Carrie Vaughn - After the Golden Age

By then, the limo had stopped near the private elevators. Michael, the chauffeur, opened their door. Warren wasn’t so angry that he didn’t nod a greeting at the driver. Celia pulled her bag over her shoulder as she climbed out—then Warren took it from her. She resisted an urge to grab it back.

“I can get that, you know,” she said. “I’m not an invalid.”

He ignored her.

They began another silent elevator ride.

I should say something, Celia thought. She really almost died this time. She should stop being angry at him.

“I’m sorry,” she said softly. It was all she could think of.

“For what?” He glanced at her sidelong.

She shook her head and scuffed a shoe on the carpet, feeling like a teenager all over again. “I don’t know. For everything.”

“Oh. Right.” Now he looked down. Was that him scuffing the toe of his Italian leather shoe? “Your testimony the other day … I know you took a lot of flak for it. But you did good. You held up. I thought you should know.”

She stared. “Why tell me this?”

“Can’t I give my daughter a compliment?”

“You never have before.”

“Yes, I have.”

“When?”

He didn’t answer—couldn’t. They hadn’t had a civil conversation in years.

This clinched it, though. She couldn’t accept a compliment any more than he could accept an apology.

“I’m sure I have,” he said finally. “I’ll ask your mother, she’ll know.”

The elevator opened up at the penthouse.

Suzanne came to Celia to give her a hug. She drew back to touch the bandage on her forehead. “How are you? Does it still hurt?”

“I’m fine. The doctors gave me some of the good stuff. If it gets bad I’ll take a pill and sleep for a while.”

“Do you want something to drink? Juice, water?”

“I’m fine, really.”

Suzanne looked at her, like all she really wanted was to be able to do something for Celia.

Celia repressed a big sigh. “Some breakfast would be nice. I skipped the hospital food.”

Suzanne greeted Warren with a kiss, and he bear-hugged her back until she laughed. He didn’t ask her about any compliments he’d given Celia.

Over a meal of French toast, Celia’s parents gave her the updates. Mentis was at City Hall, trying to see the mayor, both to speak to him on behalf of the Olympiad, and to read what he could of his mind. If Paulson really was up to something, Mentis would learn it—assuming the telepath could get close to him. Robbie was trying to find the city’s other vigilantes, so they could coordinate their activities. At least she wouldn’t be subject to surveillance duty anymore.

Since cultural activities and events in the near future were canceled, they couldn’t guess what the conspirators’ next target would be. The Sito trial jury was still deliberating—Paulson couldn’t cancel that. It seemed as likely a target as anything. Warren and Suzanne would stake out the courthouse, just in case something happened—and to be on hand when a verdict was reached. “I just smell trouble,” Warren said, more than once.

“Are you sure you’ll be okay alone?” Suzanne asked.

Celia nodded. “I’ll call security if I need anything, or I don’t feel well. You need to be out there.”

An hour later, Celia had the place to herself. And she had her own work to do.

She tapped in the code and pressed her thumb to the scanner on the security panel outside the Olympiad’s command room. It hummed warmly against her skin, and the door slid open.

The Olympiad’s analytical mainframe was almost magical. You poured information in, and patterns emerged. Connections became clear. A mass of raw data became a conspiracy. Like her father, the computer found conspiracies everywhere.

She had gone far past tracking Sito’s assets. She wanted to know what had happened at that laboratory. She had questions for the computer, starting with the dead-ends her own inquiries had led her to. First, what could possibly be done with the raw materials and equipment listed on the Leyden labs’ requisition forms and asset reports?

Second, what had happened to the personnel? Had any of them been involved with Sito and his activities as the Destructor? Could any of them still be involved? If Sito was organizing events despite being in custody, and he did have a connection to the outside somehow, this might show how.

One after the other, she lay the pages on the scanner bed, and watched the information transform into glowing pixels. She went to the computer and typed in a search command. It took some doing—the database was immense. The search engine kept asking her to narrow her focus. It finally steered her into a specific category: scientific and inventions.

The search itself took hardly any time at all.

RESULT: 89% (+ or − 4% margin of error) of materials and equipment list entered matches list of materials found at the laboratory of Simon Sito (aka the Destructor) involved in the creation and testing of the machine known as the Psychostasis Device.

When Sito kidnapped her when she was sixteen, he’d tried using the machine on her. They all thought the Psychostasis Device was a new invention. But what if he’d created it fifty years ago? If the computer was right, he’d been experimenting with mental manipulation under her grandfather’s sponsorship.

Then there’d been an accident. What had happened?

She scanned in the list of names from the personnel records.

The computer’s search results weren’t as quick or thorough this time. A few of the names still came up with blanks. The names that hit, though, hit big.

OLYMPIAD PERSONNEL FILES: CLASSIFIED. HISTORIES, NEXT OF KIN, ETC.

Jacob West, President, West Corp: son, Warren West (aka Captain Olympus)

Anna Riley, stenographer, West Corp, Leyden Industrial Park: daughter, Suzanne (Riley) West (aka Spark)

George Denton, machinist, West Corp, Leyden Industrial Park: son, Robert “Robbie” Denton (aka the Bullet)

Emily Newman, technician, West Corp, Leyden Industrial Park: son, Arthur Mentis. (Note: Emily Newman immigrated to London where she met her husband, Nicholas Mentis. Arthur Mentis came to Commerce City for medical training.)

Four out of twelve of those present at the accident had children who were superhuman. Then what about Analise’s parents? Breezeway’s? Barry Quinn’s? Any of the other superhumans? Their grandparents?

In her father’s world, coincidence didn’t exist. It couldn’t exist. All that remained then was finding the strands that connected various parts of the web. One strand showed thick and obvious.

If Simon Sito fathered a child, was that child superhuman? Was that child Paulson? If so, what could Paulson do? Or was he like her—a dud?

“I’d have thought you’d be resting.” Dr. Mentis stood in the doorway. “You’re still injured, even if you don’t want to admit it.”

Her face burned in a panicked flush. Quickly, she shut down the computer file. She hadn’t heard Arthur enter the room. She’d been too wrapped up. Or he moved too quietly. Or he’d convinced her mind that she didn’t hear him. Paranoid, paranoid …

Either in response to his suggestion, or her own shock, a headache launched itself through her skull. The stitches on her cut throbbed; she could feel them.

“I had a couple of things to look up.” She had no reason to feel guilty. She’d been invited here.

“What have you found?”

The source of all your power. “I’m still not sure. I’ve been digging into Sito’s assets for DA Bronson, but I’ve opened a couple cans of worms.”

“I’d have thought that would have been old news by now. We have more urgent questions, don’t you think?”