The Search for Artemis

Chapter EIGHTEEN

METIS LABS


“Pantheon,” Dr. Brighton shouted from near the lift, “we’ll continue this exercise another time. We must get up to the Temple ASAP. Briefing in two minutes. Apollo and Echo, you both are in on this one.”

The entire team hustled over to the lift as fast as they could. Cortland even gave Landon a congratulatory pat on the back as they ran out of the course. Landon was thunderstruck. Thinking it meant he was close to becoming an active operative, he was excited when he saw the simulation course that morning, but he’d never expected his transition to active status to happen so suddenly and unceremoniously. Barely having enough time to realize he’d been called into active duty, Landon was alighting from the lift and being herded to his first mission briefing. Am I ready for this? Why do they need me on this mission?

The team met up with Dr. Wells and Verne, the director of tech ops, who were waiting for them at the central console of the Temple—the Altar. Once inside the circle, Dr. Wells pressed the necessary buttons on the console and the fogged, sound-proof glass tube extended out of the floor, sealing them in for their briefing. The golden eagle emblem flashed into existence above the Altar and began to rotate on the holographic screen.

Landon had a grimace on his face as he watched Dr. Wells work. He couldn’t help but see the younger version of the gymasiarch standing before him exuding ambition and deception to a fault.

Dr. Wells pressed a blinking button, and the eagle was replaced by a detailed topographical map like the one Landon saw the first time he’d been taken around the Olympic Tower.

“Pantheon, this is Metis Labs,” Dr. Wells started as he turned and faced the team. They stood in a semicircle around Dr. Wells; Landon was on the end, with Verne close by. The building displayed on the Altar was a tall cylindrical tower. It appeared to be a solitary building surrounded by thick forest and a rugged mountain range—isolated, like the Gymnasium. “We’ve been tracking them for some time now.

“Recently, we became aware that Dr. Lovecraft”—a holographic image of a man’s head appeared beside the map. He had scraggly grey hair that extended down to the base of his neck and a leathery face with deep crags running down his cheeks and across his forehead. He had a sinister expression—“Head of Metis Labs biogenetic research department, has made extensive developments in an experiment they call Project Herakles. We’ve been told they are planning on auctioning its results on the black market to the highest bidder in the next few days. The contents of the study are still unconfirmed, but the latest report speculates that it has disastrous homeland security implications should it fall into the hands of one of our enemies.” Dr. Wells leaned his head down and scanned the attentive Pantheon members over the top of his glasses. The next statement he said emphatically. “We cannot allow this sale to take place. It is imperative that Metis Labs does not distribute the contents of Project Herakles.”

Dr. Wells turned back to the console and pressed a few more buttons. “The operation is simple,” he continued. “You will infiltrate the Metis Labs compound, break into Dr. Lovecraft’s laboratory on the forty-seventh floor and secure all electronic and hard documents pertaining to Project Herakles. Once you’ve obtained the files, you will wipe their system of any traces of the project and return to base.”

As he spoke, the holographic map lowered back into prominent focus and Landon watched as a bright blue digital version of the Alpha Chariot moved into view from off the screen and descended into a clearing in the woods about two miles away from the Metis Labs compound. He then watched as eight blue men exited the Alpha Chariot and made their way through the woods, into the building and up to the forty-seventh floor. All the while a dashed line trailed behind them to mark the expected flow of the operation.

“Verne, show us what you’ve got,” Dr. Wells said as he motioned for Verne to come forward and speak to the operatives.

