Resistance (9 page)

“These are the same people who tried to give zombies the vote,” says Uzma.

“Well, it might sound ridiculous to you, Uzma, but they are people,” says Wingman. “If baseline humans have accepted us in their social and legal frameworks, other altered humans must—”

“You were the one out there shooting them, Wingman,” says Uzma. “Now suddenly you’re Mr Peaceful Resolution?”

“The situation’s changed,” says Wingman, his voice exuding compassion.

Uzma wishes she had the strength to beat the condescending smile off his face.

“All right,” says Uzma. “I didn’t want to come here in the first place.”

“You couldn’t have told us this before?” Jason squares up to Ellis.

“I’m sorry I brought you here,” says Ellis. “But now they’re talking standing commissions, years in court. Look, we didn’t know what the body count was when we brought you in. A few dozen insect monsters is one thing. They’re ugly, too, and it looks good on camera when you squash them. But now we’re talking about thousands of people in one of the world’s major cities.”

“I say we leave,” says Wingman. “These people have rights. Let the EU teams take the blame for their murder. I say they deserve to live in peace.”

“Well, if it’s time for negotiations,” says Uzma, standing up, “then I guess we’re lucky the world’s best negotiator is right here.”

“It’s really not safe for you,” says Wingman. “Let the situation stabilise, and then local teams—”

“Take the jet down,” Says Uzma.

As the hoverjet’s pilot tries to find a landing spot amidst the squelching filth and swarming human-insect monsters in the Kafka Museum’s courtyard, Uzma subjects her teammates to a quivering, incandescent gaze.

“Ellis and Wingman have managed to steer me into a position where anything I do is wrong,” she says, ignoring all attempts at protest. “Now I didn’t spend a lot of time in the film industry, which is really where I wanted to be in the first place, eleven years ago – but I never made the mistake of trusting anyone again. I don’t know who you’re loyal to. I don’t know if any of you are on Utopic’s payroll. And I honestly don’t care. But I do know one thing – I’m not anyone’s pawn. And if we’re going to go ahead – with this monster hive, or the next – I need to know, very clearly, how many of you are in my team. My team. I’m going to do what I think is right, with or without the UN. With or without you. Not because I want to fix the world, but just because I’m here and I’m mad as hell. I know Jai is with me. He doesn’t have a choice. Who else?”

“I am,” says Anima, smiling for the first time in days.

“Me too,” says Jason.

“We’re all on the same team, Uzma,” says Wingman.

Wu blinks in an encouraging sort of way, her mind clearly elsewhere.

“I’ll take that as a yes all around,” says Uzma. “I don’t like using my Voice on any of you. Now we’re going to go and have a chat with this literature professor and see what he has to say for himself. Any questions?”

There are no questions. The loudest sound that can be heard is the ominous buzzing of a swarm of bee-men flying out of the crack in the ground, ready for battle.

The Unit goes to work.

They storm their way through the bee-monster attack, Anima, Jason and Wu doing most of the damage. Jai stands at Uzma’s side, chopping down any attacker with silent, deadly precision. They enter the gregor hive and make their way deep underground. Wingman carries Uzma.

Danger waits at every turn: centipede-men, bright and deadly wasp creatures, strange and slimy larval beings that fit no known description. But there is no room for doubt now, and the Unit acquits itself magnificently. Jason’s protective cloud of whirling shields is now made entirely out of insect body parts. Anima shows no fatigue whatsoever, her laugh growing more cheerful with each burst of glowing green energy, the patterns on her flying daggers turning more intricate as her dying enemies’ bodies build bridges across gaps in the hive for her teammates. Wu floats above them, a strange hum emanating from deep within her body, her eyes wide open and unseeing. The shadow-spirit that rides her now is slow and delights in death; Wu curls her fingers, and attacking insect-men choke and fall dead, a macabre puppet-show like no other.

The gregors have found an old city that lies buried deep under the foundations of Prague, and turned it into their hive. Ancient statues poke their heads out of tapestries of wax and slime, there are rows of broken pillars, walls that show their aged bones in between earthen mounts and nests full of cracked eggs and moulted gregor skins. Cocoons dot forgotten arches like stalactites. But the Unit has no time to solve the mysteries of this buried city: they are only here to hunt, and kill.

