Resistance (12 page)

“Why?”

“I don’t know.” Sher looks Tia in the eye. “So. Are you sure you want to do this?”

Tia scratches her head. “Ask a crazy pre-pubescent god for a boon?” she asks finally. “Yes. Yes, let’s do this.”

Sher swings the door open, and Tia is immediately assailed by a strong cocktail of smells and sounds. At least four different songs are playing, and the air is filled with marijuana-flavoured smoke, but Tia doesn’t notice any of this: her ears and nose are in the queue, waiting for her eyes to recover.

It’s a small film theatre with a large screen, an exclusive viewing hall for rich patrons. A playlist of Bollywood trailers is playing on mute on the screen. It’s been sped up, and Tia sees one of Wingman’s summer blockbusters flash by. Most of the seats have been stretched back all the way, like a bumpy red velvet carpet. The occupants of the seats are mostly stranger than the images speeding by on the screen in front of them: Tia spots a young boy doing chemistry homework, a couple of Chinese gamers with little holo-screens, a full-bearded Hindu ascetic meditating on top of a wrestler doing push-ups, and a maglev-emo band that seems very close, given how entwined they all are. Assorted limbs can be seen moving rhythmically over the seats at the rear, and a group of women in what appear to be football uniforms lie in a huddle near the entrance. What really gets to Tia, though, is something that she cannot quite define: a strange, cloying, grasping feeling, as if some presence had its fingers in her brain and was prodding around – and not too gently.

“I thought this was supposed to be a top-secret hideaway?” Tia whispers.

“They find us,” says Sher. “We lose them. We keep moving.”

Kalki sits on a tall red velvet chair, the only one with the seat up, in the centre of the theatre. His body is an eleven-year-old boy’s, normal except for the fact that it’s blue and he has four arms, all of which hold bright red glasses. Four straws channel streams of cola into Kalki’s mouth. When Kalki was a baby, his horse’s head had seemed too big for his body; it had lolled grotesquely, and he’d been incapable of controlling it. Now it’s up, and he moves it from side to side, watching Tia and Sher as they enter. His eyes are incredibly large, shining black pools, Tia can see the screen reflected in them.

“Do you think he might remember me?” she asks. “Some kind of special deal for old babysitters?”

“Be very careful what you say here,” says Sher. “Anything you say or think could change the world.”

Kalki throws his cola cups aside, tosses his electric-blue-dyed mane, whinnies enthusiastically and beckons them forward.

“So what do you want, Tia?” asks Sher.

“Is there a three-wish deal?”

“Pick one thing. You don’t want him confused.”

“Well, I want Aman back, and I want to know what ends the world, and I want to know how to stop it. Do I just go and ask for these things?”

“No, I’ll do it,” says Sher.

“What if three of me ask him? We could each do one.”

“This isn’t a game. Come on. He doesn’t like to wait.”

Kalki greets Sher with a warm nuzzle, sits again, and stares curiously at Tia. Sher bends and talks into his ear, his low growl echoes through the theatre. Midway through Sher’s message, Kalki jerks back, snorting, and feebly pounds Sher’s chest with all four hands. Sher steps back and beckons Tia forward.

Tia walks up, slowly, barely noticing that all the smoke in the room has now gathered above Kalki’s head in an upside-down rotating pyramid.

Kalki waits until Tia is close, and then leaps off his chair onto her. After her initial shock, she holds him easily, though he’s heavy for his size. He nuzzles his horse-head into her neck and clasps her firmly. After a few minutes of standing still, Tia puts him down gently. Kalki points at her, shakes his head up and down, and snorts.

“I think he wants you to tell him yourself,” says Sher. “There’s no real point asking where Aman is – he has no way to really explain. Ask him your other questions.”

“How does the world end?” Tia asks.

Kalki stares at her for a few seconds, and then neighs loudly. The room is suddenly silent. The music stops, the screen goes blank. Kalki’s devotees fall unconscious with low moans and whispers. The theatre is dark.

And then the smoke above Kalki’s head starts to glow, and swirl around. Tia makes out a growing shape, a human shape, but more smoke gathers around its head and shoulders until it is clear the man in the smoke is Kalki himself, a grown-up Kalki, rippling with muscles, his mane rippling and billowing. He holds smoke-swords in all his hands. Three slashes appear in the air behind him, stripes of utter darkness that burst into flame.

