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Pops led us into a dark, narrow hall, a far cry from the neatly glowing dorm corridors. What might’ve gleamed with bright bronze reflections was now a dull, dented bit of metal. Yellow lights ran the length of the ceiling in small round inlets, casting a weird, brownish glow over the area. One of the lights was burnt out, and another was completely missing, the socket bare.
We headed up the second flight of stairs. The elevator we passed had a piece of yellowed paper with a “DO NOT USE” warning taped across it.
“We’ve been running on minimal repairs,” Pops explained. “We have decent funding, but we haven’t had a chance to resupply and Crush only has so much time to work. He usually monitors the computers for signs of enemy activity.” Pops stopped at a plain bronze door at the top flight of steps. “This is Jim’s office. My room is across the hall.”
Inside, a dusty world globe sat on the corner of an ornate wood desk obscured by various file folders and papers. Books were piled high, their spines haphazardly stacked like a puzzle game. An ancient, faded rug lay beneath the desk, so worn that its vibrant, geometric shapes and numbers were barely distinguishable. Bookshelves surrounded us from floor to ceiling, organized and decorated with models of antique stealth planes and trinkets. A giant arched window graced the far wall, overlooking the night sky, and two red, plush chairs sat opposite the desk, where a reading lamp blanketed the room in a warm glow.
Lance whistled. “That’s a lot of books.”
I nodded my agreement. Behind the desk sat a heavyset man with dark brown skin. He wore small, rectangular reading glasses. Despite his age, there was something in the way he sat that made me think he was more resilient than most elders I’d encountered.
“Jim,” Pops said, “this is Lance, Tim, and Jenna—my granddaughter.”
I shifted uneasily.
“Nice to meet you.” Jim removed his reading glasses and set them beside his book.
The three of us inclined our heads in an indication of respect to an elder. “The honor is ours,” we said. He certainly met the qualifications by Community standards. Come to think of it, I probably should’ve said the respect to Pops, too, but I’d been too distracted by him trying to kidnap me.
Jim gave us a wry smile. “No need for the formalities; they make me feel old.”
“You are old.” Jack leaned against the doorway, one arm craned over his head. He’d changed into worn jeans that weren’t so bloody—though his dark green jacket remained.
“Pops said you were here since the beginning,” Tim said. “How old are you?”
Jim’s eyes sparkled in the reading lamp. “I lived during the pre-Community era, and I was a member of the Super Bureau before the Camaraderie destroyed it.”
I glanced between Pops and Jim. “Super Bureau? I’m guessing you have ‘powers,’ too?”
“Super toughness and telekinesis.” The globe on the corner of Jim’s desk wavered, then eased upward so that it hung in midair. A model of an old space shuttle floated around it, no strings, nothing touching. “Unfortunately, I got hit by one too many cars and my body got stiff.”
Tim’s eyes went wide. “You got hit by cars?”
“I could stop cars with my hands, yes.” The globe rested itself on the books while the shuttle flew to its place on the bookshelf. “It still hurt. The last one I got hit by paralyzed me from the waist down. Super toughness just made it easier for me to survive encounters with the agents of villains like Lord Black and Sanjorez.”
“Lord Black was a noble gentleman, not a... villain,” Tim protested. He held a model of an old biplane to the light, reflections glancing off the peeling paint and plastic. He frowned and carefully replaced the model on the shelf.
Disapproving wrinkles creased at the corner of Jim’s eyes. “Lord Black was the Community’s founder, but he was also the founder of the Camaraderie of Evil. He destroyed multiple democratic societies, and because of him, there are precious few superheroes remaining.”
Tim scowled. “Pre-Community societies were ineffective, corrupt—”
Lance shushed him. “Camaraderie of Evil? Superheroes?”
I took a seat in one of the chairs. We were going to be here a while.
Behind us, Jack snorted. “Superheroes—like comic books. You’ve heard of comic books, right? Video games?”
The three of us exchanged glances. We’d played interactive educational activities on EYEnet, but those weren’t particularly humorous or fun.
“You’ve... you’ve heard of video games, right?” Jack pushed himself from the doorway and gaped at us.
We shook our heads.
Jack grunted. “Pops, I’m telling you—the Community sucks.”
Tim stuffed his hands in his pockets. “The Community is safe, secure, and efficient. It’s not... bad.”
“For those who are not elementals or power users—yes. For those whose genes designate they have powers, the Community is hardly safe,” Jim said. “In order to preserve their status, members of the Camaraderie sort power users into three categories: those they shield, those who are loyal enough to join Special Forces, and—”
“My dad never said anything about powers,” Lance countered, “and my Mom was Special Forces. He would’ve said something.”
“Lance—” I started, and Lance spun around. “Your dad might not have known. Think about the councilor. She didn’t know.”
“He’s the security official for St. Petersburg—how could he not know?”
Jim rested his hands on his stomach. “Depending on their clearance, Special Forces agents are told different stories about how theophrenia works. Some are told powers are a side-effect of theophrenia. Others—including security officials—might never know that the Camaraderie exists behind E-Leadership.”
