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    Extinction Event
    Extinction Event
    Extinction Event
    Ebook390 pages6 hoursThe Just Cause Universe

    Extinction Event

    By Ian Thomas Healy

    ()

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    About this ebook

    SHE IS COMING

    Deep beneath the Earth’s crust, an ancient prisoner has been trapped for 66 million years. When a nuclear blast cracks open her cell, she fights to get free and exact terrible vengeance by obliterating all life. The world’s superheroes must unite in a desperate defense where failure cannot be an option, no matter the cost.

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherLocal Hero Press, LLC
    Release dateMar 21, 2024
    ISBN9798224225385
    Extinction Event
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    Author

    Ian Thomas Healy

    Ian Thomas Healy is a prolific writer who dabbles in many different speculative genres. He's a ten-time participant and winner of National Novel Writing Month where he's tackled such diverse subjects as sentient alien farts, competitive forklift racing, a religion-powered rabbit-themed superhero, cyberpunk mercenaries, cowboy elves, and an unlikely combination of vampires with minor league hockey. He is also the creator of the Writing Better Action Through Cinematic Techniques workshop, which helps writers to improve their action scenes. Ian also created the longest-running superhero webcomic done in LEGO, The Adventures of the S-Team, which ran from 2006-2012. When not writing, which is rare, he enjoys watching hockey, reading comic books (and serious books, too), and living in the great state of Colorado, which he shares with his wife, children, house-pets, and approximately five million other people.

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      Book preview

      Extinction Event - Ian Thomas Healy

      EXTINCTION EVENT

      A Just Cause Universe Novel

      IAN THOMAS HEALY

      Copyright 2023 Ian Thomas Healy

      Published by Local Hero Press

      Smashwords Edition

      Smashwords Edition, License Notes

      This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

      This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

      This book, its contents, and its characters are the sole property of its author. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without written, express permission from the author. To do so without permission is punishable by law. Please purchase only authorized electronic editions, and do not participate in or encourage electronic piracy of copyrighted materials. Your support of the author’s rights is appreciated.

      Cover art by Ian Thomas Healy

      Book design by Local Hero Press, LLC

      Books From Local Hero Press

      The Just Cause Universe

      Just Cause

      The Archmage

      Day of the Destroyer

      Deep Six

      Jackrabbit

      Champion

      Castles

      The Lion and the Five Deadly Serpents

      Tusks

      The Neighborhood Watch

      Jackrabbit: Big in Japan

      Arena

      Hero Academy

      The Path

      Cinco de Mayo

      Search and Rescue

      Rooftops

      Plague

      Soldiers of Fortune

      JCU Compendium

      Destroyer of Earth

      Flint and Steel

      The Club

      Jackrabbit: Rinse and Repeat

      Posse

      Extinction Event

      Pariah of Verigo Novels

      Pariah’s Moon

      Pariah’s War

      Three Flavors of Tacos Trilogy

      The Guitarist

      Making the Cut

      The Scene Stealers

      Other Novels

      Assassin

      Blood on the Ice

      Funeral Games

      Hope and Undead Elvis

      Horde

      Roast Wyvern (and Other Recipes)

      Strings

      Starf*cker

      The Oilman’s Daughter

      Troubleshooters

      Collections

      Airship Lies

      High Contrast

      Muddy Creek Tales

      The Good Fight

      The Good Fight 3: Sidekicks

      The Good Fight 4: Homefront

      The Good Fight 5: The Golden Age

      Caped

      Nonfiction

      Action! Writing Better Action Using Cinematic Techniques

      All titles and more available wherever books and ebooks are sold.

      Table of Contents

      Chapter One

      Chapter Two

      Chapter Three

      Chapter Four

      Chapter Five

      Chapter Six

      Chapter Seven

      Chapter Eight

      Chapter Nine

      Chapter Ten

      Chapter Eleven

      Chapter Twelve

      Chapter Thirteen

      Chapter Fourteen

      Chapter Fifteen

      CHAPTER ONE

      "Here in this place, I swear I will fight to the end for these ideals."