“All right,” says Tia. “How do we stop this? How do we stop you?”

Kalki giggles, a shockingly human sound. A beam of light from the projector cuts through the smoke, and the screen comes back to life. His devotees awaken, and there’s music everywhere. Kalki leans back in his chair and closes his eyes. Some way behind him, someone starts playing bagpipes.

“We should go,” says Sher.

* * *

Tia is silent all the way back to the lobby. Sher seems pleased by this; he offers her a cup of coffee, and pats her head encouragingly.

“I don’t get it,” says Tia. “Did he really just say
he
was going to end the world?”

“He might have just been playing with smoke,” says Sher. “Come with me now. We have raids to plan.”

“How can you be so calm about this?” Tia yells. “What is going on?”

“I try to focus on things I understand,” says Sher.

“Has he done this before? Actually claimed he’s going to end the world?”

“No.”

“Suddenly I see why so many people want him dead,” says Tia.

“And for the first time,” says Sher quietly, “I do too.”

“Are you going to let them kill him?”

“No,” says Sher.

Aman is quite used to this routine by now: waking up in a strange room with absolutely no idea what time of day it is or what part of the world he is in. He checks himself, as usual, for body modifications or mind control devices, and is relieved to find none. He tries to go online, and isn’t surprised when he can’t. He looks for the camera, and finds it on the ceiling fan. He waves, cheerily, and gives it the finger, in case his captors aren’t sure how he feels about his stay. What concerns him most are the physical symptoms he’s beginning to display from his internet withdrawal: twitching fingers, compulsive blinking, dry mouth. Of course, it could be the drugs, but Aman remembers feeling the same way during the long power cuts in his Delhi home many years ago, when his broadband connection was new and shiny, and realises he’s the world’s worst internet addict.

Norio enters the room a few minutes later, full of good cheer.

“Good morning, good morning,” says Norio. “You couldn’t have woken at a more convenient time. We’re about to run the test.”

“Some kind of sanity test, and if you fail you’ll hand yourself in?” asks Aman.

“No. And speaking of handing myself in, you’ll be glad to know Tia has the Unit looking for me. She must have given up on finding you alive.”

Aman stirs. “I should worry a bit more about the Unit finding me if I were you. Especially given the history of your family’s health.”

Norio moves so fast Aman barely has time to flinch. He has plenty of time to roll about on the floor rubbing his jaw afterwards, though.

“Sorry about that,” says Norio. “I was sparring with my bot when you woke up. Still a bit wound up.”

Aman thinks of a few good lines concerning the Unit, but decides to save them for later. Norio looks as if he wouldn’t mind a little more exercise.

“Anyway, you must remind me to thank Tia when we meet,” says Norio.

Aman gets up, still rubbing his jaw, idly trying to make Norio’s head explode with the power of his mind. Norio does not seem bothered by his silence.

“I suppose she expected I might have to go into hiding,” says Norio, “She was quite right. I have been, what’s the word? Foiled. All those TV crews parked outside my tower. Very annoying.”

“But all part of your cunning plan?”

“No, but it’s an interesting new angle. They want to interview me not because of ARMOR, which Tia seems to have forgotten to mention, but because they think I am about to join the Unit. Stand side by side with the glorious Faceless. Hisatomi stocks have been shooting upwards, and I have you and Tia to thank for that.”

Aman settles for glowering.

“The thing is, now that I have the world’s attention, what should I tell them?” Norio’s eyes gleam. “Should I tell them the great Aman Sen is alive, and thousands, maybe millions of people have been wearing the wrong T-shirt all these years? Should I tell them I captured him single-handedly? Weren’t you the world’s biggest supervillain at some point?”

“Yes, in 2011, but I wrote that list myself.”

“You know, I was really looking forward to bringing Tia and you back together. I’m most disappointed she gave up on you so early.”

“The Unit doesn’t know you have me. They probably don’t know I’m alive,” says Aman. “This is just a warning shot.”

“Well, consider me warned. I feel hunted, Aman. I’m shivering in fear. What should I do now?” Norio flings his hands in the air. “Should I give you to the Unit on live TV? They’d probably make me team leader. Can you imagine what that would do for my company? I could probably control Utopic!”

