Carrie Vaughn - After the Golden Age

So much of the Captain’s power came from his anger. So often he clung to that anger when he couldn’t see another solution. “You’re no child of mine. No child of mine would do this to me.”

Standing, the Destructor put his arm around Celia’s waist. “This is all very entertaining, but it distracts from the purpose at hand. You’re too late, Captain. I will still bomb this city to oblivion, and you can’t stop me.”

Then the Captain smiled. “Really?”

The Destructor hated that smile. It usually preceded unexpected complications. Nevertheless, he had to move forward. He picked up his remote and pushed the detonator button.

The three of the Olympiad stood side by side, arms crossed, watching him expectantly.

The closed-circuit screens showing a dozen views of the city didn’t change. The bombs didn’t go off. Somehow, the Olympiad had stopped them. Once again, the Destructor’s elegant plan was crumbling to pieces.

The elevator door slid open, and a man wearing a well-tailored suit and a trench coat strolled into the room. The fourth member of the Olympiad, the young Doctor Mentis.

“Found your bombs, if that’s what you’re wondering,” he said amiably in a clipped British accent.

And this was why, no matter how perfect his plans were, they always included an escape route. The Destructor pressed another button. A trapdoor opened behind him, where a chute led to his rocket pod. “This is when I leave you all.”

He brushed the girl away and turned to the door.

She grabbed his arm. “Take me with you.”

“The pod only holds one.”

“But I thought—”

“My dear, your father was right. I only kept you because of the pain it would cause him. Now, good-bye.”

He shouldered her out of his way and disappeared down the chute. Celia, stumbling on her heeled sandals, fell off the dais and sprawled on the floor.

The building’s sprinkler system finally reacted to Spark’s flames and burst into action, raining down on them all. After the Destructor’s sudden departure, the only sound was water hitting the floor.

“Dammit,” the Bullet said, kicking a puddle. “I hate when he does that.”

Mentis joined them. “But the city is safe once again. It’s good enough for me.”

The Golden Thunderbolt’s grimace showed nothing but contempt for Celia. “You could have stopped him! You didn’t know we’d defused the bombs, you thought he was really bombing the city, and you just stood there, you didn’t even try to stop him! What the hell were you thinking ? The only thing left is to lock you away. I don’t know what else to do with you.”

Celia only cried. Hugging her knees, she turned her face away. Her makeup was smearing, black streaks streaming from her eyes.

Captain Olympus growled. The sound grew into a shout. He punched his fist into the air in front of him—and twenty feet away, the Destructor’s control station folded, the steel crumpling like tin foil. Celia screamed and shuffled crablike from the mess.

Arms bent now, the Captain stalked toward her, his face rigid with anger, as if he still faced the Destructor.

Despite the water from the sprinklers, a wall of fire roared up from the floor in front of the Captain. Spark, across the room, guided the flames with her outstretched hands. Tongues of flame licked at Olympus, and heat radiated throughout the room.

“Warren!” Spark shouted.

The flames didn’t hurt Olympus, but they stopped him. He looked at Suzanne. At last, his shoulders sagged and his arms hung loose. Spark let the flames burn out, dropping a few last embers as they died.

Spark—Suzanne—started to run to Celia’s side. “Celia—”

“Don’t touch me!” the girl screamed, scooting away. “Get away from me!” The shout broke down to uncontrollable sobbing.

“God, what are we going to do with her?” Warren muttered.

Mentis put his hands in the pockets of his coat. “Warren, if you want my professional opinion, Celia is not evil. She isn’t even bad, really. She’s only trying to find her own way in the world, and is doing it by getting as far away from you as she possibly can. Let her alone for a time. There’s nothing else you can do, at least not anymore.”

“When, Arthur? When could I have stopped this?”

Mentis’s lips thinned. Flatly, he said, “Ten years ago, when she worshipped the ground you walked on and you didn’t have the time of day for her. Sorry.”

In the end, Celia let Mentis and Robbie approach her. They got her out of the building and took her home, leaving Suzanne and Warren to clean up after the Destructor’s gang. She’d run away from home two months before to join the Destructor. After, she obtained legal emancipation and struck out on her own.

The next time her father spoke to her was when she graduated from college.

It seemed like a long time ago, now. If she threw Bronson a bone, maybe he’d leave her be. Let her do her job. Forget about the whole thing.

“He’s charismatic, but you already know that. He draws people to him, uses them. He’s selfish, morally blind. It’s like people aren’t real to him. They’re just tools, or obstacles. You’ll have to remember that when he talks about other people he’s not really talking about people. And you have to understand that he doesn’t want to conquer, take over the city, or the world, or any of those things. He’s the Destructor for a reason. He just wants to destroy. He wants to see the world burned to ash.”

“Why?”

“I couldn’t say. It was a long time ago and I didn’t really pay attention.”

Some people theorized that he was an alien criminal who took human form and came to Earth to wreak havoc. She could believe it. There’d been so little about him that was human.

“Why did you join him?”

The file called it Stockholm Syndrome, when a kidnapping victim began to sympathize with her abductor. That was true enough, as far as it went. That was the reason that kept her out of jail. But everyone who knew the truth of the matter, knew the whole truth. No reason Bronson shouldn’t as well.

“I did it to piss off my parents,” she said.

“Most kids just take up smoking.”

“Yeah, well. Smoking’ll kill you.”

They had just locked the evidence cabinet and left the conference room when one of Bronson’s aides rushed down the hallway from the lobby. “Mr. Bronson! He’s here—it’s him. He wants to see you, he wouldn’t wait—”

“Who? Who’s here?”

“Captain Olympus!”

Celia’s stomach froze, and she glanced around, looking for a place to hide. Too late, he came through the far door, dressed in his uniform, a black-and-gold skin suit that showed every inch of his supertoned muscles. A crowd of office workers trailed after him, pressing forward to catch a glimpse, grinning with wonder, eyes wide with awe. So, this was all going to happen with an audience. Great.

Square-jawed, frowning magnificently, Olympus pushed past the aide and stared down DA Bronson. “Is it true? You’ve filed charges against him?”

Bronson donned a vacant, smiling mask—his politician expression. “Captain Olympus! Thanks so much for coming! What can I do for you?”

Celia kept to the back, hoping Bronson would hide her.

“If the rumors are true, and you’ve pressed charges without consulting the Olympiad—”

“We had the warrants, we had to act quickly—”

“I’m not sure you understand the gravity of this. He wouldn’t let himself get caught with evidence you could use. He always destroys his plans, his devices, his associates never talk … Celia?” Olympus squinted, peering around Bronson. “Celia, what are you doing here?”