Chapter 170

  “Zane, Zara, Allie, and Bill have decided to take you up on your offer,” Jason said. “The rest are staying.”

  Alexander nodded. “And you?”

  “I’m also staying for now, to look out for the others.” Jason paused. “But, if you’re willing, I’d like to keep the option open if things change.”

  “That’s fine.”

  Zane stepped forward with a grin. “So when do we officially become members of Grimnir?”

  “You don’t,” Alexander said flatly. “Grimnir is giving you an opportunity to work. If you prove trustworthy and reliable, maybe one day there’ll be a chance to join.”

  Zane’s face fell, then brightened. “Oh. Yeah, okay. That makes sense.”

  “And not until you’re at least eighteen.”

  Fuck what the System thought. Alexander would be the judge of when people understood what they were getting into as far as joining Grimnir was concerned.

  Allie raised a hand. “I’m already eighteen. Can I join?”

  Alexander stared at her. “No. You can wait until they’re both eighteen, too.”

  She snorted.

  His gaze shifted to Zara, who was staring at the ground.

  “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Zara,” he said. “Now that you’re not trying to kill me.”

  Her head snapped up, eyes wide. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know who you were, and Zane was—”

  Alexander laughed, cutting her off. “I’m messing with you. I respect you were willing to throw down to protect your brother. That’s what family does. Keep doing it.”

  The tension left her shoulders. Then she looked away. “Can I meet Annie?” The question came out almost as low as a whisper.

  Alexander grinned. “Once she learns I picked up some strays, I don’t think I could keep her away if I tried.”

  Zara brightened noticeably at that.

  Alexander’s expression turned serious. He swept his gaze across the four. “You’re going to have to sign contracts. There will be rules. Nothing bad. The goal is to protect everyone involved, and some things will be optional.” He pointed at Zara. “But you will be required to undergo additional training to master your powers. You’ll be living on a space station, and uncontrolled power usage won’t be tolerated. Can you accept that?”

  “Yes.” Zara’s voice was firm despite the lingering awkwardness. “I always wanted powers. I’ll take any help I can get.”

  “Good.”

  “If we don’t like the deal, what then?” Allie asked.

  “That’s a good question. If you want to return for any reason, I’ll arrange it. No hard feelings.”

  She nodded.

  “I’ve still got work to do here in New York,” Alexander continued. “So you have two options. I can send you to Astra Omnia now, and you get a little mini-vacation. Or you can hang out here, and I’ll pick you up in forty-five hours or so.”

  Zane, Zara, and Allie all started talking at once, voices overlapping in excitement about Astra Omnia.

  “Uh, Mr. Machine God?”

  Alexander turned to Bill. “No.”

  Bill blinked. “What?”

  “Just Alexander. Alex. Or Mr. Rooke if you prefer.”

  “Mr. Rooke, sir.” Bill hesitated. “We can’t afford to stay on Astra Omnia.”

  The other three suddenly fell quiet, realization dawning on their faces.

  Alexander raised an eyebrow. “I’ll cover it. Consider it an early sign-on bonus.”

  Zane and Zara cheered, the latter actually hopping in place. Allie grinned.

  Alexander pulled up the System’s interface with a thought and called the number attached to his black card.

  A few seconds later, a doorway appeared out of thin air.

  “Holy shit,” someone muttered from behind him.

  The door opened, and a woman in a maroon suit and top hat stepped through. She removed her hat and bowed deeply. “Mr. Rooke. It is a pleasure to see you again.”

  She straightened, replacing her hat, and took in the scene without comment.

  “How may I be of service?”

  “I’m sending these four to Astra Omnia. I need you to arrange accommodations and look out for them on my behalf.” He flicked a finger in her direction, transferring twenty thousand credits with a thought. “Five thousand each should cover their needs for a couple of days. I’ll leave it with you.”

  The concierge dipped her head in acknowledgment. “Of course, Mr. Rooke.”

  Alexander turned back to the four. “Accommodations and hotel service are on me. The five grand is yours to spend, but it stays in the concierge’s care. Anything left over after two days is your sign-on bonus.”

  They shared excited looks with each other.

  “This way, if you please,” the concierge said, gesturing to the doorway.

  “Before you go,” Alexander said, voice sharp enough to stop them. “Be warned. Astra Omnia has rules. The concierge will tell you what they are. The station also has dangerous people. Those rules ensure a minimum level of civility most of the time, but I suggest you treat everyone with respect, regardless. There are people on that station that even I would hesitate to offend. Understood?”

  All four murmured agreement.

  Zane went through first, followed by Allie. Zara glanced back once before stepping through. Bill was last, giving Alexander a quick nod.