After what seems like hours, they find Roman Novak. He sits, a monstrous cockroach-wasp-termite creature, bloated and grotesque, covered in filth, in what must have been a throne-room in some forgotten age. The once magnificent hall is lined with warrior termite creatures, lined up and ready for battle. But they stand no chance against the invaders. There is one tricky moment when a termite-man lunges straight at Uzma, but Jai is faster; he catches the beast’s pincers in his hands and rips it apart in one smooth motion.

In a few minutes, Roman is the only insect-man left alive. He makes no attempt to attack, it is not clear if he even knows they are there. His insect face has grown out of the middle of his human one; his human eyes and ears hang in useless bits of skin at the base of his antennae.

“Tell us how this happened,” Uzma Tells him. “Tell us what Utopic did to you.”

Roman’s body flops to one side, and dozens of little feet emerge from under a wing. They wiggle uselessly, too weak to take his bulk anywhere.

Uzma asks him more questions, but the gregor has no answers. Finally, Anima cannot take it any more, she leaps into the air with a shriek, a katana of light blossoming from her hands, and cuts off the beast’s head with a single stroke.

The heroes stand, heads bowed, in a room full of corpses. On the ceiling, a few white grubs enter the hall and skitter about.

“I thought when you killed the boss monster the other ones would die,” says Jason. “What should we do, Uzma? Clear out the hive? There must be thousands left.”

“I used to watch my brothers playing video games a lot, when I was a kid,” says Uzma. “This was just like that. Except the bloody smell. I don’t feel anything. Do any of you feel anything?”

“I feel dirty,” says Anima. “Not, like, spiritually. Just covered in shit. Can we go home?”

“We’re going home,” says Uzma. “Wu, can you do some kind of spirit blast thing and take out all the eggs?”

“No,” says Wu.

“I suppose someone else will,” says Uzma. “Right. Everybody out.”

* * *

The interior of the hoverjet is a mess by the time they’re all seated. Ellis sits at the rear, communicating in urgent, angry whispers with his superiors at the UN. The Unit’s heroes skip the traditional post-fight camaraderie, but their ordeal is not over yet. From a seat in the hoverjet that Uzma could have sworn was empty a minute ago, That Guy breaks into enthusiastic applause.

“This was one of our best cases, people,” he says. “One for the history books! Ellis, could you get a picture?”

Ellis does not get a picture. But some time later, when the hoverjet has entered German airspace, he holds the phone out towards Uzma.

“I really don’t want to talk to your bosses right now,” Uzma says. “Later, Ellis. Later.”

“It’s not the UN,” says Ellis. “Wait, I’ll transfer to holo-screen.”

Tia’s face appears on a floating window in the hoverjet.

“What do you want?” snaps Uzma.

“Hi,” says Tia. “You look good.”

“I thought you didn’t want to talk to any of us again.”

“I didn’t have anything to say then. But I’ve got some information for you now,” says Tia.

“I really don’t want to do this, Tia,” says Uzma. “If Aman is alive, and wants to talk to me, tell him to get in touch directly. But not now.”

Tia looks at her warily. “You know that Rowena girl you’re looking for? The power remover?”

Uzma is puzzled, but feels a wild excitement growing within her. If Tia knows about the Unit’s top-secret search for Rowena, it can only mean…

“Say yes quickly, love,” says Tia. “This call isn’t cheap.”

“Maybe,” says Uzma. “What about her?”

“I’ll tell you who has her, if you promise to give me first crack at him when you find him,” says Tia.

“Done,” Uzma says, lying blithely. “Who is it?”

“A young Japanese billionaire,” says Tia. “Human. His name is Norio Hisatomi.”

“You know what your problem is?” Aman asks Norio.

“Yes,” says Norio.

“No, you don’t.”

Norio’s back is turned, and there’s a styrofoam cup of tea in his right hand. Aman looks around the hall they’re in, searching for an escape route, weighing his options. A quick dash could get him to the door, but he’s still drowsy from the drugs, and doesn’t know if he can make it, or if there is security outside the door. So he shifts his weight and tries in vain, again, to go online.

Aman has no idea where in the world he is, or what time of day it is. They’re in an empty hall, with lots of closed windows. An office? An empty house? There’s no furniture apart from a few revolving chairs. They look unused; one is covered in plastic.

“Well?” says Norio.