      — Pancho Villa

      October 2022

      Aboard the USS Harry S. Truman

      Gulf of Mexico

      There were toothpaste splatters on the mirror again. Every morning for the duration of his deployment aboard the aircraft carrier Harry S. Truman, one of Paulie Xiong’s crewmates spat his mouthful of toothpaste with the accuracy of a Star Wars stormtrooper, and every morning Paulie would grimace and wipe it up with a square of the sandpaper the Navy called toilet tissue. At first, it had been gross, but after months at sea, Paulie had seen things that would have made his ancestors weep.

      Sailors, he had learned, managed to catch every horrible disease known to man, as well as discovering new mutations regularly. Likewise, injuries aboard ship were never simple. Nobody just sprained an ankle on a staircase or picked up a minor burn from the jetwash of a deck launch. No, they managed to turn their leg bones into powder or roast themselves crispy. It was no wonder so many of his fellow hospital corpsmen were vegans. At some point, all cooked meat looked—and smelled—the same whether it had come from a cow, a pig, or an Aviation Boatswain’s Mate.

      Mornin’, Paulie. Bill Haines was a Corpsman Third Class, same as Paulie. He emerged from a stall riding a wave of foulness that could charitably be described as rotten cabbage.

      Damn, son, you should go see a doctor about that, Paulie jammed his toothbrush into his mouth and turned away from the odor as best he could.

      You’re right, Haines said. Hey Doc, I keep ripping ass, and it smells like this. The tall blond man fired off a gassy torpedo, eliciting groans from the other sailors crowding into the head to take their morning shits, shaves, and showers.

      Paulie was blessed with a beard that came in extremely slowly, to the point that he could get away with only shaving once a week. He had enough time to get in line for a shower, and when it was his turn, he took his typical three minutes to scrub down the smooth, brown skin and black hair stubble indicative of his Mandarin Chinese ancestry.

      He returned to his bunk, toweling water out of his ears, while sailors all around him joked and snarked at each other. Perceived physical shortcomings were a favorite topic, and everybody gave as good as they got. It kept the mood light, which was important when thousands of people were crammed into a crowded steel box floating on the ocean for weeks at a time. Hey Paulie, called an electrician named Schwartz. He made an exaggerated masturbation gesture. It hurts when I do this.

      Wrap it, whiz it, wipe it, and wash it. Doctor’s orders, Paulie said, pulling on his beige duty uniform trousers. The other sailors laughed.

      Once dressed, Paulie made his way to the mess hall and got outside of a stack of pancakes, some sausage links, and fresh fruit. The Truman had received a couple crates of oranges and lemons from Florida in their most recent resupply tender, and everyone was doing their part to reduce the risk of scurvy. As he took his tray to the station at the end of the mess, his eyes fell upon the peeling poster some wag had taped onto a bulkhead. It was the old Navy promo with a fresh-faced white guy who’d probably never set foot onto a deck, with the caption It’s not just a job, it’s an adventure!

      Paulie snorted. So far, the bulk of his adventure had been treating gonorrhea. Like, so much gonorrhea. Except that one time when the dentist had to drill out a sailor’s abscessed tooth and the scent was so vile that even hardened medical Corpsmen had gone running to vomit into whatever convenient receptacles they could find.

      It’s an adventure, he thought, and headed toward sickbay to start his day.

      October 2022

      Aboard the RV Suarez

      Gulf of Mexico

      Fredo sat on a deck chair on foredeck of the research vessel Suarez, and let the late summer sun bake away at him as he worked on one of his sonic projection gauntlets. His sunglasses did little to dim the bright morning sunlight streaming down upon him. The gentle swaying of the boat could have rocked him to sleep if he’d been a little more tired, but a breeze played across his bronze skin and cooled the sheen of sweat as he struggled to fix a poorly-adjusted emitter. He didn’t have to do it by hand; he didn’t actually have to do it at all, for the emitter would reconfigure itself once it was connected to the rest of his suit. He had to do something, though. The boredom was driving him crazy. He knew how it looked—the superhero known as Battle Cry lazing about on deck while the ship’s crew performed their duties and the research team did their sciencey stuff, but it didn’t bother him much. His presence was a token from the government, he knew, and there was nothing to make one feel useless like being useless.

