Trance. Part 9

"So we are rewiring the lamp." Maybe I wasn't dying after all. That would be great.

He nodded. "Over time, your body may adapt, but it also may not. This isn't a cure, just a trial run. You still need to limit your power usage today, until we run our tests."

"I will try, I swear."

"I'll keep an eye on her," Gage said.

I did not need a babysitter. "How's Frost?"

"Still in a coma," Dr. Seward replied. "There's little we can do for her now, except wait and hope."

"Can I see her?"

"Of course."

Janel "Frost" Murphy looked like a ghost against the stark white bedsheets. Her silver hair framed her narrow face in a limp curtain. Deep purple bruises shadowed the skin below her eyes, the only noticeable color on her face. Bandages covered her throat and arms, leaving just a few patches of translucent skin visible.

I shivered and could see my breath in the room. Janel liked cold; the temperature must have been to keep her comfortable. I wanted to hold her hand, but was afraid. Her cold skin would only get me thinking she was dead, and I didn't want to think that way. We needed her.

I remembered the tall, timid twelve-year-old she'd been those last few weeks before being sent to New York. She'd mastered her power over ice by the age of nine, but she resisted using it. She'd given Mellie severe frostbite the year before, when she first heard that her father had been killed in battle. No one blamed her for the accident, but Janel blamed herself. She tried to withdraw from the rest of us. Renee refused to let her. She and I smothered Janel with friendship and understanding, and after a few months, Janel started smiling again. She taught me how to French-braid my hair. And she fought so bravely that day in Central Park.

"We should have protected her," I said.

"We had no way of knowing," Gage replied, standing by my left shoulder. "They got there as fast as they could. She survived this long, Teresa. She'll make it through."

"There has to be a way to stop Specter, to keep him from doing this again."

"And we'll find it. You know that."

"I don't know that." Had that really just come out of my mouth? "I really, truly wish I did, Gage, but I don't. This is the most bizarre situation we've ever been in. We can't track Specter. We can't fight him because he always attacks in someone else's body. So far he's forced us to kill everyone he's possessed. And the minute defenses around Manhattan Island break down, we're royally screwed."

"I know all that, Teresa. It doesn't mean we can't win." Gage tugged my hand and tilted my chin until I looked up at him. "I need you to believe we can win. That you're going to live a long, happy life, and that we'll win."

My stomach quaked. I wanted so much to live a long life, to grow old and crotchety and eccentric. For Gage and Renee and Marco and the others to look back on this moment forty years from now and laugh at our worries. The lovely dream lingered in the shadows of my mind, with distant knowledge that I had some unfulfilled path yet to walk. A path Gage could not follow me down.

"I believe that you believe it," I said. "Can that be enough for now?"

"It'll have to be, I guess."

He didn't like my answer-I saw it in the downturn of his mouth and slant of his eyebrows. Why couldn't I just lie and pretend I believed it? For Gage's sake. He didn't look at me like a prize to be won or body to be conquered. He'd given me friendship and loyalty from the start, and I hated hurting him. He'd had enough hurt in his life without me compounding it-we both had-but I couldn't bring myself to lie. Lying felt like a worse sin than not believing.

"So what do we do now?" I asked.

"That's supposed to be my question, boss," Gage said.

Surprised, I looked up-at the twinkle in his eyes and the broad smile. He was looking at me to lead, even though I couldn't see our path any more clearly than he could. I was chosen-not only by my fellow Rangers, but by something bigger than any of us.

Lucky me.

"Do we have satellite coverage in this place?" I asked.

"In the conference room, I think."

"Good. I want to know what's happening in New York."

"Then, let's go find out."

Twelve.

MetaHuman Control A strange man and woman sat inside the conference room. I tensed, immediately checking their eyes for signs of yellow light. They didn't appear bothered by our arrival; in fact, they seemed to be expecting us.

The woman was older, in her late fifties, with immaculate silver-blond hair that seemed sh.e.l.lacked into place. She wore a plain blue business suit and skirt, and she had a black briefcase on the table in front of her. Her companion, a weasel of a man in an expensive black suit and an unfortunate comb-over, stood up as we entered. He had to be six inches shorter than me (and I'm not very tall) with an air of authority that demanded immediate attention. They made me wish Gage and I were in something other than blue jeans.

"Good morning, Trance," the man said. "Good morning, Cipher. It's good to meet both of you."

