CHAPTER 5
“Secret Agent Man” —Johnny Rivers
Michael was being housed in a decent, if generic, midtown hotel while going through “evaluation.” At the end of the workday Alexander, who had grown notably cooler, turned him over to two decent enough federal marshals who got him dinner, a good hamburger, conveyed him to the hotel, then parked outside his door.
“Your gear from Baltimore has already been delivered,” Marshal Simpson said. “Anything we can get you before you tuck in?”
“A Razer 15 with i9 Twelve Nine Hundred H core, Nvidia RTX 3080 Ti, 32 gigabyte DDR5 and a one-terabyte optical drive?” Michael asked.
“I was thinking something more like a water,” the marshal replied. “Ice?”
“A kid can hope,” Michael said. “Nah, I’m fine. ’Night.”
“’Night.”
When he’d been shot in Baltimore, he was carrying both his pad and his phone. They’d ended up as riddled with bullets as he was.
The phone had been replaced with the latest Samsung, apparently courtesy of the federal government. The pad not so much.
He really, really hoped that it was just junked. No, that might not be good, either.
He considered the phone, looked at the door where two federal marshals were presumably standing, muttered “Fuck it,” and dialed the emergency number, hoping against hope someone would pick up. He clicked the temperature down on the air conditioner. As hoped, it rattled obnoxiously. While the phone started ringing, he turned on the TV, cranked up the volume, and twisted it to face more toward the door.
“Four-one-four-five.”
Michael hustled to the bathroom and left the door barely cracked open.
“Mountain Tiger. Code Aspirin Fly Trap Cigar 4144868 Delta. God is building an army.”
There was a series of clicks.
“Mountain Tiger, Celsius Twenty-two. Welcome back. Glad you survived. Again.”
Michael had no idea who Celsius 22 really was or why that code name.
Gondola didn’t exist. Its physical presence was worldwide, covered by dozens of different front organizations. But the members, who also did not exist, were all online and shared three common features: they were the hacker elite, they were willing to volunteer their time, and they were willing to die to save others.
Michael was a Level 6, just barely above the paid contractors who were occasionally used for cybersecurity or hacking at Level 7. He’d been offered promotion a couple of times, but with his studies and the vagaries of the ghetto, he really couldn’t put in enough time.
Despite that, he’d been in the network long enough that he knew most of the big bosses and they mostly knew him by code name. He’d even talked to the Faerie Queen. More than once.
“Is this clear?” Michael asked, glancing through the crack at the front door again.
“You’d have gotten a ‘this number is not in service’ if it wasn’t,” Celsius 22 replied.
“I was briefed,” Michael said. Never paranoid enough, he searched the bathroom for any sign of monitoring devices. Gondola would probably know about them before he did, but he still wanted to do his due diligence. “I just never had to use it.”
“It’s good enough for a quick chat,” Celsius said. “How are you doing, superhero? My man is a superhero! Whoot!”
“Regenerative healing is fucking awesome, I’ll tell you that,” Michael replied, opening the mirror. “I’ve got all my lung tissue back. But my teeth are starting to come back in and it’s playing hell with my plate. Business first. I’m worried about my phone and pad. I don’t know what they did with them.”
“Evidence in your shooting,” Celsius said. “According to Titanium, they briefly disappeared from the evidence locker and spent a few seconds in a microwave. Not long enough to be noticeable, long enough the codes are gone.”
Michael breathed a sigh of relief. He glanced at the front door again and then sat on the closed toilet.
“In that case, so far I haven’t met any of the other kids or even most of the supers,” Michael said. “The supers come and go on patrol or whatever and the kids only come in for patrol, right? So, no inside scoops, yet.”
“I’ll give you one but it’s not about Earthers,” Celsius said. “Talked to one of the Vishnu Flyers doing an op. That thing you were talking about with your handler about clothes blowing off. It’s a real thing.”
Rather than being pissed that they had listened in on the conversation, he was warmed that they had. His only friends in the world still needed him and still cared.
When you worked for Gondola, you lived in a fishbowl. Gondola was secret. Anything above your clearance you didn’t ask. You had no secrets and neither did the world. It wasn’t the NSA that was watching; it was Michael and an unknown but large number of other hackers dedicated to preventing nuclear war, rescuing kids from trafficking, keeping The Society from destroying everything, keeping the often poorly maintained lash-up called the power grid and the internet running and generally making the world a better place.
Most of Gondola’s members were not like Michael. They were not survivors. One member who was caught in an earthquake didn’t even know how to use a manual can opener.