“Okay, well, umm”—Landon was surprised by how timid and nervous Verne seemed to be. He was so energetic and passionate when he’d first met him in the Forge, but now he seemed absolutely terrified—“Uh . . . Apollo here has already gotten a glimpse of this . . . but, uh, anyways, this little device here—” Verne held his hand up to the Pantheon. Stuck on the tip of his index finger was a little black dot of a thing. “—it will allow you access to the entire computer network at Metis Labs. You see, they have a polymorphic, 1024-bit, multiple encryption routine, which will take forever to manually hack into, but this will do it in approximately ten seconds.” Verne moved closer to the console and started shifting his attention between the computer and the operatives with erratic motions of his head. “You just place the device near the computer, like, say, on the keyboard, or maybe on top of the monitor, uh, whichever you choose. It’s your decision. It will do the rest.” He let out an audible sigh of relief. An uncontrollable grin stretched across Landon’s face as he watched Verne’s neurotic behavior. “I call it the Janus Key, you know, because Janus was the—”

“Thank you, Verne. I believe they’ve got the idea,” Dr. Wells interjected before Verne could continue to ramble on about his own ingenuity. “Team, we’d like you to attach the device to somewhere that the scientists won’t notice—somewhere discrete. What Verne failed to mention was that it will also allow us remote access to their servers by installing an untraceable back door in their system. We’ll be able to monitor their future activities from here and hopefully not get ourselves into such a rushed situation in the future.

“Echo, the facility is heavily guarded, so we will need your abilities to guide the team through the complex without getting noticed. Apollo, you’ll be there to provide any additional ground support should an issue arise. I know it’s sudden, but welcome to active duty you two.” Dr. Wells looked directly to Landon and Peregrine as he spoke to them and gave each a little nod of acknowledgement before addressing the entire team again. “You will leave at 2200 hours. Good luck.”

Dr. Wells then turned to the Altar console and pressed a few buttons that caused the hologram to disappear and the glass divider to disengage. Once the barrier had descended back into the floor, Dr. Brighton turned and spoke to his team.

“All right, everyone, go and eat something, prepare yourself and be at the Stable at 2130 ready for takeoff. Dismissed.”

• • • • •

Landon sat alone while he ate his lunch. He hadn’t spoken to a single person since the briefing. He never would admit it, but he was questioning whether he was truly ready for his first mission. With the training and the practice, he knew the day would come, but he just couldn’t wrap his head around the fact that in less than twelve hours he’d be leaving the Gymnasium and traveling to a place where he was responsible not only for his life but the well-being of every member on the team. One misstep or error in judgment could mean death. As he fought to swallow a bite of spaghetti, the pressure to succeed weighed on his mind.

“Landon, everything okay?” Riley asked. He and Landon hadn’t spoken since their blow up in the medical wing, but Riley had been sitting a table over from Landon, and perhaps he could tell something serious was bothering his friend.

“Hey,” Landon replied meekly as Riley stood in front of him with his empty tray in hand. “I’ll be all right.” Landon then lowered his head and returned to rearranging the pasta on his plate.

“Well you don’t look all right,” Riley replied matter-of-factly. “And I bet it’s about something you can’t tell me so I’m not even going to ask, but you should know. . . . Whatever it is that you’re freaking out about, I’m sure you’re overreacting. You’ve been here for almost a year now, man. You’ve been training your ass off. You know what you’re doing. You just need to go out there and do it. That simple.”

Landon looked back up at Riley and smiled. Even though he had no clue what he was talking about, Riley had somehow managed to say exactly what he needed to help calm him down a bit. He had the training. He knew what he was doing. He just needed to have confidence that he could perform when the time came.

Riley glared at his friend unsurely before saying, “Anyways, I’ve got to meet some people in the Rec Center, but I’ll catch up with you later, all right?”

“Sure thing,” Landon replied. Riley then turned and headed toward the exit of the cafeteria, but after taking just a few steps down the aisle, Landon called to him. “Riley!”

Riley rotated his upper body until he could just see Landon still sitting at the table.

“Thanks,” Landon said.

Riley gave a slight nod before turning and continuing on his path to the used tray depository. Landon again sat alone in the cafeteria, still with the mission on his mind, but thanks to Riley’s words, he was starting to feel a bit less stressed about the situation. After what could have been three minutes, or thirty, of sitting deep in thought, Landon was startled back into reality when Celia slammed her tray of food down in front of him.