I remained partially in front of Gage and didn't move from the door's entrance. "I'd say it's good to meet you, too, only I don't know who you are."

"Direct and suspicious, I like that," the woman said. She had an accent, something of a New England snarl.

"Glad you approve."

Gage's hand squeezed my elbow, and I reined in the sarcasm. These folks had been given permission to come onto the property, so they were potential allies. I just had a thing about unannounced guests who smelled like federal agents.

The gentleman said, "My name is Agent Alexander Grayson. This is my partner, Agent Rita McNally."

Ding, ding, ding! "Let me guess," I said. "MetaHuman Control?"

"Unofficially," McNally said. "The MHC hung up its spurs when the War ended, but we are still ATF, and we're here to help."

"Help? I thought all you people did was monitor us and tell us how we could be doing things better. You don't get your hands dirty."

Grayson puckered his eyebrows. Any patience that previously existed was gone. "The Ranger Corps and the ATF have always worked together to provide a.s.sistance and to further cooperation between your people and the American public. Now that everyone's powers have returned, it seems pertinent to reestablish our working relationship as quickly as possible."

Gage gently pushed me into the room a few more inches. He continued to observe them silently, hopefully checking their vitals for telltale signs.

"You should both be talking to Dr. Seward if you want to get daily progress reports," I said. "I'm not a bureaucrat, nor am I a politician. I'm a Ranger, and I need to be in here doing my job, not a meet-and-greet."

"You're wrong, if you don't think you're a politician," McNally said. "The Ranger Corps presented an image to the American public, one of service and good deeds. That image was tarnished during the War, and if you wish to continue to operate with the support of the government, you'll need to do a little PR work."

"PR?"

"Public relations. Sing a song, do a dance, remind people you're the good guys."

I bristled at her tone. "Sing a song? Our predecessors destroyed New York City, Chicago, Salt Lake City, St. Louis, and Memphis. L.A, too, in case you didn't notice on the flight over the city. Not to mention polluting the Mississippi River, alkalizing the Great Salt Lake, and turning Lake Erie into a cesspool. I don't think a song and dance is going to appease anyone.

"In fact, maybe I was only ten years old, but I recall some Senate hearings where you people starting calling for the Rangers to be disbanded and all members-what was the word? Neutralized?"

The painful memories flooded forth, as if a gate had been opened to the past. The anger and resentment returned, as did the late-night arguments between my father and other adult Rangers. My father had wanted to fight, to stand up to the politicians who saw us as a blight, as no better than the Banes they so desperately tried to stop. The very Banes whom they had, in some ways, helped create. Others wanted us to quit protecting the innocents who called for our extinction.

"It was a different time, Trance," Grayson said.

"Really?" I thought of Cliff; his fear in the truck stop parking lot had been the same. Fear never really changed.

"Yes, and in case you aren't aware, the world is already taking notice of the increased activity here and around Manhattan. A lot of people saw that stunt you pulled yesterday with turning the sky purple-"

"Stunt?" Gage said, making that single word sound like the worst profanity in the universe. "She almost died yesterday, you arrogant b.a.s.t.a.r.d."

Grayson's eyes narrowed. "Irregardless-"

"That's not a word," Gage said.

The older man grunted and turned his frustrated glare onto his companion.

McNally folded her hands on the top of the table, the perfect picture of calm. "Look, the point is that we are not your enemies, but we are also not your friends. My duty is to protect this country and its citizens, and to ensure their continued safety. Powered Banes present a threat to that safety. Rangers running around without guidance or thought to consequences present a threat to that safety."

"No thought to consequences," I repeated, voice a little too high. My hands clenched, fingernails digging into my palms. "You people are truly arrogant, aren't you? Do you know how many of our parents and friends and siblings died trying to defend your precious citizens? All of them." My voice broke, and I swallowed hard. Saying it so bluntly ripped the scab off an unhealed wound. "They sacrificed themselves for you, and for the fifty billion other people on this planet. Remind the public of that. It's not like they could go swimming in Lake Erie before."

"And that's what you'll say when you people pollute another body of water?" Grayson asked. "It was for the greater good, go swim someplace else?"

"What do you expect from us? To get written permission before defending a town or bus or city block?"

"No, just to think about the consequences before you act."

"Such as people dying?"

