CHAPTER 59
JET
Do extrahumans have a choice in their role? Is it destiny? A calling? Or something else, something that drives them to put aside personal gain and dedicate their lives to helping others?
Lynda Kidder, “Origins: Part One,” New Chicago Tribune, March 26, 2112
When Jet woke up, she was on the floor, on her side, with her arms pinned behind her. It took her a moment to realize she was awake; her thoughts felt sluggish, almost soupy, and she had to blink a few times before she could focus. That didn’t help much; all she saw was a gray wall, very close to her face.
Floor, she thought dimly. Why am I on the floor?
“About time,” someone said, the voice disembodied. Floating. But not one of her Shadow voices; this one she heard with her ears. “Thought you were going to sleep through all the waiting.”
Jet blinked again, connected the rasping voice to a name. “Iridium?”
“Yeah.”
She sat up quickly, steeling herself to fight—and then collapsed back down with a groan, squeezing her eyes shut to keep the world from spinning.
“Forgot to tell you,” Iridium said. “Stun-cuffs. You want to move slow, or you’ll puke all over yourself. Stink up the place in a big way.”
“Go ahead,” Jet grated between clenched teeth. “Gloat.”
“Who, me? Sort of the pot calling the kettle black, don’t you think?”
“What are you talking about?”
She heard soft laughter—a bitter sound, completely without mirth. “I’m just as much the trussed-up turkey as you are, Joannie.”
Jet sat up again, much slower this time, and was relieved when she was able to hold her head up without feeling like her guts would spill out of her mouth. The wall in front of her was barren, just a long slab of gray, or maybe steel. Hard to tell in the poor lighting. She inched her way around, turning slowly until she could see the rest of the small room—a cell, really, with one door and no windows. There was just enough room for her … and Iridium.
Jet stared coldly at the woman across from her. And then blinked. Iri looked terrible. Sure, her posture was all arrogance: seated on the floor, she slouched against the wall like a resentful teenager. But her face told a different story. A nasty bruise, swollen to an impressive egg, discolored Iri’s forehead. Her eyes, usually so sharp and almost icy blue, were out of focus, watery. Framing her ashen face, Iri’s black hair stuck to her brow and cheeks in tangled clumps.
And yes, her arms were bound behind her back. Jet was able to make out the silver-and-electric gleam of the stun-cuffs.
“Yeah, I know,” Iridium said, smiling thinly. “But you should see the other guy.”
“He look worse than you?”
“He will when I’m done with him.”
It was a good act. Jet almost believed her—that she really had been captured and thrown in here with Jet. But this was Iridium. She lied. She cheated. She hit you when you were down. Jet was too exhausted, mentally and physically, to play the game. At least there was some light in the small room; without her goggles or her comlink, the way she was feeling would have made her a punching bag for the Shadow voices.
Small favors. “What do you want, Iridium?”
“Want?” Iridium barked out a harsh laugh. “I want to get the f*ck out of here and wrap my hands around Taser’s neck. Christo, you think I’m junked enough to slap a pair of working cuffs onto myself, just to play you?” She shook her head. “I’m trapped here, just like you are.”
Impossible, part of Jet’s mind declared. Iridium is a rabid. You can’t believe anything she says.
But that was only a small part of her mind, the part that parroted the Academy Mission Statement and insisted on duty before all else. Duty first. Always. The part that made her smile when she thought of all the good she was doing, of all the people she was helping. Of how wonderful it was to be a hero and have Corp behind her and beside her.
The rest of Jet’s mind—the memory of the girl she’d used to be, the part that feared the dark because she knew it had teeth, that longed for the happily-ever-afters in her romance novels and that thought, sometimes, she didn’t know who she was anymore—whispered that Iri was telling the truth.
Uneasy, Jet said, “Yeah, I just bet. Your man’s the one who tagged me.”
“We seem to have had a parting of company,” Iridium said, “considering he’s the one who flipped on me. Used my own damn neural inhibitor on me, the bastard.”
“Those are illegal.”