“What’s going on, bus boy?” she asked playfully as she took her seat across the table from him. “You’re looking a bit cerebral this afternoon.”

“Yeah, I’ve got a lot of stuff on my mind,” he replied. “I’m sure you already know what I’m talking about.”

“Huh?” she asked through a mouthful of pasta. “What do you mean by that?”

“Don’t act like you don’t already know everything going on in my head.” Celia looked confused. “Our link,” he explained. “I’m sure you’ve already had a full download of everything going on in my brain even though you’ve been here all of two seconds.”

“Oh, please,” she said between bites. “I told you it doesn’t happen that often anymore. Its has gotten harder.”

“Harder, ha, so you do try and read my mind on a regular basis,” Landon returned. “Uh, are you late for something?”

Landon asked because Celia appeared to be woofing down her entire tray of food at an abnormally fast speed. He’d noticed before that Celia ate rather fast for a girl, but this was ridiculous. She seemed to be shoveling bite after bite into her mouth before she’d even swallowed the last. Within minutes, she’d cleaned her plate.

“Yeah, very late,” she answered through a full mouth.

“Oh.” Landon started to twist together another bite of his now-cold spaghetti. He knew he needed to eat everything on his tray to make sure he had enough strength for later.

“Well, I guess I’ll leave you to do your thing. Talk to you later.” Before Landon even could look up from his tray, Celia had risen from the bench and was making her way out of the cafeteria.

Following lunch, Landon went to the Library and holed himself up in his usual alcove on the fifth floor. He didn’t read anything or peruse the shelves—he wasn’t there for the books.

He sat in the large, tufted chair with his legs folded underneath him. Centering himself, he replayed every training session he’d had to date in his mind. He needed to remember every lesson, every technique, and every bit of information in order to prepare himself for the task that lay ahead. With every memory, his mind started to relax and before he knew it, he had drifted into a deep sleep. As he slept, a memory slipped into his dreams.

The night was cold. Darkness crept over the sky with only a faint orange glow from the mid-September sun hanging in the distant horizon. Four-year-old Landon was restless. His mother put him to bed an hour ago but no matter what he tried, he couldn’t go to sleep because he needed to know what happened next in Treasure Island. Mrs. Wicker had started reading it to him two weeks beforehand and continued through that afternoon in the park. Just as they reached the exciting parts with mutiny, treasure maps and pirates, Mrs. Wicker packed up their things to hurry home; she needed to get dinner on the table before Mr. Wicker returned from work. To make matters worse, Landon’s mom didn’t have enough time to read to him before bed. Now all Landon thought about was what happened next to Jim Hawkins and the crew of the Hispaniola. It was killing him.

He decided to put his pirate bandana on his head and then placed his plastic sword next to him and turned on the reading light beside his bed. Lying on his lap, the book sat open to the page they had last read. Throughout the past hour he tried a number of times to decipher the meaning of the random letters and spaces on the page but garnered no success in figuring anything out. His mom had taught him his ABCs, but he had no idea how they worked to make words. He just stared at the page, hoping the story would flow into his brain. Eventually, he resigned himself to waiting until the next day to find out anything else. He gazed at the fan on his ceiling, watching the blades whirl around and around, hoping to fall asleep.

All the while, Landon heard the low mumbling of his parents in the living room. They were arguing again, but Landon couldn’t understand anything they were saying. It happened so often that it had almost become a necessary drone for him to fall asleep, like the sound of crashing waves on the beach or of rain as it hits the window pane.

He didn’t understand what caused the bickering and fighting between his parents. His mother always separated him from it, either putting him in his room when possible, or having him put headphones on and listen to music while he played on the floor. As Landon began to drift off to sleep, his mother burst through the door and his father’s loud voice blasted into the room. She shut the door, and with a faint click, locked it. Her body was pressed against it, her chest heaving as she audibly breathed in and out. Her eyes were shut. Mr. Wicker could still be heard screaming from the living room, and when something heavy crashed into the door, her entire body constricted.