  Alexander was a little surprised at how quickly Bill had turned respectful, almost deferential.

  The concierge bowed one final time, then followed them through. The door closed and vanished.

  Alexander turned back to the others. He studied Trent and Jason for a moment, then pulled up the System interface and shared his contact information with both of them.

  They both reacted, subtle shifts in posture as the notification appeared in their vision.

  “Well,” Alexander said. “Now it’s time for awkward farewells.”

  Trent chuckled.

  Jason met his eyes. “Thank you, Alexander. I’m glad Zane and Zara met you.”

  Alexander smiled and walked over, offering his hand. Trent shook it first, grip firm. Then Jason, who did the same.

  “I’m going to give you some unsolicited advice,” Alexander said, looking at Trent. “I’m guessing you’re just one of your guild’s leaders based on what you said.”

  “Yeah, seven of us,” Trent confirmed. “We’re going to rotate who’s primary each month.”

  Alexander glanced up at the night sky, organizing his thoughts. “That might work. You seem like decent enough people, but I can tell you’re not going to be heroes.” He shrugged. “Nothing wrong with that, just don’t let being supervillains or even just superhumans go to your head. It’s insidious. You need to remind yourself daily who you are, where you come from, and what you stand for.”

  Trent nodded. “I hear that. We got a few guys that think they’re big shit now they got powers.”

  Alexander met his eyes with understanding. Then he glanced at Jason. “Both of you should keep an eye on the news, too.”

  “Why?” Jason asked.

  Alexander flexed his power and rose slowly into the air. Above him, Droney was already organizing the other drones, sending them ahead to map the return route.

  “You can ignore the news about me over the next few days. That’ll just be me having some fun.” Alexander shook his head. “But over the next month or two, Grimnir will share some secrets with everyone. Things the UEG and AEGIS are hiding. The kind of information that will change the world. You won’t want to miss it.”

  Then, without waiting for their questions, Alexander surged upward into the night sky.

  He chuckled to himself as he leveled out and oriented back toward Manhattan. Making a dramatic and ominous exit was pretty entertaining.

  ***

  Global Oversight and Liaison Directorate Regional Director Priscilla Gant stood at the reinforced window of her office, one hundred and twelve stories above the Panama Canal.

  The glass was thick enough to stop a tank round. The tower itself could even withstand a direct strike from some Tier 3 threats. Every floor of the Administrative Complex had been built to contain and to project the unassailable authority of GOLD’s only sovereign territory.

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  Below, the city sprawled in controlled grids. Security sweeps moved through the eastern districts in their morning patterns. Hover transports drifted between buildings, scanners active, sensors tracking every thermal signature, every metabolic anomaly. The surveillance net never stopped. Six years of constant monitoring, and the bastard still hid somewhere in those streets.

  The Blood Incident had claimed one hundred seventy-three thousand lives. The infection had spread exponentially in the first seventy-two hours. A new superhuman, powers manifesting as true vampirism with the ability to convert others through blood contact. By the time AEGIS mobilized a full response, entire neighborhoods had turned. The containment protocols had been brutal. Precision gave way to scorched earth when the spread accelerated beyond control. Superheroes had burned through districts. AEGIS kill teams had executed anyone showing symptoms.

  Some of the dead had been infected. Most had simply been in the wrong place when the hammer came down.

  Necessary, the reports had concluded. The alternative would have been worse. She believed that. Had to believe it, given what followed.

  The vampire was still alive. Intelligence confirmed it. Precognitive tracking placed him within or around the city with ninety-seven percent certainty. Every attempt to narrow the location failed.

  Six years of perfect surveillance, metabolic scanners on every corner, blood screening at every checkpoint, and he continued to evade capture. No new infections had occurred since the containment, which meant he was either feeding on animals or controlling himself with extraordinary discipline.

  Assuming he needed to feed. Their understanding of his powers, their limitations, and potential was minimal.

  Either way, he was here. Hiding among three million people living under permanent lockdown.

  AEGIS had classified the man as Redacted. A designation that GOLD permitted, but did not officially acknowledge. It was part of a complex dance between their organization and the United Earth Government.

  The Executor maintained that contradiction personally, for reasons explained to no one. Thus redaction remained stuck in bureaucratic limbo, alongside many other strange decisions.

  He was the only person in the galaxy she answered to now, the singular authority above every Regional Director and every policy on the subject of the superhuman. Some said the only authority the Executor answered to was God.

  Priscilla kept her doubts about that to herself. She knew better than to question his peculiarities.

  Even thinking about it carried risks, despite the grand heights at which she now stood.

  Her predecessor had run the Americas Directorate from Washington. Safe and traditional, though removed from the actual work of maintaining order. The man had been competent, but he had operated from comfort while this city bled.