Lance scowled and sat back in his chair.
“Okay—what exactly is the Camaraderie?” I asked.
Jim motioned to a bookshelf, and a binder lifted from the lower shelf and floated to his desk. “The Camaraderie is a widespread organization that controls approximately a third of the world’s population. It manages the Community and the surrounding territories, but keeps its existence a secret. It consists of four primary council members, whom you know as international E-Leadership, as well as its military and select officials within the Community.
“Before theophrenia, we were unaware of their identities. We thought they were just the founders of EYEnet. Instead, they infiltrated Special Forces, disbanded the Super Bureau, and used EYEnet as a front for their politics. They were backed by Jellyman, whom you know as Lord Black.”
“Jellyman?” Lance raised an eyebrow.
“Us ‘heroes’ got to calling him that for his natural form. He was a shapeshifter whose natural form looked like translucent blue jelly. Figured that out when we took a shield to him and he turned to a pile of goo. But he was also a skilled telepath. He understood politics, and he used that to his advantage.”
“EYEnet is helpful,” Tim interrupted. “They found the cure for theophrenia and made sure it was available to everyone. They were more efficient than the previous government, so the United States citizens called for a change in power.”
“Not quite. Since Lord Black was behind EYEnet, he easily spotted political opposition online and eliminated threats to his rise to power. In addition, his telepathy allowed him to sway voters to his side, and he used shapeshifting to charade as politicians. Between him and the rest of the Camaraderie members, they ousted the Super Bureau and linked our powers to ‘theophrenia.’ The common person—in fear—bought those lies and gave up their freedom in return for the safety of the Community.”
Lance twisted his lips and Tim worried his charm between his fingers. “We’re free enough,” Tim said. “The Community keeps us safe, we’re secure in our careers, and it makes our workflow efficient. That’s hardly evil.”
“You have choices,” Jim agreed. “But those choices are limited.”
“He’s right.” Lance glanced at us from his chair, his chin propped against his knuckles. “We choose from a list they make for us from our test results. Seems like a pretty good way to keep everyone under control.”
“But it’s efficient!” Tim protested.
“Efficient, yes,” Jim said. “However, it limits a person’s potential to grow and become something more than a basic drone.”
“Sounds like theophrenic delusions of grandeur,” Tim grumbled, one hand linked over his light bulb charm.
Jim patted his books. “Theophrenia is not a real disease. Best we can tell, the only ‘true’ form of theophrenia was a telepathic sleeper seed—a mentally planted suggestion that had to be placed by an elite telepath. Not contagious. However, the seed caused its victim to make irrational claims about their powers or act harmfully against themselves and others, thus making them look like threats. The Camaraderie was afraid that those with powers would turn against them, so they claimed their drug—adominogen—could protect against theophrenia, and they use it to suppress powers. Hence why someone’s ‘delusion’ that they have special abilities goes away while they’re taking the pill.”
I crossed my arms. “Okay, so what happens to people who fail the scan?”
A quiet hush settled over the room, and Jim and Jack exchanged glances. The eerie silence paved way to the perpetual tick of the airship’s heaters.
“They’re taken to a transformation facility,” Pops said softly.
“Beastie plant,” Jack corrected him.
“Wait...” I turned to face Jack. “Beasts. You mean with cat-like eyes, pointed ears...”
Jack raised an eyebrow. “How’d you know that?”
I pointed at Tim, who blushed. “He found a security feed of one when he hacked the health network.”
“What are they?” Lance asked.
“They’re subhuman monsters made from people with powers,” Pops explained. “When a person fails the scan, they’re given the choice to join the commander’s army of beasts—though they are not told of the impending transformation—or to join Special Forces, where they learn to use their powers. In some circumstances, they have a shield surgically implanted to block those powers. But the choice is rarely a true one. The Camaraderie employs those with persuasion powers to tip the balance one way or the other, depending on the person’s expected loyalty. Very few can resist.” He glanced at me. “Had you stayed, you would likely have been transformed into a plant beast.”
“Plant beast?” I shuddered. When it came to beasties, I much preferred the image of Sam’s mangy fur ball, Little Beastie, tearing up my garden back home than the image of the creature in the security feed.
Jim telekinetically removed another book from the shelf, opened it to a central page, and then floated it to my lap. This book had crisp white pages and sharp, detailed photographs. I stroked my finger along the caption beside the photo. The image had been taken in a jungle, with thick ferns and tall trees spiraling around the frame. It focused on a vaguely humanoid creature. Thick, woody vines wrapped around its hands, twined across its shoulders, and curled around its collarbone. The vines rested loose against its bare chest. The creature—male—was naked, with pale, green-tinted skin and a thicker brow. Like the beast we’d seen in the security feed, this one had cat-like eyes and pointed ears.
The photograph gave me the chills, and I handed the book to Tim. “I don’t understand what could cause this kind of deformity.”
