CHAPTER 63
IRIDIUM
But when the grand battle is done, and the dust has settled and all that’s left are the photo ops and the meaningless, rote threats from the defeated, I feel oddly disappointed. Gods—even the small ones—shouldn’t be reduced to photo ops.
Lynda Kidder, “Origins: Conclusion,” New Chicago Tribune, June 18, 2112
Iridium watched Taser and Jet for a moment, seeing if Jet really planned to kill him. And yup, it sure looked that way.
“Joan,” she said.
“He deserves this, Iri,” Jet said, her voice flat and cold.
“Joan,” Iridium said again, with more force. Under the shadows, Taser groaned and writhed as ice crystals blossomed on his skin like small spidery kiss marks.
“Hear me, Joan,” Iridium said. “This isn’t what you want to do.”
“It is,” Jet said. “He used me.”
“He used me too.” Iridium snorted. “You think I don’t want to burn him from the inside out? But you don’t kill, Joan. You’re not like the other Shadows.”
“I killed Lynda Kidder.”
“That was self-defense, for crying out loud. You got set up. And stop being such a f*cking martyr. You didn’t see me crying over Paul Collins.”
“He deserved it.”
“But Taser doesn’t,” Iridium said. “He’s an arrogant ass, but he was operating to code, and he did save your life.”
“Technically, both of your lives …” Taser groaned through the Shadow.
“Button it!” she snapped. “Or maybe I’ll let Joan kill you!”
Jet stared at Iridium, her eyes pure black. “My name isn’t Joan,” she whispered, “not anymore. I’m nothing. I’m all dark inside.”
“Your name is Joan,” Iridium insisted. “You’re a Shadow power. But you control it, Joan, not the other way around. You’re not a killer. You’re not this.”
A tear started to work down Jet’s cheek, then froze. “How do you know that?”
“I know you,” Iridium said quickly, calculating that Taser didn’t have much time left. He was twitching feebly on the floor, overrun by creepers. “I know you’re Joan, and no one else. Those voices can’t tell who you are because they aren’t real.”
Jet went to her knees, hands pressed over her ears. “I don’t want to hear them anymore!” she screamed, and with a full-body shudder, jerked the creepers away from Taser. They flowed over to her, washed over her own flesh.
“Oh, shit,” Iridium said as Jet went limp, the creepers feasting on her warmth and light.
Iridium summoned a strobe and exploded it in Jet’s face. Joan cried out as sunburn blossomed across her cheekbones and the bridge of her nose. “Stop that!” Iridium ordered.
“It’s the only way to make them be quiet,” said Jet dully.
“I can’t live this way, Iri. I’m a time bomb, just like he said. It’s better this way.”
“Don’t, Joan.” Taser pulled himself to his feet with a groan, then said, “Killing yourself is doing Night’s job. That’s not what you want.”
Jet’s eyes filled with tears. “You stay away from me.”
“Come on, Joan,” Iri said. “I’m your friend. Let me help you.”
“You’ve been a lousy friend,” Jet whispered.
“I know. But I’m here now. Let me help you,” she said, wrapping her arms around Jet.
With a shudder, Jet collapsed against her, sobbed against the front of her unikilt.
“Joan …” Taser said again.
Iridium raised her free hand, a miniature sun twisting and forming on her palm. “F*ck off, Taser or Bruce or whatever the hell your real name is. We don’t need your help.”
He glanced at her. “You do, if you want to get out of here.”
“Yeah, right.”
“Fine,” Taser shrugged. “Have the conquering hero there call in the cavalry. Oh, right.” He snapped his fingers, making sparks fly. “Ops is out of commission and every first-string hero in this city is trapped in the Rat Network. Besides, without the Happy Thought Machine whispering in their ear, I doubt any extrahumans in the greater New Chicago precinct are going to feel much like rescuing anyone’s asses but their own.”
He was right, damn it.
Iridium growled, “I assume you have a grand plan.”
“Might have one rattling around the old head.”
“What do you suggest?”
“Call the cops,” said Taser. “Nice, simple solution. No superpowers involved.” He stuck a commercial comm in his ear and tapped a police frequency.
As she held Jet, Iridium realized that this was going to get press coverage. There wouldn’t be any way to keep the media in the dark, not about Night. One of Corp’s shining examples was about to get ousted, forcefully.
She smiled. Her father would be proud.
“I suggest you two ladies vamoose,” Taser said, “unless you want to explain to New Chicago’s Finest exactly how you had nothing to do with Night’s insidious plot, bwaha-haha.”
“Come on, hero,” Iridium said to Jet. “Let’s move.”
“Yes,” Taser was saying behind them, “I need to report a 19-37 in progress at the Corp Academy. Me? Bruce Hunter, Mercenary Worker ID 42785.”
“What happens now?” Jet asked Iridium as they slowly walked through corridors blurred by emergency lights and through an evacuation door with a crowd of other injured heroes.
“I don’t know about you,” Iridium said as the steel sky of New Chicago rolled out before them, “but I could use a cocktail.”