CHAPTER 4
JET
Out of all the various Powers represented in the Academy—and, of course, the Squadron itself—the most enigmatic one is Shadow.
Lynda Kidder, “Origins, Part Six,” New Chicago Tribune, April 30, 2112
No, no, no, no, no …
Jet took a shuddering breath, told herself not to panic. So what that she didn’t have Ops or the white noise to ground her? Within minutes, a Runner would arrive with another earpiece, and probably with backup, just in case.
Plenty of time.
Trembling from rage and adrenaline, Jet called out, “Iridium, stop in the name of the law!”
Of course, the woman kept on walking. No, strolling, as if she had all the time in the world.
Scrambling to her feet, Jet cursed herself for three kinds of fool. This was all her fault; she never should have led with the creepers to restrain Iri. Even knowing what the woman had become over the past five years, Jet had still attempted to intimidate her with subtlety instead of bludgeoning her with power.
And she’d hoped that maybe some of the old Iri was still there, inside that rabid shell. “I said stop!”
Iridium kept on strolling. And … now she was whistling a jaunty tune. Acting for all the world as if Jet were insignificant.
She thought she heard laughter, dark and syrupy thick.
Over the thumping of her heartbeat, her blood pounding in her ears, Jet shouted, “Don’t you walk away from me!”
If Iridium heard her, she didn’t deign to show it.
Jet’s thoughts blackened with fury. How dare she act as if Jet was irrelevant? As if she wasn’t a threat?
She’d show her a threat.
Snarling, Jet leveled a blast of Shadow at Iridium’s receding back—nothing subtle this time. She meant to take her down, no matter what.
Iridium turned, then yelped as she dove out of the way, her metal case clanging to the pavement. The ebony bolt rocketed past her, and Jet had to force it to dissipate before it hit streetside. She grunted as the Shadow faded to nothing but gray motes in the afternoon sun, and felt a headache pound behind her eyes. Dissipation always drained her. Maybe Iri wouldn’t remember that; it had been five years.
Iridium had landed on her palms, then used the movement to somersault gracefully onto her feet. Now she stood proudly in the middle of the alley, arms out, looking for all the world like an acrobat in her white unikilt.
Still agile as a freaking cat, Jet thought, feeling clumsy and reeking of garbage. Ignoring the way her head throbbed, she aimed directly at Iridium’s smirking mouth.
“Hitting me from behind?” Iri chuffed laughter. “Isn’t that against the rules?”
“I gave you fair warning,” Jet said, approaching slowly. She’d distract her with talk—just enough for Jet to get her strength back. And then she’d blanket her. It would be fast and cold, and Iri would be out before she knew what had hit her. “Maybe you should get your hearing checked.”
“Right, this is the part where you try to distract me.” Iridium shook her head and sighed. “Christo, could you be any more by the book?”
“Sure. I could launch into all the codes you’ve violated in the past five years.” Jet stepped forward, her hand pointed at Iri’s head. “I could list all your crimes. But then we’d be here for days.”
“You think of that comeback all by yourself, or did Ops feed you that line too? Oh, wait—you don’t have Ops in your ear right now, do you?”
Just beyond the steady ache of her head, Jet heard whispers amid the laughter. She grimaced; it was too soon. No more time for banter, or games. With her free hand, she reached into one of her belt pouches to take out a pair of stun-cuffs. “Raise them.”
Iridium put her hands up in a “don’t-shoot” gesture, but Jet wasn’t completely stupid; she felt the change in the temperature around her, the slight shift in heat. Iri was getting ready to strobe her.
She glared at Iridium, debated whether she should raise graymatter to whip up a Shadowshield against the coming attack, or just blanket Iri now. She wasn’t back up to full power, but maybe—
hit her hurt her do it now do it
Shut up! Jet’s outstretched arm shook, and she hoped that Iri hadn’t seen her flinch. Just shut up!
do it do it make her scream make her bleed
Sweat beaded on her brow. Light, she needed her com-link. She had to drown out the voices—
“Still overthinking it, aren’t you?” Iridium’s voice forced Jet to focus on the other woman: Iri was grinning, and she’d lowered her hands. “Some things never change. Poor Jet.”
“Shut up!”
“Maybe you’re scared of little old me.” Iridium took a step forward—to attack? No, she was walking toward the discarded box, no doubt filled with digichips or plasigold. She winked at Jet, as if she was in on a secret. “Maybe you’re just jumping at shadows.”
Jet gasped. Iri knew.
No, impossible. Iri didn’t know about the voices. Only one other person did. Iri couldn’t know.
do it do it now do it NOW do it
The Shadow laughed … and Jet smiled.
“Scared?” Jet said, voice flat. “Me? You don’t know anything about fear. Or jumping at shadows.” The power poured out of her—oh, so fluid and electric, like shocks of pleasure dancing along her limbs—and wrapped Iridium in a blanket of night. “I’ll teach you to be afraid of the dark.”
She watched Iri double over. Grinned as Iri started to scream.
sweet screams sweet sounds suck out the light the life
“No!” Iri’s voice was muffled in the Shadow, desperate. “Jet … Joannie, stop! Stop!”
Jet blinked, then gasped when she saw the cocooned form bent on the floor of the alley, struggling.
Oh Light … Iri?
Joannie!
Jet ripped away the blanket, barely feeling the wave of dizziness hit her as Shadow evaporated. On the ground, Iri crouched, head down, her body wracked with shivers, her arms wrapped around herself.
Biting back a cry, Jet stumbled to her side, put her hand on the woman’s shoulder to offer comfort. “Iri? Callie? Are you okay?”
The punch landed squarely in Jet’s gut, stealing her breath. She doubled over, and a right hook to her jaw knocked her flat. Sprawled on the ground, she wheezed in garbage-tainted air.
Iridium sniffed. “Sucker.”
Jet couldn’t even lift her head to glare. She hurt all over—she’d dissipated too much Shadow instead of absorbing it back. Tiny tremors wracked her limbs, like fog-inspired DTs. Lying there, she heard Iri’s booted footfalls as she walked past Jet, heard Iri scoop up the metal box.
Damn it—get up!
“If you’re going to play with the bad girls,” Iri said lightly, “you have to stop being one of the good guys.”
By the time Jet pulled herself to her feet, Iridium was long gone.
Jet bent over, her hands on her thighs, concentrating on taking deep breaths. Forget how Iri had gotten away, again; forget the voices licking at her mind. Just ride out the pain and wait for the Runner to show up with the new earpiece …
“My, my. Lookee here.”
Jet forced her head up to see a group of seven toughs decked out in their street leathers and chains.
“Boys,” their leader said, “I think we’re going to have us a bit of fun.”