“A genetic mutation caused by a very specific radiation,” Jim said. “You’ll have to talk to Pops for the details, though. Radiological genetics are beyond my expertise. Regardless, Community citizens and rebels alike are sent to the transformation facilities, where they undergo a brutal process that strips them of their memories, their will, and their humanity. They are the Camaraderie’s foot soldiers.”
Lance shifted uncomfortably in his chair. “What does the Camaraderie need an army for? No offense, but I haven’t seen anything here that a squad of Community guards couldn’t take care of, let alone a good Special Forces team.”
Jack smirked. “Ain’t us they’re worried about.”
With a little fishing, Jim retrieved a map from his desk and motioned to a large chunk of Asia. Bright yellow dots were marked across the continent in strategic clusters.
I frowned. “Commander Rick defeated the Oriental Alliance a long time ago. Everything was converted to Community government.”
Jack grinned. “That’s what he wishes happened. In reality, the OA holds their own.”
“You say they’ve got beast armies, and Special Forces has some pretty advanced tech. They should’ve captured any rogue territory by now,” Lance pointed out.
“Well kids, beasties are only so effective against mechs.” Jack motioned to Jim’s tablet. “You got a picture we can show them?”
“We’ve seen mechs before,” Tim protested.
Jim chuckled and floated a tablet to Lance. “Correct me if I am wrong, but the pictures in your history books were from a few decades ago, correct?” He pointed to the photograph. “That,” he said, “is the modern mech. They were developed in the last fifteen years, and they are now in use.”
“Whoa,” Tim whispered, looking over at the tablet. “Its engine must be really efficient to power something that size.”
“Giant death machines and he’s going on about efficiency,” Jack muttered.
I leaned over the arm of the chair toward them, and Lance got up from his seat to show me. The tablet revealed a gleaming metal contraption that was maybe two stories tall with guns for arms. Smaller creatures were frozen in mid-leap as they clawed at its glass pod. Dirt, mud, and blood coated its metal exterior, and the dent in its side somehow made it look even more threatening.
“Given the amount of 3D rendering the sciences use, that mech could be an image of a prototype that was never actually manufactured,” I said. “Until we see one for ourselves, we can’t know it exists.”
“For crying out loud!” Jack waved his hand at the tablet. “What more evidence do you need?”
I spun in the chair. “You’re contradicting everything we’ve ever known, and you expect us to believe you? Sure, you’ve proven that powers are real. But that proves nothing about the Community’s history. When, exactly, are we going to get to go back? Ever?”
Pops sighed. “Don’t worry, Jenna. If you choose to return to the Community, I won’t stop you. But I want you to have all the information about what could happen if you do. There is a lot out there that you should know, but we can’t tell you everything in one night. Please, bear with us.”
“Fine—one more question. Who are the people behind this so-called Camaraderie?”
“Commander Rick leads the council, and he controls their armies using telepathy and beast mastery,” Jim said. “Lady Black acts as their diplomat. She uses shapeshifting and persuasion to convince her targets that she has favorable terms. Master Matoska is their primary bounty hunter, and he uses psychic tracking and his skill with crossbows to hunt enemies. Lady Winters is their primary telepath, which she uses in conjunction with memory steal to take the information she wants from the people she interrogates. Together, they rule the Community under the guise of benevolent leaders.”
I sat back in the chair. Commander Rick I could understand because of his military prowess. Lady Black I could see because I’d experienced her persuasion firsthand. But I had a hard time picturing Master Matoska as some sort of bounty hunter, though being the head of Conservation and Wildlife did give him the advantage of spending time away from the Community. As for Lady Winters... “How does being the Head of Efficiency relate to interrogating people?”
Jack snorted. “Because she’s ‘efficient’ in her methods.”
Lance squeezed my shoulder. “Special Forces protects the Community,” he whispered, “but what if there’s more to protecting the Community than just security? What if Commander Rick and Lady Black really are the villains, and it’s our job to stop them?”
I didn’t want them to be the bad guys. I wanted world peace and for the Community to be safe. But whether I liked it or not, these rebels didn’t seem to have any reason to lie. I thought back to Chill, who had died protecting me.
I glanced at Jack. He stood in the doorway, scratching his chin, which was covered with thin gashes about a fingers width apart. All those faint silvery scars looked like claw marks.
“Have you ever fought a beast?” I asked.
“Well, yeah. Why would the Camaraderie send Special Forces when they can send a beastie? Beasties are easy to come by. An agent takes time to train.”
I sighed and faced Pops. Exhaustion was setting in from today’s events, and I wanted to talk to Lance and Tim in private. “If you don’t mind... it’s been a long day. Where are we going to sleep?”
“And dinner,” Lance suggested.
Pops took his cane from the wall. “I’ll show you around, and then take you to your quarters so you can rest.”
I glanced at Jim. “Thanks for talking with us. The Community is safe,” I said automatically.
“Unless you have superpowers,” Jim said quietly. He picked his book off the desk, removed the ribbon marker, and resumed reading.