  When Priscilla was promoted to Regional Director, she had relocated headquarters immediately. She refused to shy away from the dangers of her duty.

  GOLD’s authority over the Western Hemisphere had been forged here. This was where oversight became sovereignty, where regulation transformed into absolute control. Running from that truth was a weakness.

  The canal flowed far below, ships moving through the locks in steady procession. Fewer than in decades past. Hover transports had diminished the waterway’s stranglehold on global trade, rendering it more symbolic than critical. But symbols mattered.

  The Administrative Complex rose beside the canal not because the route was vital, but because this location represented what GOLD had become.

  AEGIS had taken emergency control after the Incident. Quarantine became long-term containment, then interim government. The transition to full GOLD sovereignty had followed naturally. Too naturally, perhaps, but the member nations of the UEG had signed off on it. They needed the protection. They feared what superhumans could do to infrastructure, to populations, to stability, but, most importantly to them, to their reelection chances.

  Panama had been the proof of concept.

  One superhuman with the wrong powers could kill hundreds of thousands. Could require responses that killed thousands more. Someone had to have the authority to act without hesitation, without bureaucratic delay, without concern for sovereignty or rights or any other obstacle that might slow the necessary action.

  GOLD had accepted that burden. This city was a monument to their commitment.

  A soft knock on her door broke the silence. Hesitant, almost timid.

  Priscilla turned from the window. Her office reflected her position. Pristine hardwood floors, furniture worth more than some people earned in a year, displays integrated seamlessly into surfaces of polished stone.

  She had expensive tastes and the authority to indulge them.

  There was nothing wrong with that. Comfort was a tool, a reward and a privilege of power. The danger came when you allowed it to control you. When fear of losing luxury made you soft. When you chose the safe office over the necessary one because you valued your comfort more than your duty.

  That was a weakness. And she had no patience for weakness.

  The morning briefing waited on her desk. Nothing new on the vampire. Another night of negative results from the sensor grid. She would review it later, along with the sixteen other ongoing situations across her territory. None of them approaching a true crisis level.

  Standard superhuman incidents, guild conflicts, corporate overreach, villain predictions.

  All manageable.

  “Enter.”

  The door opened. A diminutive woman entered, tablet clutched in both hands. One of the junior analysts from the precognitive monitoring division. Priscilla didn’t bother remembering her name.

  “Director Gant,” the woman said, voice tight. “There’s been an extreme spike in probability numbers for a high-priority event.”

  “Which one?”

  The analyst glanced at her tablet. “The release of confidential and strictly controlled information pertaining to ECE 1.”

  Earth Cataclysm Event 1. The prophecy that had consumed more resources and attention for the past seven years than everything else combined.

  Priscilla crossed her arms. “When and who?”

  The analyst’s fingers moved across the display. “High uncertainty about when. Could be as soon as tomorrow, or six months from now.” She scrolled further. “The precogs are reporting high uncertainty about who, too. They appear to be conflicted, actually.”

  “Explain.”

  “Several argue that the Devil’s Child is intentionally obfuscating events or will be responsible for orchestrating them.” The analyst paused. “As you know, since his defection, he has been actively interfering with predictions surrounding the Eight.”

  Priscilla’s jaw tightened. The Devil’s Child. A ridiculous name for the defector who had killed her predecessor. A death that had been too merciful for the scope of the man’s failures.

  She forced a neutral expression. “Who else?”

  “The Royals are a high—”

  “No.” Priscilla cut her off. “They know better. There are lines they are not foolish enough to cross. We barely tolerate them as it is, and only because their actions align with certain minority factions within the UEG. And I suppose the tiny issue of their partners and subsequent galactic legal recognition. They won’t risk their plans and years of building up operations this close to the end.”

  The analyst nodded quickly. “Of course, ma’am. Next on the list is Grimnir.”

  Priscilla raised an eyebrow. “Really?”

  The analyst glanced up from the tablet, then back down to reconfirm. “Uh, yes, ma’am?”

  Priscilla turned back to the window. Grimnir. She remembered the day. The ruined storefront in Argentum. Talia Kim’s investigation into an escaped corporate Redacted. A nobody. Priscilla had held the woman’s future in her hands and permitted her little pursuit.

  She’d feared for her own career when Kim turned traitor, feared the Executor would see it as her personal failure.

  Nothing had come of it. Instead, Priscilla received a promotion a month later.

  Then that nobody had announced himself as the Machine God. One of the Eight.

  And now the precognitive department was linking them to a breach in ECE 1 suppression protocols, but rating them at a lower probability than the Royals?

  Ridiculous. Incompetence at every turn.