      So he worked on adjusting the recalcitrant emitter, because at least it gave him something to do.

      Two months ago, a parahuman terrorist had stolen a Russian nuclear sub, sent it right into the Gulf and detonated its missiles off the coast as it sank to the bottom. The Donskoi Incident had put all governments on edge and Fredo knew relationships between the United States and Russia, already tense due to the Russian invasion of Ukraine, had only grown worse. It didn’t help that the detonation had provided a heat source for a hurricane that had gone on to cause damage to eastern Texas and Louisiana. Even now, two months later, there was still a heat source raising water temperatures in the blast zone. The researchers on the Suarez theorized that the underwater nuclear detonations had opened an undersea fault line and a volcano was forming on the part of the seabed known as the Campeche Bank.

      Fredo didn’t know anything about that. He had been assigned to the Suarez as a member of Los Nacionales, the Mexican national superhero team. The government wanted a superhero on scene while there was still an aberration on the sea floor, and it was Fredo’s turn. On one hand, it meant he didn’t have to train, or do monitor duty, or any of the mundane things that made a superhero’s life boring. On the other hand, there really wasn’t anything to do on board the ship except sit in the sun or—for variety—lie in the sun. Then, when things got really boring, he could put on his armor suit and fly in the sun. Whoo-hoo.

      The worst part, of course, was that nobody spoke sign.

      Fredo hadn’t been born deaf. He’d lost his hearing the very first time he used his sonic scream parahuman power. He hadn’t known he’d had the ability until it blasted forth from his mouth, shattering glass in the houses on his block as well as his own eardrums. He’d still been a kid then. From there it had been all doctors and schools for deaf kids until a couple of Universidad engineers developed a special suit of armor for him that allowed him to control his volume all the way down to fractional decibels. He could even use his sonic scream to fly, riding upon the reflection of sound waves off the atmosphere, thanks to tech in his armor. That suit in conjunction with his powers earned him an invitation to attend the Hero Academy in the United States.

      It did make chatting up any of the researchers tough, because even though he could read lips pretty well, he couldn’t talk back. With no ability to modulate his power, he was likely to literally blow someone’s head off if he used his voice without his armor to control it. At least he could text, and that was his primary means of chatting, even when someone was standing right in front of him. He hated it, though. He just wanted to talk to someone, like that pretty geologist, Carolina. She was tall, lithe, with a toned, athletic body that spoke of long runs along the beach at sunset and yoga at sunrise. She smelled of coconut sunscreen and was slow to smile, but it was worth the wait, like watching the Moon emerge from behind clouds.

      Fredo hadn’t expected to be on the Suarez for another week, but his teammate Santa Muerta had to leave early. She’d had some kind of panic attack and had to be evacuated. La Adelita had teleported onto the boat, gathered her friend and teammate, and teleported her straight to the hospital in Progreso. Team commander Maestro had asked for volunteers, and Fredo said he would go. As the youngest member of Los Nacionales, he was likely to get volun-told anyway.

      A shadow crossed in front of him, and he opened his eyes behind his sunglasses to see Carolina standing there, waving to get his attention. He waved back. She took out her phone and sat on the deck chair beside him. She was wearing short shorts, a cut-off tank top for the Dallas Cowboys, and a broad-brimmed straw hat that was almost a sombrero. The diamond-shaped gaps between the straws speckled her face with freckles of sunlight. His phone buzzed with her text.

      Good morning, Fredo.

      Hi Carolina. What are you up to? Science stuff?