“Mom?” Landon was now sitting straight up in the bed with his bandana still on and his pirate sword ready in hand. “Mom? You ’kay?”

Landon’s mother opened her eyes. When she saw Landon sitting there, her tense face relaxed. On occasion she came into his room after she’d put him to bed, but this was the first time he’d ever asked about her with concern. “Oh, Landon, yes, everything is fine,” she said in a mellow tone. She walked over to the bed and sat down beside Landon. Feeling the vibrations of his mother’s shaking body, he looked up at her.

After a few deep breaths, Mrs. Wicker turned over toward Landon, who still carried his plastic pirate sword at the ready. “Whoa, stand down young, dread pirate Lanny. All’s well on the home front.” As she spoke, she took the sword from Landon and placed it on top of the sheets. “Now, what are you still doing awake my little man? I think I put you to bed at least an hour ago, and here you are as if I hadn’t even tucked you in yet.”

“I can’t sleep.” Landon gave a little shove to the book still sitting on his lap. “I wanna know what happens to Jim and Long John Silver.”

“Ah, so that’s it,” Mrs. Wicker replied. “We did end right in the middle of everything today, didn’t we? Well, since I barged in on you like this and you are awake, I don’t see any harm in reading a bit more.”

Landon grabbed the book from his lap and handed it to his mother. She took it and slid under the covers next to him. Feeling the familiar warmth of her body against his, Landon nuzzled right up to her side.

“Are you sick, momma?” Landon asked. She felt warmer than usual.

“No, I’m fine, just a little worked up is all. I’ll be right back to normal in no time, especially after we’ve taken a journey on the high seas of the Caribbean.”

For the next hour Mrs. Wicker read to Landon. He stared at the words in the book, getting lost in the story that Mrs. Wicker read from its pages. As she read, he imagined himself alongside Jim Hawkins, fighting off pirates on the Hispaniola, searching for Captain Flint’s long buried treasure and leaving the mutinous pirates marooned on Treasure Island as he sailed away with Trelawney and his loyal men.

“Momma,” Landon interrupted his mother mid-sentence. “Why does Jim keep going back to the bad man?”

Sitting there beside him, his mother leaned forward and closed the book. She softly touched Landon on the cheek. “That’s a great question, honey. Why do you think he goes back to Long John Silver?”

“I don’t know. Maybe because he doesn’t seem all bad, I guess.”

Mrs. Wicker smiled and looked at Landon, her little boy, endearingly. “I’m constantly surprised at how perceptive you are. Never lose that, okay? Always keep your eyes open and ask questions. You’ll hear this often, but it’s true—never judge a book by its cover. You have to dig deep and look within to discover what’s hidden inside.”

Landon looked at her, confused, as he had no idea what she was talking about.

“Landon, it’s like Treasure Island,” Mrs. Wicker continued. “This book has been through a lot. It survived a fire. The cover is torn and tattered. If we took it at face value, we’d assume it was garbage and just throw it away, but then we would’ve missed the adventure that sends our imagination to the wondrous places hidden inside. Do you understand what I’m saying?”

“Books are good?” Landon eagerly replied.

“Yes.” Mrs. Wicker laughed. “Books are good. That’s exactly right. Books are good.”

Mrs. Wicker got out of the bed and went around to Landon’s side. She tucked him into his sheets, kissed him on the forehead and said, “Goodnight, my little man. I love you so very much.” Giving her son one last longing glance, she pulled away from the bed, but just as her fingers slipped from Landon’s cheeks, she stopped. She tilted her head to the side and had a strange glint in her eyes, a wondrous one as if she’d just come to some profound realization. “You know, you’re going to do great things some day. I can see it. Amazing, unbelievable things,” she said. “But remember, greatness never comes without struggles, so if you ever feel lost, need guidance or just a place to get away from it all, look to the books.” She pulled away from Landon as tears welled up in her eyes and silently made her way to the door.