  The analyst continued behind her. “There are more, though the probabilities decrease rapidly. A few agitator groups from the Middle East. A few supervillain guilds in Europe.”

  Priscilla waved a hand dismissively. “Insignificant.”

  “There’s one more, ma’am. The Throne of Scales is listed. The probability is vanishingly small, but somehow they’re on the list. It might be an error?”

  “Thank you for reporting this.” Priscilla turned back and smiled, all teeth. “Leave the tablet and report for memory alteration immediately. The entire department.”

  The analyst paled. She nodded and stepped forward, placed the tablet on the desk, and left without another word. The door closed behind her with a soft click.

  Priscilla sat down, sliding the tablet toward her. The detailed report opened across the display. Event classification, probability matrices, precognitive witness statements, predicted timelines.

  She began reading.

  Her eyes immediately caught on the designation.

  ECE 1. Earth Cataclysm Event 1.

  She should focus on the probability spike and what it might change. But the weight of those three characters pulled her attention elsewhere. Seven years of this. Ever since the first superhuman with a power that cursed them with sight into the future.

  Seven years of watching humanity’s natural drive to explore the stars twist into something else. A calculated exodus disguised as colonial expansion.

  The numbers were burned into her memory. Over three hundred million on Luna now, living within the domed megacities sprawling across the surface. Two hundred plus million on Mars, the revitalization project consuming resources and people in equal measure. Colony worlds approaching a billion residents after thirty years of migration, dozens of alien planets transformed into humanity’s insurance policy. More than a hundred million in orbital habitats, supporting the local infrastructure of a spacefaring civilization.

  Almost two billion secured. Against over eight billion still on Earth.

  Nineteen percent saved. Eighty-one percent... remained.

  The math was brutal. They simply didn’t have the time or the infrastructure. Even accomplishing what they had was a miracle, achieved only through having every advanced nation on Earth cooperating to develop and expand space construction, the UEG begging, borrowing, buying, and even sometimes stealing any transport and FTL-capable ship they could from their galactic neighbors.

  Not to mention the hundreds of superhumans with transportation powers. Teleportation. Portals. Fixed gateways.

  Current evacuation capacity ran at roughly one hundred fifty million per year. A measly four hundred thousand a day. Skilled laborers. Lottery winners. Corporate and government programs. Natural migratory demand. And with less than twelve months remaining, they might move another hundred million.

  Against eight billion, it was nothing.

  Priscilla’s jaw tightened. Most of her fellow leaders had taken up colony posts over the past two years. Permanent assignments disguised as temporary oversight. But it was all just careful language and flowery justification.

  They’d earned their positions through part luck, part hard work, much like herself. They’d been part of the rapid expansion and demand for global oversight and a need to police the growing superhuman population, and then the need to save humanity from an end that every superhuman with the sight could see.

  Even despite not being able to predict a man’s breakfast with complete certainty.

  She scowled. Regardless of the demand, of the need for continuity of government and oversight amongst the colony worlds, they had fled. Fled to safety while calling it duty.

  They were cowards. Every single one of them.

  Weak.

  The Executor would stay. She knew that with a certainty that bordered on faith.

  GOLD. STEPS. AEGIS. They were his achievements. Their need a part of his vision of the future, brought into existence through a single man’s will.

  He had remained throughout the entire exodus, managing the conspiracy from his own bastion of power. Not even she knew where it was. It mattered little, though. If the supreme authority over all superhuman affairs wasn’t fleeing, then neither would she.

  Panama was her seat of power. She was ready.

  Priscilla had clawed her way to the top, and nothing would make her abdicate now. She might not rise with the first of them. The Eight. Divines prophesied to shape an era.

  But she would witness the trail blazed. See how superhuman became something more.

  Then she’d walk the path herself.

  The architects of humanity’s future couldn’t be random. Couldn’t be lottery winners. Couldn’t be cowards with no concept of what it meant to stand strong in the face of the inevitable.

  Couldn’t be children flailing against order and authority. Nor even the so-called champions of justice.

  No, it had to be someone with vision. Someone who could understand the big picture. A leader who could inspire others to see the truth. Someone who knew that survival required sacrifice.

  And sacrifices.

  It was necessary. She believed that.

  It was also evil. She knew that.

  History would judge them.

  If history survived.

  Priscilla glanced back down at the tablet. Grimnir were behind the probability spike. She would entertain no other possibility. The others were unimportant. Incompetent or weak.

  Or too good-natured and simply incapable of performing such cold calculus. Releasing the news would cause panic. Riots. Global deaths in the hundreds of thousands, if not millions.

  And yet, out of the chaos would come… survivors.

  Priscilla hummed to herself as she weighed her options.

  Allocate resources to stop Grimnir…

  Or watch it unfold.

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