Ex-Communication Peter Clines (ebook smartphone .TXT) 📖

had been in front of Gorgon’s cross, a memorial to another hero who’d died defending the Mount over a year ago. That meant it was Danielle in the suit.

Danielle Morris had created the Cerberus Battle Armor System for the U.S. military just before the ex-humans appeared. There wasn’t time to train anyone else, so she’d become the suit’s de facto pilot and spent most of the past two and a half years inside it. Like most of the heroes, she’d just come to accept it.

But then they’d discovered another superhuman inside the Mount, a reformed Seventeen named Cesar Mendoza who tried desperately to get people to call him “the Driver.” Cesar could project himself into machinery and possess it, which meant he could use the Cerberus suit just as well as Danielle. And with the fall of Project Krypton the year before, there was even a lieutenant living at the Mount now who’d spent months training to use the battlesuit.

The catch was, Danielle still didn’t trust either of them with it.

St. George considered flying after the titan and talking to her, but he knew they both had other things to do. He turned in the air and looked across the parking lot to the Hart Building. He could see most of it. The guards there were probably waiting for him.

Then he spun and flew to the other side of the Mount.

He landed outside a large, warehouse-like building called Stage Four. The air prickled and St. George felt his hair rise off his scalp. Three years back, when the Mount had been a film studio, they’d shot television shows in Four. Now it was the hub of the new Los Angeles power grid.

Inside Four smelled like a welding shop. At the center of the huge space was a trio of interlocking rings—each wrapped with copper wire—that formed a rough sphere. The whole array resembled a seven-foot gyroscope, but everyone still used the nickname that had come up when it was being built. It was the electric chair.

The brilliant outline of a man, the negative image of a shadow, hovered at the center of the sphere. Arcs of crackling power shot from the gleaming figure to the copper-wrapped rings. St. George had known the other hero long enough to see his friend was staring over at a table dominated by a large flatscreen and a pile of DVDs.

Zzzap didn’t notice St. George’s entrance. He was busy arguing with the television.

Because it’s dumb, that’s why, said Zzzap. The buzz of his voice echoed in the large room. He paused for a moment and then shook his head. Look, being able to run implies a certain degree of physical coordination, which means a specific level of brain activity and consciousness. You can’t be mindless and have brain activity. He waited a few moments, then shook his head again. Well, then just look around. Have you ever seen one run in real life?

The television, St. George noticed, wasn’t turned on.

No, Legion doesn’t count because he’s only sort of mindless—what? The wraith spun inside the circle. Hey, he said to St. George. I didn’t hear you come in.

“Yeah, you seemed kind of busy.”

What? What do you mean?

The hero stared at his friend for a moment, then nodded at the television. “What’s with all that?”

All what?

He gestured at the blank television.

Oh. Nothing. It’s cartoon withdrawal, that’s all.

“Cartoon withdrawal?”

I have a Yu-Gi-Oh! addiction, okay? It’s not pretty, but there it is. I just love the way he talks when he’s the King of Games.

“No, I’m serious.”

Addiction is a serious thing, George. Don’t mock it.

“You’re really determined not to talk about this, aren’t you?”

I’m fine. What’s up?

He drummed his fingers on his thigh. “Are you sure?”

Yeah. Why wouldn’t I be?

He shrugged.

So what’s up?

The hero rocked back and forth on his heels. “I’m cooking dinner tonight. You want to come over?”

You’re cooking?

“Yeah.”

Cooking food?

“Is this hard for you to understand or hard to believe?”

A little of both. The brilliant wraith crossed his arms and leaned back. This isn’t some cheesy superhero thing where you’re going to throw hot dogs in the air and try to cook them with your fire-breath, right?

“If I had hot dogs, I wouldn’t waste them like that.”

Good.

“I’ve pulled in a couple favors. I’ve got two loaves of almost-French bread, a bunch of tomatoes and onions, and some of that homemade pasta the Ashmores are making over at Ren-Mar.”

The stuff that’s like thick fettuccine?

“They’ve gotten better since that first batch. I figure I can make something that passes for Italian food. So take the night off and come over.”

Zzzap looked at him. What’s the occasion?

St. George shrugged. “I just felt like doing something nice with my friends. Is that so wrong?”

Who else is coming?

“You, me, hopefully Danielle.”

Danielle’s coming?

“If I can get her to come out without the armor on, yeah.”

The wraith’s head tilted back to look at the copper-wrapped rings above him. I don’t know, he said. Do you think Stealth’ll be okay with it? With me just taking a night off?

“I already cleared it with her,” said St. George.

Okay, then, yeah, I guess so.

“I really didn’t think I’d have to talk you into eating a meal.”

No, no, I’m in, said Zzzap. Sorry. I’ve been kind of distracted.

“I’ve noticed. You sure everything’s okay?”

Zzzap’s head twitched. Yeah, of course. Stop trying to put your problems off on me.

The hero frowned. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

You think I don’t know what all this care and concern is really about? You’re putting off going to see him, aren’t you?

“Maybe,” he sighed.

You don’t have to go, you know.

“I told him I would,” said St. George. “Hell, I’m the only person he ever sees.”

We’re the only ones who know. Would you want him talking to anyone else?

The room’s proper name—the one taped under one of Stealth’s countless security monitors—was Cell Nine.

The Mount had six solitary cells for prisoners, but none of them got much use since the original South Seventeens gang had collapsed and been absorbed into the general population. There