Once she’d reached it, she apprehensively unlocked the door and turned the handle. With a delicate flip of the light switch, she shut off the reading lamp on Landon’s bedside table and walked out into the living room. As she shut the door, Landon heard his father say coarsely, “There you are!”

When Landon woke up, he had no idea what time it was. He knew he’d been out for a while because his muscles felt limp and he was groggy—not the result of a thirty-minute power nap.

As he stood up, he closed his eyes and held on to the lingering image of his mother that he’d just seen in his dream. He wished he could relive that memory over and over again and feel as if she was still there, but he knew that was impossible. Heading out of the Library, Landon searched for a clock; he needed to find out how much time was left until his first mission started. He had a duty to complete, a duty where he would be asked to do amazing and unbelievable things on which he couldn’t renege.

He soon discovered that it was already 7:30; he’d somehow slept for over six hours. In a way he was glad he’d been out for so long. It meant he wasn’t spending his time brooding, but it also meant he needed to head straight to the Olympic Tower and begin suiting up for the mission. He no longer had time for dinner because in less than two hours he would be in the air headed to Metis Labs.

Entering the locker room, Landon found Cortland and the Crane twins already there pulling on their full-body, all-black tactical uniforms. Landon made his way straight for his station without saying anything. Upon opening the locker door, Landon found his own tactical uniform, complete with a pair of black shoes and a small box with his standard-issue communication link earpiece resting atop his typical change of clothes. A twinge of excitement coursed through him, elevating his pulse. This is really happening, he thought. I’m now part of the team.

Setting the comm. link aside, he pulled the shoes off the top. He was surprised how light they were. They had thin, flexible soles; the tops were made of a durable black material, and black laces ran up the center but disappeared into the side of the shoe. Landon knew that once he put them on, they would automatically tighten and adjust to fit perfectly—another Pallas Corporation technology. They probably weighed under an ounce. Setting them on the bench behind him, he figured they were similar to what an acrobat or tightrope walker would wear.

The suits were even more interesting. He had learned all about them during his training. They were made of a fabric developed by the Pallas Corporation that used a carbon fiber that regulated body heat and was also more durable than Kevlar. The suit was bulletproof, and on the left breast, in black rubber, the Pantheon eagle was attached. Many times he’d seen the uniform on his other teammates, but he’d never touched one, so he was surprised to find that the fabric seemed soft and comfortable. He’d always figured it would be some coarse cloth that was stiff like canvas and itchier than wool on a warm day.

Excitedly, Landon laid the suit over the bench and started to undress, shedding each layer until he was in only his underwear. He then grabbed the suit and started to look for the zipper, fastener or whatever would open it up for him to don it. He scoured every inch, but couldn’t find anything of the sort.

“It took me an hour to figure it out,” Cortland chimed in and then began to laugh as he watched a half-naked Landon develop a panicked look on his face as he searched the suit for an answer. “The engineers think it’s funny. They tell you all about the things in training but never mention how you’re supposed to put ’em on.”

“Well? What’s the secret?” Landon asked.

“There’s a little button,” he answered, “inside the left wrist, just past the cuff. It deactivates the nano-zipper.”

Landon put his hand into the left sleeve of the suit and felt around the cuff. After a second of searching, he noticed a tiny dot that was slightly raised and made of a different material. Using his thumb as a support on the outside of the fabric, he pressed the button. Suddenly, the back of the suit from the neckline to the tailbone began to divide in a perfect line. It was like the seam on the side of a t-shirt getting ripped apart, but it happened without assistance.

Landon looked at it in wonder. Apparently the suit had more tricks than he realized.

“How does that work?” he asked.

“The nano-zipper? I have no idea how they did it, but how they explained it to me was that each thread has a clasp that attaches to its pair on the other half of the zipper, so it becomes a single piece of fabric again.” As he spoke, Cortland sat down on the wooden bench and made himself comfortable. “There’s some kind of practical reason for having it, but I can’t remember what it is.”

