Part 10 (2/2)
”Don't bother,” he said. He pointed at Scryer. ”She can make you tell the truth.”
”I can,” the woman said, slinking across the room. Jack was amazed how s.e.xy a woman could look in such innocuous clothing. ”You told the truth about your ex-girlfriend, didn't you?”
Jack went cold. Such personal thoughts, exposed now for everyone. Scryer may have a lovely smile, but he could see the brutal potential in her ability.
”What do you two do?” Scryer asked.
Gordon and Rosemary answered at the same time. ”I smell bloodlines...” ”Healer...”
”Great powers!” Scryer said. ”I've met lots of healers, of course, but it's still good. You're still special.”
”But I'm not Superior,” Rosemary said. Jack was surprised at the conviction in her voice.
”And why wouldn't you want to be?” Puppeteer asked. ”You do something now you couldn't two years ago, doesn't that make you feel-”
”I'm still a human. Look at you! What was your real name? Paul? Derek? Now you call yourself Puppeteer, like some comic book hero?”
”I've moved on,” Puppeteer said.
”Well, this is intense,” Sparky whispered behind Jack. When Jack glanced around, Sparky and Jenna were standing close, Emily just in front of them.
”We'll be all right,” Jack said.
”So what are outsiders doing in the Toxic City?” Scryer asked.
”Come to find my parents,” Jack said, because it was true. He leaned forward, mouth working as if chewing on air, ready to tell these Superiors the rest of the reason they'd come here. But he swallowed the words and turned away. So long as she gets something true, he thought. Scryer was looking at him strangely, the smile now gone from her eyes. And she knows that...she knows her limits!
”Normals,” Puppeteer sneered. ”Just...humans.”
”'Just'?” Jack asked. So what's my mother? he thought. What's my father? He looked at Rosemary but she would not meet his eyes.
”You're hurt,” Rosemary said to the tall man.
”Someone shot me.”
”Who?” Sparky asked. Puppeteer looked at him as though surprised he could even talk.
”A Chopper patrol, earlier today. We were playing with them, and they opened fire. Perhaps they forgot to have their coffee this morning.”
”Is the bullet still inside?” Rosemary asked.
Puppeteer seemed uncertain about whether to even answer. Jack could see where this was heading; he could also sense the tall man's discomfort.
”Pa.s.sed right through,” Scryer answered for him.
”I can heal it,” Rosemary said, but she made no move. Waiting for permission, Jack thought. It's like Us and Them. Or Us, Them, and The Others.
Puppeteer glanced down at his leg, trousers torn and shoe s.h.i.+ning with fresh blood. He lifted his foot and turned it, wincing slightly as he put his weight on it once again. ”Very well,” he said. ”I'll let you.”
Rosemary knelt at Puppeteer's feet, and it was one of the strangest acts Jack had ever seen. The tall man turned away and stared through the tall, wide window. While Rosemary lifted the trouser leg and bunched it around his knee, exposing the wound so that she could work at it, the man sniffed, hummed to himself, and generally acted as though nothing was happening. His companion sat in one of the large sofas and called Gordon across to her, asking him questions in subdued tones. Jack could not hear what she said, but it was obvious by her continuing smile that the man was giving her the answers she sought. She kept glancing past the Irregular at Jack-none of the others, just him-and he felt the dreadful power of her gaze.
I'd tell her the truth if she just looked at me, he thought. He looked down at his shoes and thought about Lucy-Anne, crying and alone elsewhere in the hotel, or perhaps even out there, shouting her way through strange streets. He should be searching for her. But he knew they would not be allowed to leave.
”What will they do to us?” Emily whispered. She stepped closer to Jack, and he felt the cool angles of her camera against his leg.
”Nothing,” he said. But he could not be certain of that at all. The Superiors pretended not to hear, but he was sure they had.
Rosemary knelt very still, apart from her fingers moving across and through the pouting wound. Jack could not see her face, but he had seen her doing this enough times before to know that it would be blank, cool, and in control. The man's hands hung by his sides, his fingers relaxed. Whatever powers he had were dormant, for now. But Jack could remember that alien sensation of his muscles twitching under someone else's command. Puppeteer, he called himself, and he thought himself Superior. Perhaps soon they would witness the full range of his abilities.
Jack glanced down again and realised that Emily was filming. The shock was cut through with respect for his sister. Clever girl! He looked up again, glancing from one Superior to the other, but he was certain she had not been seen.
He, his sister, and their friends had remained standing, frozen there by the Superiors' strange presence and the power they seemed to exude. But Jack realised that a lot of that effect was produced by their own sudden fears of what the Superiors would be, and what they would look like. It was a name Rosemary had never mentioned, something else she had kept from them, and they could not help letting fear run their imaginations into overdrive. Now, here were the Superiors: strong, aloof, but still very human. Whatever Doomsday had done to their minds and bodies, their humanity was still beyond doubt.
Not monsters, he thought. No more than any other human being that does something inhuman.
So he sat down, making his own choice to not be so entranced that he could not use his own mind. Scryer glanced past Gordon once again, her smile broadening as she looked at Jack, and he felt the stirrings of l.u.s.t. G.o.d, but she was beautiful! Could she enter his mind? Is that how she dragged the truth from him, and others, with every question?
Sparky sat behind him, Jenna and Emily to his left. Emily had to rest the camera on her knees so that it peered above floor level. Jack knew that she would be noticed, eventually, if they had not clocked her already. And he feared for her. But he saw her excitement and delight, and he could share in what she was feeling. Not so Superior, he thought she was thinking. Just people who think they're special enough to bully.
”So you were hounding the Choppers?” Rosemary asked as she worked. Puppeteer looked down in surprise, as if he'd forgotten she was even there.
”Just for fun,” he said.
”You hound them for fun, they come for us Irregulars. We're always easier to catch.”
”Yes, but they only hurt you if we kill some of them.”
”You really believe that?” she said. She stood and looked up into the tall man's face. ”They take us and kill us as and when it pleases them. We're part of a research programme for them, right now. But when you and your Superior friends kill some of them, it becomes more than research. It becomes revenge!”
Puppeteer shrugged. He really did not care.
”Your leg's fixed,” Rosemary said.
The tall man looked down at his leg, the gaping bullet wound now little more than a bruised patch on his skin. ”Pity you can't fix suits. This one was expensive.”
”You bought it?” Jenna asked. Jack drew in a sharp breath, but he also had to hold back a smile. This man's posturing, his arrogance, his disdain for those he saw as beneath him, all reminded him of a bully they'd once had in school. His name had been Kelly, and he'd delighted in throwing around his superior weight and pet-level intellect to hurt those smaller than him. Trouble was, everyone had been smaller than Kelly. At one time or another, virtually everyone in school had a run-in with him, boy or girl, first-year or sixth-year. He'd punched Jack once as he came down a staircase and Jack was walking up, giving him a swollen black eye and a dented pride. Jack, of course, had not struck back.
But every bully meets his match. Six boys caught Kelly after school one day, held him down, and beat him so hard they say he p.i.s.sed blood. The violence shocked Jack, but Kelly seemed to shrink after that, though his rapid weight increase led to his nickname being changed to Bloater. Even Jack had called him that, and to his face as well. Small revenge, but sticks and stones...
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