They were people, often very financially successful, who mostly worked a full-time job, often in IT, then went home at night, put on their cape, and went out on the internet to be superheroes in secret.
But most of them were lost without delivery service. Another reason to keep The Society from destroying the world.
“Thought so,” Michael said. “I wish I’d delved into the super databases more. Except for what you needed to know for ops, didn’t seem worth it. Vishnu are cool. Corps is about as fucked up as I expected. It’s a Society op. It’s going to be screwed up.”
“Well, what files we have are there when you get some electronics again,” Celsius said.
“You have my thanks,” Michael said. “Is there anything on Vishnu training methods?”
Now that he’d finally gotten in touch with Gondola, his next biggest frustration was the inability to train with his powers in any meaningful way without risking nearby destruction or possibly injury to himself. The Department of Supers’ releasable—even to him—knowledge of Earth powers essentially ended at “they move Earth and stuff.”
“No,” Celsius said. “I asked about that once. It’s classified above our level.”
“Damn,” Michael said. “Freaking Nebraska Killer is general background, but how the Vishnu do it is classified? Figures. I’m hoping I can get cleared. I want to train these powers. But figures we’d at least have it.”
“Obviously,” Celsius said. “If there’s a secret, we own it. Titanium’s coming in. Maybe ask her?”
“Welcome back, Tiger,” Titanium said.
“Heyo, Bossmang,” Michael said.
Calling Titanium Asteroid, whose Tetum accent bespoke Indonesian background, “bossmang” was misgendering but he’d picked it up from one of his favorite sci-fi TV shows.
“You know how much we work with the Vishnu,” Titanium said.
“Yes, ma’am.”
“How they accrue powers you’d have probably learned if you’d taken some of the promotion offers.”
“Busy, busy, ma’am.”
“You’re going to be on with the Queen as soon as she gets free,” Titanium continued. “Discussion, whether we can read you in.”
“Roger, ma’am,” Michael said. “I’m in a moral quandary on it. It seems like using the network for personal benefit.”
“Powers, used properly, benefit the world,” Titanium said. “That’s not the issue. The issue is that we didn’t steal the information so it’s not, technically, ours to give away. The Vishnu must clear it and you know how much they hate American supers and the Corps.”
“Understood,” Michael said. “I’m in Society Central here, ma’am. New York is ground zero in the US, and the Corps is literally one of their creations. Am I going to be able to continue to work with the network?”
“Once you get turned back over to foster care, you’ll be clear enough,” Titanium said. “Faerie Queen coming in.”
“Welcome back, Mountain Tiger. Glad you survived.”
The Faerie Queen’s voice was distorted and deliberately had a Russian accent added to it.
Nobody below Level 3 even knew the Faerie Queen’s real nationality much less identity. When you had more contracts on you than the POTUS, invisibility was your best option. The last running estimate Michael had seen of bounties on the Faerie Queen ran over a half a billion euros. Since most hits cost less than an inexpensive used car, that was a lot.
And nobody who knew about the Faerie Queen believed he was a she. Every world leader was sure, absolutely sure, that the leader of an organization like Gondola could not be a woman. Especially given how ruthless she was to enemies. Even female world leaders were sure “she” was a he. Angela Merkel had once told the Faerie Queen to “drop the act.” She was constantly being “identified” as various males.
Over the time that Michael had been with Gondola, she had been variously “positively identified” as a ninety-year-old Russian in Siberia, a Chinese businessman, a wine farmer in Italy, and the prime minister of Great Britain.
Michael knew for a fact that last one was wrong. He’d been the Gondola on-call economics advisor to the prime minister for six miserable months at one point and that Society-installed moron could barely tie his own shoes.
Most of the rest were dead and as it turned out most were people who had come to the Faerie Queen’s negative attention. Pedophiles and child traffickers mostly. Why pay for shooters when your enemies will do the job for you?
“Glad to be back, ma’am,” Michael answered.
“I introduce Hayagriva, Lord of Time, to discuss Vishnu training,” the Faerie Queen said.
“Mountain Tiger, namaste,” Hayagriva said.
“Namaste, Lord of Time,” Michael said, gulping.
Dr. Shyam Patel, Hayagriva, Lord of Time, was one of the oldest and most renowned supers on Earth. Leader of the Vishnu Council of Masters, calling him a “speedster” was a base insult. The man was known to be able to cross the planet in a few minutes, somehow using time dilation powers to do what only gaters could normally do.