Using the bench as a support, Landon threaded his legs into the now available leg holes of the suit, and after taking a moment to shift and adjust the bottom half, he maneuvered the front up to his chest and slid his arms into the sleeves. With another press of the button in the left wrist of the suit, the nano-zipper reengaged and sealed him into his tactical uniform. It took him a while to feel normal in it. It wasn’t that he was self-conscious, but more so that he had never worn anything that tight in his life. The suit was made to serve as a second-skin, so it conformed to his body and molded itself around every contour of his physique.

Sitting on the bench, he slipped on the shoes, and when he stood up, he could feel the internal technologies activate as the laces and insoles calibrated and adjusted to his feet. Energized by the experience of suiting up for the first time, Landon bounced around in place and swung his arms up and down and back and forth while raising his knees up to his chest. Like a swimmer before diving into the pool, he was doing a little ballistic stretching to loosen up, but moments later the excitement wore off. He stopped dead in his tracks and stared pensively at the floor.

“Just hit you, huh?” Cortland asked in reaction to Landon’s sudden shift in mood. He stood up and walked over to Landon. Giving him an encouraging brotherly shove, he continued, “Don’t worry. Everything’s going to be fine. It’s not like we’re going to run into Artemis or anything.”

Landon’s head shot up and turned to look Cortland dead in the eye. “What did you say?” he asked earnestly.

“That you’ve got nothing to worry about. This is a routine—”

“No,” Landon interrupted. “About Artemis. Who is that?” Landon’s mind raced, but he fought to maintain his composure. He’d been searching for an opportunity to ask someone in the Pantheon about her, but he’d never expected someone else to breach the subject for him. Now that it was on the table, he needed to find out what Cortland knew. Could he know the identity of Artemis? After all this time, could it have been that easy?

“You don’t know?” he asked. Landon could see the excitement building in Cortland’s eyes. He leaned in closer and explained, “She’s the Pantheon’s top threat. This whole last year she keeps popping up and sabotaging our missions. She keeps to the shadows, moving undetected, waiting for her opportunity to strike. She’s a master of the spy game.” Cortland spoke about her with utmost reverence. “She even broken into the Gymnasium last fall and stole some top secret project the scientists were working on.”

As Cortland talked, Landon’s mind reeled. The thief, the girl who he’d chased through the halls in the middle of the night and who’d pinned him to the door, was Artemis. He knew they were connected. Even then, he could feel it in his gut, but now he knew for certain that they were one and the same.

“But who is she?” Landon pried. “You’ve identified her right?”

“Ha, I wish,” Cortland replied laughingly. “We’ve been trying to track her down and get anything we can on her for months.”

“And?”

“Nothing,” he said. “She’s like a ghost. I think the higher ups are really starting to worry about her.”

“You should worry, too.” Brock chimed in on their conversation as he walked past on his way to his locker. Without turning to speak, he added, “Especially on this mission.”

“Why’s that?” Cortland inquired.

Brock slipped off his shoes and removed his shirt. “Because latest intel said they think she works for Metis Labs, and where are we headed tonight?”

“Well, then I take back what I said, Apollo. Maybe you do have to worry about running into Artemis tonight.”

Landon was speechless. He’d been going about his search all wrong. Every woman on his list of suspects was someone within the Gymnasium. When Dr. Pullman said to find her, he figured she had to be someone he had access to, but as it turned out, Artemis was someone who operated on the outside. Finding her just became more complicated.

“Hey, why haven’t I heard about her before?” Landon asked. “I’ve been on the Pantheon for almost six months. Why haven’t you guys mentioned it until now?”

“Because, roomie, until today you weren’t actually a member of the Pantheon.” Brock replied bluntly. “Stuff about missions or Artemis or anything for that matter is meant for active team members, not trainees.”

“It’s Apollo, not roomie, and I’m not a trainee anymore,” Landon said combatively.