"Such as cause and effect, Trance. It's taken this country a long time to recover from the destruction of the War, and many are still suffering. Millions remain homeless and unemployed, and violent crime is up in all urban areas."

"Crime overall is up from last year by point six percent," Gage said.

Grayson fell silent, seemingly stunned. I wanted to hug Gage for saving me there, because my utter fury at Grayson had stolen away any chance of a proper response.

"Unemployment was actually lower last year than in the previous six years," Gage continued. "But then you idiots in the government increased the minimum wage again, and suddenly more small businesses can't afford to pay employees. Now they get handouts, instead of your support, and you can't blame that on us. So don't try it."

McNally leaned forward, her attention fixed on Gage. "What about violent crime rates, Cipher?"

"They spiked after the end of the War. The Rangers were gone. The police and military were in turmoil. MHC had their heads up their a.s.ses congratulating themselves on stopping the MetaHuman problem, even though they didn't do s.h.i.t."

Grayson flinched. Gage's attention snapped toward the balding man a moment, then turned back to McNally. His nostrils flared. He was concentrating on more than just the conversation.

"Cipher, how do you know all of this?" McNally asked.

Exactly what I wanted to know. His understanding of current events far exceeded mine, and while I appreciated his knowledge insofar as it shut Grayson up, it made me feel a little stupid. I didn't know enough to hold my own against a pair of federal agents-maybe I wasn't the one who should be leading this unit.

Gage made a rude noise. "I can read, Agent McNally. I was fifteen when we lost our powers. I watched the news and read the feeds and kept track of Congress. I may be a freak, but I'm not an idiot."

Grayson shook his head. "I don't think-"

"Stop it, Alexander," McNally said. "Perhaps we were too quick to judge you, and I apologize."

I bit my lip to keep silent. No kidding danced on the tip of my tongue.

She continued: "Please understand, there is no way to gauge how the public will react to your presence. Every poll taken just this year about the results of the War has the vast majority of responders in favor of the loss of Meta powers, and that is not encouraging. We need you to work with us."

Rita McNally was a straight-talker, and I liked that. I sort of liked her. She seemed to be taking the time to consider our point of view, and she seemed genuinely interested in helping us, rather than tossing around blame like Alexander Grayson. MHC had been Ranger allies for decades prior to the War. Hopefully we could keep that relationship open. Funding was nice.

"We understand that," I said, trying to keep my frustration out of my tone. "But we're not here to parade around and a.s.sure people that we're the heroes. We don't have the luxury or the time. There is one Bane on the loose right now, and he's already killed five of us and critically wounded a sixth. Our energy lies there, and in making sure no one else gets off Manhattan Island."

"Manhattan Island is quite secure," Grayson said.

"You'll excuse me if I don't take your word for it. Is there anything else we can do for you folks today?"

McNally stood up and unlocked her briefcase. "I will be holding a press conference this evening, outside of the headquarters gate, and announcing that the Rangers have been called once again to protect us. I'll do my best to avoid directly commenting on the deaths of your friends, or on the situation in New York, but I need you to be prepared for the backlash the next time you go out in public."

"Are our faces going to be plastered all over the media?"

"If necessary, yes. Costumes and code names only, of course. I will also be making a plea for any Metas in hiding to come forward and identify themselves. Once citizens learn just how outnumbered you are, they may start to panic. We need to increase your numbers."

"No kidding."

I needed to ask Dr. Seward about his progress in locating new Metas, those whose powers hadn't been identified before the end of the War and who were too young to have chosen a side. Or been located and adopted into one or the other, like Gage and Marco. Certainly whatever magic created us in the first place wouldn't give back our powers and then leave us so outnumbered. I hoped.

McNally produced a small business card and placed it on the conference table. "This is my direct contact information, Trance," she said. "Call me if you have questions or need any advice. I was part of MHC for twelve years."

"Thank you," I said. Something else occurred to me, although I hated bringing it up. "Listen, when Specter attacked us in Bakersfield he ... um, there were two people-"

"The bodies have been taken care of."

"Oh. Thanks?"

She nodded.

Grayson stood and left the room without a word. McNally snapped her briefcase closed, picked it up, and strolled toward us. She pa.s.sed Gage, and then paused next to me.

"You remind me of your father," she whispered. "Hinder was a good man. He would have been proud of you." To Gage, she added, "So was your brother."

I gaped at her back as she left the room.

"That was certainly strange," Gage said.

"Strange, but enlightening."