“Yeah, I’m learning the error of my ways. Crime doesn’t pay. Blah, blah.” Iridium paused. In the dim light, she looked tired, her face drawn and pale. “My own damn fault. It’s what I get for trusting anyone again.”
That stung. Jet said, “I trusted you too.”
Iridium’s mouth pulled into an ugly smirk. “You’d a hell of a way of showing it. How long did it take you to decide to sell me out to Corp?”
Just hearing that name set off warning bells in Jet’s mind. “You can’t possibly understand.”
“Understand what? That you traded our friendship for herodom?”
“Iri—”
“No. Only my friends call me that. You don’t get to do that anymore.”
“Fine. Iridium. You don’t understand what happened back then.”
“Right, so says the high-and-mighty Jet, Lady of Shadows, the Hero of New Chicago.” Iridium snorted her derision. “You’re so f*cking pretentious, acting like you didn’t stab me in the back five years ago.”
“And you’re so damn self-centered,” Jet said, shaking her head, feeling anger and sadness warring in her heart.
Iridium rolled her eyes. “Coming from you, that’s really something.”
“Damn it, Iri, I helped you!”
“You got my ass sentenced to Blackbird! How’s that defined as help, even in the loosest sense of the word?”
“You have no idea what you’re talking about,” Jet growled, remembering how she’d begged Night, pleaded with him to interfere on that fateful day, and how he’d stood there and scorned her.
“Don’t I?” Iridium sneered. “You were supposed to have my back, Joan! We were partners. F*ck that—we were friends. Remember that? How many times did I stand up for you at Academy? How much trouble did I get into, all because I had to take care of you?”
“I never asked you to take care of me!”
“But you walked away from our friendship, all because of the Academy and Corp!”
“I did what I did because we were friends,” Jet shouted, “because someone had to intervene on your behalf. And damn it all to Darkness, Callie, it was the best I could do! It was still better than what they wanted to do to you!”
Iridium’s mouth opened, a retort on her tongue, but then she seemed to really hear Jet’s words, and she paused. “You’re the one who got me sentenced to Blackbird,” she said.
“Yes.”
“And you’re sitting here now, telling me that was helping me?”
Jet sighed. “Yes.”
“And I’m supposed to believe that?”
“Frankly, I don’t care if you believe it or not. It’s true.” Jet lowered her voice, said, “And when you escaped, they made my life a living nightmare. They never let me forget that you were my fault.”
“Aw, poor little hero. That’s what they were holding over you all this time? A little fubar like that was enough to keep you leashed and barking when they said ‘dog’?”
“No.” Jet closed her eyes. “What’s done is done, Callie.”
“Yeah, right. Done, my ass. You can’t wait to bust out of here and drag me to the EC. Crow to the media about how you’d finally corrected your mistake from five years ago!”
“A week ago,” Jet said softly, “you would have been right. Even earlier today, you would have been right.”
Maybe Iridium heard something in her voice, because she stopped hurling accusations at Jet, barbs that cut into her and bled her soul.
Light, how long have I been their puppet?
“Jet?”
“They got into my mind,” she whispered. “They did something to me, and—oh Light, they did something to my mind. I can’t even say their name without thinking happy thoughts, and even as I’m saying this, I still want to serve them and be the hero and get a pat on the head!” She was shouting by then, but she couldn’t stop, couldn’t hold back her rage. “They brainwashed me so completely that I can’t even say their name when I want to curse them all to Darkness!”
Her words echoed in the still air, and she panted, trying to regain some semblance of control.
Iridium broke the silence. “What happened, Jet?”
Not daring to open her eyes, Jet told her about Night putting her on the hunt for Lynda Kidder—about Frostbite’s hostile help, about Martin Moore and what he and Everyman had done to the reporter. About how she was instructed to back up the claim that the Undergoths, with Iri’s help, had tortured and murdered Kidder. About her last call with Night. About Everyman having an agreement with—
Her brain caught fire.