“What?”

“What’s my problem?”

“You’ve read too many superhero comics. Seen too many films. You were the wrong age when they went mainstream. In fiction, and then in real life,” says Aman. “I recognise the signs. Fellow victim.”

Norio listens to Aman’s words echoing through the empty hall. He turns, smiling.

“And why is that a problem?” he asks.

“Well, it just means that once you become a super, you start acting like your favourites. Sometimes people don’t even know they’re doing it,” says Aman. “I mean, I had a suit of armour once. Gadgets everywhere. It seemed like I only had it for a few minutes, but it was a few months before Tia could get me to stop pretending to be Robert Downey Jr. And you clearly—”

“Interesting,” says Norio. “Incorrect as well. I’m not superhuman.”

“By choice. You could have afforded the airtime. Like the other Utopic directors.”

“Are you stalling for time while you try to get online?” Norio asks, sipping his tea.

“No,” says Aman. “You’ve got some kind of blocker in place, don’t you?” His gaze darts around the hall, looking for a weapon, looking for the source of the interference. He finds nothing.

Norio shrugs. “I thought we should conduct our business without the police dropping in,” he says. “Or Tia.”

“You shot Tia.”

“She has other bodies.”

“Those are other people. When you kill a Tia, she dies.”

“It was necessary. I had to eliminate her, and I knew it wasn’t murder.” Norio’s tone is casual, but Aman can sense his tension. He decides to push it.

“It actually was. You murdered three people, and you crossed the line,” says Aman. “Whatever your plan is, if you see yourself as some kind of hero at this point, you should stop.”

“It’s really pretty when she dies,” says Norio. “That swirl of dust—”

Aman lunges at him.

Norio blocks his inexpert jab, deflects his second wild lunge, and sends Aman reeling with an open palm to his face. Aman lands flat on the grey carpet, more humiliated than physically hurt. He tastes blood, and smells strange chemicals he cannot identify on the carpet.

Norio takes another contemplative sip of tea.

“Did you have any actual point, or were you merely preparing for this lethal attack?” asks Norio as Aman clambers to his feet.

Aman rubs the back of his head. “I had to try.”

“You were magnificent.”

“What was I talking about?”

“My problem is that I’ve seen too many superhero stories.”

“Yes. And you started thinking you were some kind of real-world Batman. I mean, that’s how I got you.”

“And that worked out well for you, didn’t it?” There’s a flash of real menace in Norio’s eyes as he steps towards Aman, and Aman involuntarily takes a step back.

“Well, I was wrong about you. I thought
I
’d found
you
, but you were baiting me all along, weren’t you?” says Aman. “And it took me a few minutes to figure out you’re no Batman. In fact, when you were doing your whole bipolar thing at my island base, I thought you were channelling Heath Ledger. But you’re not crazy. You’re acting. You’re trying to be both Batman and the Joker here. Pick a side.”

Norio stares at him in silence for a few seconds before speaking.

“How do you manage this distance from the world?” he asks finally.

“I found the right island.”

“You manage to just watch everything, don’t you? From a great distance away. It’s all like some story happening to someone else. Nothing’s real. You’re not really here, even now.”

“I’m online a lot,” says Aman weakly, but he doesn’t know how to respond. In any case, Norio isn’t really listening. He gestures for Aman to sit. Aman picks the most sturdy-looking chair. It creaks and tilts.

“Where are we?” asks Aman.

“It doesn’t matter,” says Norio.

“All right. Why are we here?”

“Why do you think?”

“Let’s see,” says Aman. “You don’t want me dead. You don’t need me as a hostage, since the whole world thinks I’m dead. You need to use my powers.”

“Elementary,” says Norio.

“Give me time. Now what could you possibly want? There isn’t a revenge angle as far as I’m concerned. I’ve never met you, or taken money from your family. As far as I know.”

“No, you haven’t. I’ve always been a sincere admirer of your methods. And actions.”

“Thank you. You might just be a crazy powerist looking for supers to kill, but I don’t see why you would go to so much trouble to find me when you haven’t even dealt with your principal rival, the Kaiju King. Or when your original nemesis is doing so well. Jai caused your father’s death. Almost killed me too, the last time we met. So you’d think we’d have something in common. That’s what I thought, at least, which is why I wanted to work with you.”