The Vishnu did not, normally, speak to mortals. They might do so in human form with an often not-so-secret identity. Sometimes they just wanted to live life as a normal. Many were social media “influencers” and constantly in front of the cameras. There were Indian reality TV shows about the “lives of the Vishnu” and the constant internal squabbles of the gods. Those would sometimes deign to talk to “mortals.” And they would talk to the members of Gondola, whom they regarded as a form of superheroes for their supernatural abilities in the electronic realm.
Otherwise, they only spoke to “mortals” through their priests.
Speaking to the Lord of Time, personally, wasn’t something he thought he’d ever do. He didn’t hero worship, but Dr. Shyam Patel was also a notable physicist, not too surprisingly one of the world’s great experts on time in physics. Best of all was the implication he was about to receive the grade AAAA, quintuple-emerald standard of training methodology.
“I have read your papers, Lord of Time,” Michael continued, trying not to fanboy. “They’re amazing.”
“And your paper on the effects of Hawking radiation on nucleosynthesis was of great merit,” Hayagriva said. “I recommended it most heartily to the head of the Indian Fusion Project. I would talk with you more about physics, but we must discuss your ascension to the ranks of Vishnu.”
“Yes, Lord,” Michael said. He instinctively leaned forward and checked the door again. A loud drug commercial blasted on the television, and Michael fully closed the door in embarrassment. The Lord of Time, thankfully, didn’t seem bothered.
“You are aware that Lord Brahma’s invasion of the US Embassy was in retribution for the CIA’s deliberate conversion of my personal friend, Lieutenant Colonel James King, into a god of chaos, yes?”
“Yes, Lord,” Michael said.
He hadn’t realized they were friends, but he knew that the CIA had deliberately turned Major Freedom—Lieutenant Colonel James King—into the Nebraska Killer, a serial killer and super-terrorist. It was part of the required background brief on The Society. Just like The Society’s hand in 9/11, which Colonel King had been trying to stop when he was brainwashed.
The 9/11 Commission had identified fourteen “mistakes,” each of which done right could have stopped it. Since then, seven more had been declassified. Once is happenstance, twice is coincidence, three times is enemy action. What the hell is twenty-one?
Answer: An international criminal conspiracy so powerful it essentially was governments, that had come up with the idea in one of their think tanks, fed it to Atta, introduced him to UBL, supplied half the funding, guarded the plan through their control of the CIA, FBI, and Bill Clinton personally, then reaped the benefits in the Supers Act, the Patriot Act, the TSA, the so-called “Global War on Terror,” not to mention making billions on one of the worst single days in American history.
The reasons to hate The Society were so numerous it would be work, work, work all day long just to build the list. World’s largest child trafficking organization. Firm believers that there should only be slaves, overseers, and the elite, which didn’t sit well with a super-genius raised on the streets. The organization ran half the world’s governments on the basis of “never let a crisis go to waste; if you don’t have a crisis create one, and if you do have a crisis make it worse.” Gondola’s Enemy Number One. The list went on and on.
“On a personal level, I occasionally feel sorry for Secretary Harris,” Hayagriva continued. “She was forced to kill her fiancé, the only man she’d ever loved or trusted, by the machinations of The Society. Then she does something that reminds me that The Society’s description of her as a ‘failed cheerleader bimbo’ has great accuracy.
“To make it simple: The Council of Masters’ hate for the Super Corps is great. They allow themselves to be owned by evil mortals, even if it is through manipulation in most cases. Vishnu should not be controlled by mortals. Our powers are too great to be used as a boot of the oppressors. Nor should it in the main involve itself in mortal affairs. Our purpose is to defend the mortal realm against the Storm. That is the sole reason we are Avatars. All else is unimportant. Only the Storm is important.
“The Society, in their power-hungry madness, wish the Storm to succeed. They seek to be rulers of the Apocalypse. Powerful Vishnu may preclude their plans. And powerful Vishnu, were they to become aware of The Society and their machinations, might become a direct threat. As we are to them here in India.
“If you train and they are aware of it, they will attempt to find a reason to have their pet judges enact the great blasphemy. Do you understand?”
“The Great Blasphemy” was severance, taking the power of a super. It could be done by a surgeon with a knife or by a healer and was supposed to only be done when the FISA court had ruled the super was “a real and immediate threat” to the general public.
Since the FISA court was composed of Society judges, it meant that The Society could pull his powers at any time if they thought he was a threat. Not to the “public” but to The Society.