“But you despise Utopic.”

“Well, now you know why I miss most of the meetings,” says Norio. “But imagine how well I’d do if I handed you over. You’ve stolen from all of them. They might want to spent a few centuries finding innovative ways to keep you alive and in pain.”

“Once you’re done with the really bad acting, you’ll tell me you’re not going to do any of those things and you’ll stick your stupid helmet on me again,” says Aman. “You should just get to that, I think. The last time I was kidnapped, at least I didn’t have to take part in endless conversations.”

“I wish I could use the controller on you again,” says Norio. “But that was just a one-time thing. The mind builds its own defences, or collapses; either way, the helmet would be of no use now. No, if I wanted to make you bleed, I’d just put you up for auction on the internet. A lot of people want to get their hands on you, Aman Sen. But, no, I’m a nice guy. And I promised I’d let you go.”

“Can we skip to that part, then? I like this threatening monologue, but I have work I need to get back to.”

“In a bit, in a bit.” Norio rubs his hands together. “But I need to thank you for a few things. First, that list. What a list! So many famous people just hiding their superpowers. If knowledge is power, you’ve done very little with yours.”

“What have you done with Rowena?” asks Aman.

“Yes, that’s the other thing I need to thank you for. Rowena! I find the one power I need most on your list, the one power I was willing to risk all my wealth to acquire. And she’s already with me, a free prize. I didn’t even need to use the controller on her, you know. Rowena works for me now.”

“What are you going to do with her?”

“I’m going to give her access to the world’s finest research facilities and find exotic patients for her to heal. All the things you couldn’t give her, in fact.”

“And you’re going to remove Jai’s powers with her blood and then kill him.”

“Yes,” says Norio.

“Despite the fact that your father’s death was an accident. And that Jai’s spent eleven years in slavery doing nothing but good. And that he keeps the world’s greatest superhero team safe. And probably suffers more doing it than he would if you killed him.”

“Yes,” says Norio.

Aman remembers fighting Jai. He remembers running, breathless, through London’s tube tunnels, remembers swinging a lamppost through the air, remembers watching Jai falling from the sky, smashing through the street, lying in a crater, and then getting right back up again.

“He’ll kill you, you know,” he says.

“We’ll see.”

“All right, then,” says Aman. “Are we done?”

“No,” says Norio. “Come with me.”

Aman hopes the journey to Norio’s lab will yield some clue as to their whereabouts, but all his plans for subtle detective work are doomed to disappointment. Norio leads him down a corridor and up a flight of stairs. There’s a brief flash on the stairwell when Aman’s head clears up, and for one glorious moment he’s online again: unfortunately, he’s distracted by social media for the second it takes for Norio to realise this and push him forward into another blocked zone.

They enter a large air-conditioned hall. There’s a cube of reinforced glass about seven feet across under a blinding spotlight in the centre of the room. Aman blinks at the strength of the light, and then goggles open-mouthed at the ugliness of the creature it illuminates.

The naked man is covered in scales and spines; he looks like a down-on-his-luck deep-sea predator. His huge, translucent eyes and incredibly toothy mouth certainly fit that description. His belly is bloated, and his arms spindly and end in strange blobby fins. His legs, grey and scaly, have fused together into a blob that might serve as the world’s ugliest fishtail. He sits, looking around the room, gulping occasionally.

“I went fishing a few days ago,” says Norio. “Meet Spiny Norman.”

Spiny Norman looks miserable, perhaps because his mouth is curved downwards and has drooping tentacles on either side, or perhaps because he is on display in a glass cube. As Norio and Aman approach, he stares balefully at them and emits copious quantities of green gas from his nether regions.

“Poisonous, of course,” says Norio. “He also has big spines hidden under those lovely scales of his, and will stick them into you if you come too close. It’s all in your list.”

“Whatever it is, it clearly was his deepest desire,” says Aman.

“Every wave of supers confirms a suspicion I’ve had since my teens,” says Norio. “People are all mad.”

“Yes.”

“Why would a man want to be like this? What would drive him to it? What does he want now? Wealth? Power? Fame? Children?”

“I have no idea,” says Aman. “If you’re asking me to volunteer for some kind of Nazi sex experiment with him, the answer is no.”