when what we’re really doing is breeding new generations of starving people.”

I sat up.
She can’t be serious
, I said to myself.
This has to be just a ruse to get me on their side again.
“Do you really believe that?”

“Whether I believe it is not important. What is important is that most people are content to sit back and watch the human race suffocate itself, or just pretend that it’s not happening. But some of us are in a position to make things better. What’s the solution, Brawn? If you were in charge, what would you do?”

“I don’t have to play this game.”

“Just humor me. What would you do to reduce the rate of population growth without culling the poor?”

I shrugged. “I don’t know. Take the money away from the rich and use it to educate the poor. Teach them how to work the land so that they don’t have to rely on handouts.”

“But suppose the land’s a desert and nothing can grow. What then?”

“Then you bring water to the desert. Most of the planet’s surface is covered in water, so there’s plenty to go around.”

“OK. Suppose you can do that, that you have a way to desalinate the seawater and irrigate the deserts, but the governments of those starving countries won’t allow outside interference on that scale. What then?”

“Then you
make
them do it.” I knew that I was being manipulated again, but I couldn’t help being drawn into the conversation.

“And if they resist? If they’d rather fight than lose their control? What do we do then? Go in anyway and fight them if we have to? Break international laws?”

“If we have to, yes! Because people are more important than governments.”

“Well, is there another way? Think, Brawn.”

“You want me to say that people like me should take control.”

“Shouldn’t you?”

“No. Just being stronger than other people doesn’t make me better than they are.”

“But if you can do something to help others, and you don’t, what does that make you? Selfish? Cowardly? Detached?” She raised an eyebrow. “Inhuman?”

“What help would
I
be? Being able to lift several tons isn’t going to help irrigate the deserts!”

“Not directly, no. But you’re powerful enough to capture Terrain, and
he
could do it quite easily.”

Tremont’s people were trying to guarantee the survival of the human race. Or so they wanted me to believe. But I had to ask myself why they hadn’t mentioned this when they’d caught me three years earlier.

Though I was sure that they were lying, I had no choice but to play along. These people had tried to kill me, and they’d had no qualms about putting their own soldiers into the line
of fire: I had no doubt that they
would
kill my parents if I disobeyed them.

Dr. Tremont did not show up for lessons that first day, or any other. Instead, a box of twenty textbooks was delivered, all of my other books were removed, and I was told that my TV set would be operational for only a couple of hours in the evenings.

It was a pretty effective way to get me to study: I didn’t have anything else to do.

A month after Dr. Tremont revealed his true colors, I was woken shortly before midnight by the sound of powerful rumbling engines outside the hangar, and I opened my eyes to see Harmony standing at the door to my quarters. “You’re going into battle. You leave in five minutes.”

The tone in her voice told me that this was not a good time to complain or delay. I quickly dressed in the combat gear that had been specially made for me: fireproof black shorts and T-shirt, and thick leather gloves, but no boots—they hadn’t yet found anyone able to make boots strong enough or large enough for me. There was also a leather helmet and a pair of goggles, but the helmet’s only purpose was to house a two-way radio transceiver, and the goggles, I was pretty sure, were included as part of the outfit only so my colorless eyes wouldn’t freak everyone out.

With the shorts, T-shirt, gloves, leather helmet, and goggles in place I looked like a guy from before the First World War who couldn’t make up his mind whether to go swimming or fly his biplane.

Outside the hangar was a Lockheed Hercules, its rear ramp
already down, waiting for me. “Get in and hold on,” Harmony said as I passed her. “It’s going to be a fast and turbulent ride.”

“Where are we going?”

“Not we. Just you. You’re going three hundred and sixty miles due west. I’ll explain the rest when you’re closer to your destination.”

I nodded. “All right.”

“Brawn … Don’t mess this up. And don’t even
think
about trying to double-cross us.”

I crawled into the back of the Hercules and sat down: There wasn’t enough room for me to stand. I’d expected a bunch of soldiers there too, but there was just me. The aircraft was taxiing toward the old cracked-concrete runway even before its massive ramp had risen.

The plane juddered along the runway for a while, then suddenly lurched into the air, and I skidded on my butt toward the ramp before I grabbed hold of the straps fixed to the inside of the hull.

Harmony’s voice came through the transceiver. “Brawn, do you read me?”

“Like a book.”

“The correct response is ‘Loud and clear.’”

“Loud and clear, then. But don’t call me Brawn. I want a new code name. A proper superhero name.”

“What do you suggest?”

“I dunno….” I looked around the plane to see if there was anything that might inspire me. “How about Hercules?”

“Fine. Hercules it is. Your destination is fifty miles west of
Albuquerque, New Mexico. Flying time is a little under one hour. Sit tight and try not to break anything.”

Harmony refused to tell me what I’d be up against—“for reasons of security”—so there was nothing for me to do on the plane but sit in the dark and worry.

All too soon Harmony was on the radio again. “Look alive, Brawn. Touchdown in ten minutes.”

“It’s Hercules, not Brawn. So what am I doing here?”

“U.S. military forces are in a standoff against a man called Norman Misseldine, fifty-eight years old. Misseldine is the leader of a radical survivalist group that claims to be dedicated to bringing about a new world order. There are a couple dozen groups like that scattered throughout the U.S., and normally they’re of little concern. They content themselves with fortifying their defenses and broadcasting their anti-establishment rants, but two days ago Misseldine issued a direct and credible threat against the government.”