“And now you know, don’t you, roomie?” With his tactical uniform half on, Brock stepped directly up to Landon, towering over him.

Not backing down, Landon stood as tall as he could and glared contentiously back at Brock. “It’s Apollo,” he reiterated through gritted teeth.

Brock started to lean closer, but fell back when Dr. Brighton entered the locker room.

“All right, guys, up to the Stable ASAP. Wings up in thirty.” Dr. Brighton looked at Brock and Landon with a forceful glare. “Ares, is there a problem?” he asked.

“No, sir,” Brock replied. “No problem.”

“I didn’t think so.” The authority Dr. Brighton imposed as Zeus was unyielding and accepted without question. “Now finish suiting up and get up to the Stable.”

Leaving Brock alone in the locker room, Landon, Cortland and the Cranes made their way to the hangar a minute or two behind Dr. Brighton. As the lift stopped on the appropriate floor, Peregrine and Parker were already standing beside the Alpha Chariot, waiting for them to arrive.

Peregrine looked like she was made to be a spy; her cropped blonde hair slicked tightly against her skull and her body perfectly formed in the tight tactical uniform gave her a femme-fatale quality. She’d taken to the Pantheon with much more ease than Landon, and she’d proved herself to be an apt team member. She was much more adept than anyone would have thought. Although she was still not the greatest lifter, Peregrine had become a great asset when it came to stealth and agility.

As Landon got closer, he noticed she had an anxious but determined look on her face, like the wait for the mission to begin was too much for her to handle. Seeing the aircraft, Landon had a similar feeling running through his body.

It took around five minutes before Brock emerged from the locker rooms and joined the rest of the Pantheon in the hangar. They then boarded the Alpha Chariot and Dr. Brighton began to prime the engines. Once he’d secured himself into his seat in the back, Landon could feel the almost non-existent hum and vibration that signaled the machine’s activation.

The aircraft’s interior was like a luxurious version of what Landon had seen on military documentaries. The inner casing was composed of some smooth dark metal and covered in dials, blinking buttons and monitors displaying readings on the external environment. In two columns, five rows of individual leather seats ran down the center. They had high backs and looked sturdy yet comfortable. Everything seemed smooth and new. Trained to fly the aircraft, Dr. Brighton and Brock took the seats at the helm. The Cranes sat behind them, then Cortland and Parker, with Peregrine and Landon taking the seats toward the back.

“Whatever you do, don’t push the red button.” Cortland was looking back at Landon from his seat a row ahead. He was referring to the two buttons Landon was eyeing on the arm of his chair. There were two of them, one red and the other yellow; Landon’s finger was dangerously close to the red one. “That’s the emergency eject button. The yellow one activates your safety harnesses, so you can push that whenever you’re ready.”

Landon wondered why no one had told him these things in training yet before cautiously pressing the yellow button. The straps of a five-point harness shot out from the chair, two from above Landon’s shoulders, two from his hip and one jetted up from between his legs. Automatically, they connected at a point around his naval and tightened until he was snugly held in his chair.

A few minutes later, a powerful ding resonated through the cabin as a bright green light switched on overhead. It was time for takeoff. Landon looked over at Peregrine, who still had an anxious look on her face, but now it was paired with a hint of excitement in her eyes.

The feeling Landon experienced as the aircraft began to rise was akin to having his insides jerked down to the base of his stomach—it was less than pleasant. Watching their ascent through the window beside him, he took in the moment as the Alpha Chariot rose out of the Stable and hovered above the Gymnasium for a moment. Landon looked down on his home and reflected on the journey that led him to that point. Just nine months ago, he was sitting in his room dreading his return to high school. Now, he was sitting in an advanced government transport heading to his first mission with the Pantheon. Nine months ago he had no idea he was a psychokinetic; he had no idea what he would become.

As the steel doors on the roof of the Olympic Tower closed, the Alpha Chariot rotated until it was facing a southward direction. Dr. Brighton then put the aircraft into gear and they flew out of the valley into the darkness.