Jet doubled over, almost bit through her lip to keep from screaming as searing pain stole her thoughts.
Slowly, the agony faded, leaving behind a steady ache in her temples. Jet opened her eyes, blinked back tears. She was curled up on her side, and her throat hurt.
“Joannie?” Iri’s voice, soft and surprisingly tender. “Can you hear me?”
“Yeah.” She swallowed, winced from the rawness. She must have screamed after all.
“I think I know how they did it.”
Jet whipped her head around to stare at Iri, then almost vomited from the motion. Damned stun-cuffs. She ground out, “How?”
“Your comlink.”
Jet’s throat tightened, and she sucked in a labored breath. When she’d had the first … episode … in her apartment, hadn’t she wanted to shove the earpiece into place? Hadn’t she had a wild urge to tuck the comlink into her ear and tap it on?
“Before I took down Ops,” Iridium said, “I saw hundreds of frequencies broadcasting. Not receiving. Not connected to the main network.”
Jet blinked at Iridium, not wanting to understand.
“Don’t you get it?” Iri said. “They have been brainwashing you—really brainwashing you—and the Squadron … shit, even the students at Academy. For years. Not counting those of us who never wore the damned earpiece, I guess …”
Iridium kept talking, but Jet didn’t hear her.
“You missed part of the uniform,” Night says that day back in Second Year. “The most important part.”
Oh Light, no.
Something else gleams at the bottom of the plastic wrapping. Jet reaches into the bag and scoops up a metallic earpiece.
Had he known, back then?
“When you’re old enough to go on missions, the comlink will connect you directly to Ops.”
Had Night known what he was giving her? What he was sentencing her to? She’d thought he was her savior, the man who’d stopped the voices, the Shadow power who’d lived without losing his mind. Her hope for salvation.
“I was thirteen,” Jet whispered.
“I understand your rage,” Night says to her just earlier today, his voice quiet, and utterly terrifying. “Trust me, I understand. And a reckoning will come.”
Jet’s stomach lurched, and she retched in the corner of the tiny room.
“Great,” she heard Iridium say over the sound of her heaving. “Trapped was bad. Trapped and stinking of puke is worse.”
When Jet finished, she rose to her knees. Shaking. Tears streaming down her face. And so much hatred in her that her heart must have shriveled and died. “When we get out of here,” she hissed, “someone’s going to answer for this.”
“Sounds good to me. Teensy problem, though.”
Jet looked at Iridium’s smug mouth, her battered face.
“We’re still in stun-cuffs, in a closet.”
“Well,” Jet said, “you’re the genius, and I’m the hero. We’ll figure something out.”
“I prefer ‘evil genius.’”
“So that makes me the tortured hero.”
“Kook.”
“Criminal.”
The words came easily, naturally. Iri grinned, and so did Jet, and there in the dimly lit room, five years of hatred began to unwind.
“So,” Iri said, “a plan. We bust out of here, kill Taser, and tell all to the press.”
“That’s a plan?”
“The foundation of one.”
“Has problems,” Jet said. “The killing, for one.”
“Maiming, then. He’s in for a world of hurt. I’m going to make him sorry his daddy ever laid eyes on his mother.”
“Hey. You took down Ops?”
“Yeah.”
Jet remembered the shrilling alarm from her earpiece. “You officially get to be ‘evil genius.’”
Iri grinned at her.
“Can you touch your power at all?”
“Not even enough to make the bulb overhead go up a watt. You?”
Jet reached inside, tried to touch the part of her that was one with the shadows, but it slipped through her fingers like sand. “No. Any way to get the cuffs off?”
“Sure. With the key.”
“You’re real helpful.”
“Modesty’s my best quality.”
Jet opened her mouth, but that was when the door opened. A figure stood framed in the doorway, sporting tactical gear, a black stocking over his face and welding goggles over his eyes. Jet recognized the man she’d thought was Iridium’s lackey, and she narrowed her eyes at him.
“Ladies,” he said. “Glad to see you two getting along so famously. Aren’t you glad I brought you together?”