“How credible?” I asked.

“He contacted the authorities in Charleston, South Carolina, and directed their attention to the sea one mile southeast of Sullivan’s Island. At the predicted time, a new, small island rose out of the sea. It remained in place for only two minutes, but that was long enough for Misseldine’s point to be made. If his demands aren’t met, his next target will be Washington, D.C.”

“Well, how do they know that the island wasn’t just some freak occurrence?”

“Because it happened exactly when and where Misseldine
predicted, and it was perfectly circular. That’s not likely to happen in nature. We believe that Misseldine hired Terrain to create—and then destroy—the island.”

“So I’m going up against another superhuman?”

“Probably not—no one has entered or left Misseldine’s fortress in months, and everything we know about Terrain suggests that he can’t trigger seismic activity from a distance—he has to be present for it to work. The military has cut off all communication from Misseldine’s base so he won’t be able to contact Terrain for help.”

“OK, so where do I come in?”

“The army hasn’t yet been able to breach Misseldine’s defenses, so Dr. Tremont has offered them our help. We’ve told them we can get in and capture Misseldine without the loss of a single life.”

The pilot’s voice boomed out of a loudspeaker. “Four minutes.”

“OK, then. How do we do this?”

The plane had set me down a mile from the fortress, where I was picked up by a large flatbed truck driven by a U.S. Army colonel who didn’t seem at all surprised that I was thirteen feet tall and blue. “In the back,” he said. “An’ hold tight. I drive fast.”

As I climbed in, he popped open the window at the back of the cab. “Dunno what your people told you, kid,” he bellowed over his shoulder as the jeep bounced and careened over the ground, “but word’s come down the line that you’re gonna be able to get in without causing any casualties along the way.”
He gave me a quick glance. “Me, I think that’s a buncha horse hockey, but I just do what I’m told.”

A minute later I saw lights ahead in the darkness. Driving on the wrong side of the road, we overtook a pair of jeeps, three armored personnel carriers, and a couple dozen soldiers on foot.

“Misseldine’s base is a fortress. Literally. Two stories above ground, reinforced walls two feet thick.” He looked back at me again. “You think you can get through that?”

“Maybe.”

“Maybe?” He was still looking at me. “
Maybe?
What kinda talk is that? How many times you been deployed, son?”

“This is my first time.”

The colonel let out a very exaggerated sigh, and finally returned his attention to the road. “Wonderful. The fortress’s got strong bars on all the windows, and the walls have got those little slots in them here and there. Y’know, like in an old castle? So Misseldine’s goons can shoot out through them. You bulletproof?”

“Sort of.”

“Sort of, he says. ’Cause that’s
exactly
what we need. We coulda taken the place hours ago. But no, we hadda wait for you. Kid, you don’t even know your own specifications, do ya?”

“That’s one way of looking at it,” I said. “Another way of looking at it is to say that I haven’t yet found my limitations.”

The colonel laughed. “
That’s
more like it. Now, lissen up. The fortress is surrounded by a wall. It’s about eighteen feet
high an’ topped with coils of razor wire. Outside that they got a forty-yard-wide ring of thornbushes. You gotta get through the bushes first, son. There’s a narrow road through them leading to the gate, but that’s the most heavily guarded.”

“Bushes don’t seem like the best way to defend—”

“You ain’t seen anything like this kinda bush before, kid! It’s called Trifoliate Orange an’ it grows fast an’ it’s very dense. I mean,
really
dense. You could near walk on it, if it wasn’t covered in razor-sharp five-inch-long thorns. A man gets stuck on that, it’s like skydiving into a stiletto factory!” After a second, he added, “That’s stilettos as in daggers, not as in shoes.”

I saw what he meant when the jeep shuddered to a halt: Portable spotlights blazed out toward the fortress, clearly showing the sprawl of bushes. Off to the side eight or nine soldiers, three jeeps, and another armored personnel carrier were trapped in the bushes as other soldiers tentatively attempted to cut them free.

I tried not to notice that almost all of the other soldiers were watching me as they slowly backed away.

The colonel said, “So how are you planning to do this, son?”

“I have no idea.”

He sneered. “Oh, in the name of great lumpy gravy! You really
are
a rookie! Kid, I was told to wait for backup. That’s you. Just get in there and capture Misseldine without anyone getting killed. I want this operation done and dusted without having to break the seals on the body bags.” He looked me up and down. Mostly up. “Yer strong as ya look, right?”

“I’m strong.”

“So you’ll probably live.” He gestured toward the fortress. “Away you go, then.”

“Kill the lights,” I said.

“What’s that?”

“The lights. I don’t want them to see me coming.”

“We already shot out all their cameras, but they’ve got night-vision glasses and infrared scopes. They’ll see you anyway.”

“All right …” I began to walk forward, then spotted another vehicle and turned back to the colonel. “Is that what I think it is?”

“Sure is.”

“Nice. I’ll go in and check the place out. When I give the word …”

He nodded. “Good luck to ya, son. Go in hard an’ fast, that’s my advice.”

There were no signs of life in the fortress, no lights in the windows. When I reached the bushes, I stopped and carefully examined the thorns. They were almost as long as my fingers and very strong, but their points splintered against my skin. The bushes came up to my waist so I could easily see where I was going.