“Yes, Lord of Time,” Michael said.
“There were some objections to training an American,” Hayagriva added, “but it was a misunderstanding. The House of Earth, particularly, protested until I pointed out that you were a member of Gondola—at which point the Masters and Mistresses of the Houses were all in agreement. So, you will be given access to the secrets.”
“Namaste, Lord of Time,” Michael said, smiling. His capacity for excitement was maxed out and kept going. He had to forcibly remind himself to calm down and remain humble. “And namaste to the Masters and Mistresses. I shall not fail.”
“Even in the Temples, the simple truth is that it is up to the individual Vishnu,” Hayagriva said. “Fewer than ten percent of the Vishnu do the necessary work to become guru. You can be taught some of the basics, and there are some advanced practices that can be taught. But attaining the chakras, especially, is difficult, and building power and range is up to the individual. It takes patience, dedication, and time. The youngest Master, in terms of power and range, attained mastery at twenty.
“This is the simplest part of it: Use your chakras. Exercise them. They expend, like a battery. You must expend the battery every day. Your power will grow greatly as a young man, then it will level off until by the time you are twenty-five no more power can be attained. By then, if you are not a guru you never will be.
“The chakras must be sought in each Vishnu’s mind. You will be given a guide, but you must find the chakras. This takes patience and young men are rarely patient.
“Of the chakras of Earth there are these:
“The Chakra of Light, which all Vishnu have. You call this an ‘aura’ but it is far more.
“The Chakra of Earth Sense, which all Lords of Earth feel.
“The Chakra of Earth Move, which all attain.
“The Chakra of Stone Shape, which most attain.
“The more difficult Chakras, which most Indian Vishnu attain are these:
“The Chakra of Thermal Earth, to heat and cool earth.
“The Chakra of Earth Sight, which must be attained to reach journeyman.
“The Chakras of Elemental Sense and Chemical Sense, which are almost purely Earth Lord abilities and are also required for journeyman or higher.
“To attain journeyman in all houses requires the Chakra of Light Shape, which is to project your aura and shape it.
“Chakras must be attained by the age of sixteen. At that point your brain stops growing, new neural connections slow, and if you have not attained the chakras by that age, you never will.
“The House of Earth also requires that for Senior Master and Grand Master, Guru Ji, that you have an extensive knowledge of rock and soil types and while not compulsory, they generally attain degrees related to civil engineering, geology, or mining.”
The Indian and Chinese Earthers’ ability to find mineral deposits was legendary.
“Indians have a reputation for hard work, but some Indian Vishnu never become journeyman. They do not put in the work to attain their chakras, preferring to revel in the earthly delights that are available to a Vishnu in India.”
Hayagriva was, besides a physicist, a very notable ascetic who was still occasionally found in the markets wearing a dhoti, in a lotus position, his begging bowl in front of him. He was not into “earthly delights.”
Michael, having chatted with Vishnu on ops, was aware of some of the “earthly delights” available. Besides living a life that was the envy of about half of India’s still very poor population, there was the, ahem, love-life aspect.
A large majority of India’s almost one and a half billion people were practicing Hindus, the largest sect of which is Vaishnavism. That worked out to a LOT of Vaishnavas.
Vaishnavism was like any religion—some people were really into it while for some it was just social. But India, generally, was much more moral in sexual aspects than the West. There were various reasons but actually having your gods right there, judging you, had an impact.
Premarital sex was, therefore, societally frowned upon. It was assumed that a lady going to her marriage bed was a virgin and if she was not, it was potentially scandalous. That even held in upper-class Indian families.
Unless, you know, her previous paramour was a god.
Extremely popular bands were referred to as “rock gods.” To the Vaishnavas, the Vishnu were literal gods. It was like that.
Michael was a thirteen-year-old male. He could see where “earthly delights” could interfere in those circumstances, especially if you had to put in most of the work before you were sixteen.
“Hacking requires great patience,” Michael said. “And I look forward to searching for my chakras, Lord of Time. And earthly delights for a Vishnu in the US are less . . . available. That sounds . . . fascinating.”
“Your work ethic as well as personal ethics are well known, Mountain Tiger,” Hayagriva said. “I am sure you will not abuse this power. Mountain Tiger would make a good Earth Lord name; pity you can’t use it. That is all of it. I look forward to seeing your progress. Namaste.”
“Namaste, Lord of Time,” Michael said.
“We shall meet someday,” the Lord of Time said. “Good luck.”