      She chuckled as she read, and he grinned at her, careful not to laugh because he could accidentally blow her back into the bulkhead. At least he could look at her while she was reading or replying, and she was very pretty. She was also sending a lengthy text, so his looking-at-her was moving into the realm of staring-at-her.

      Yes. We detected a four degree temp spike overnight. It might mean a larger eruption is happening or about to happen. Could cause a tsunami if it triggers nearby fault lines.

      Is that likely?

      Carolina shrugged and made a noncommittal gesture with her hand. Then she returned to her phone. Would you fly over the area and sweep your sonic power over it? We can get better imaging from that than our little sonar setup.

      He nodded and stood.

      Her slow smile bathed him in its radiance. She raised her hand to her mouth, then swept it forward toward him.

      He gaped in amazement.

      Her smile faded, and she texted, Did I do it wrong? I was trying to say thank you.

      He raised his own hand and made the thank you gesture. Then he texted her, You did say thank you . . . but your accent is terrible.

      She laughed.

      Fredo tucked his gauntlet under his arm and went to get the rest of his armor.

      October 2022

      The Hero Academy

      Denver, Colorado

      "Happy birthday, dear Annalisa! Happy birthday to you!" sang Annalisa’s gathered friends and classmates.

      You look like a monkey . . . added Breezy, humor dancing in his dark eyes.

      And you smell like one, too! Aighleigh finished, barely containing her own amusement.

      Annalisa Torres felt so much love that she was sure her heart was going to simply explode. Oh, you guys. She bent to hug Aighleigh in her wheelchair, then spun to give Breezy a deep kiss on the lips, making sure it lasted until everyone was a little uncomfortable about it. She stepped back and looked around the field house where they had gathered. Should we sing to Cole now?

      Annalisa and her four friends from Loveland had all been born within ten days of each other. They had been given their powers not through possession of the Musashi gene, but as part of a long-term secret experiment to create super-soldiers. That experiment had been ruled a failure, because instead of the proofs-of-concept to prospective buyers, the science team had created Annalisa and her friends, and they’d put a stop to it as soon as they found out the truth.

      Now the five kids were attending the Hero Academy, learning to be superheroes for real, even though they’d been doing it for years as their own little group called the Neighborhood Watch: Annalisa, also known as La Capitána, and Breezy, Aighleigh, Cole, and Vinnie.

      Cole’s birthday was the next day, and the kids were combining his party and Annalisa’s as it had become awkward to try to fit five birthdays in ten days. The group sang to him with as much enthusiasm as they had to Annalisa, with Annalisa throwing in a growling "cha-cha-cha!" after every stanza.

      At last, hand in hand, Annalisa and Cole bent down and blew out the candles on the cake together. Then Breezy used his wind powers expertly to flick a lump of frosting into each of their faces, and everyone shouted with laughter. While Annalisa wiped buttercream from her nose and planned how she’d get her revenge on Breezy later when they were alone, her roommate Frieda cut the cake.

      Being a bunch of high school juniors, the kids descended upon the cake like piranhas, and it was gone almost in seconds. Skunk Nancy, the girl with the unfortunate odor-based power, connected her phone to some Bluetooth speakers and thumping beats filled the field house at the end of the Hero Academy outdoor training field. Ruben Maldonado, the aspiring young rapper who could also transform into a giant rhinoceros, started spitting out freestyle to the beat, and kids alternately heckled him or cheered him on. Annalisa didn’t mind him stealing the attention, since she was enjoying being around everyone.

      Frieda came to stand beside her. The Black girl towered nearly a foot over Annalisa, even when not using her growth power. She was called 50-Foot Girl for obvious reasons. Hey, roomie!

      Hey, roomie, Annalisa replied. She watched Vinnie, the skater punk known as Rascal, wrap his arms around Cole and give him a passionate kiss. Cole, Vinnie, and Aighleigh had been a throuple since they were freshmen, and it seemed as stable as any relationship could be. Kind of like her and Breezy, Annalisa thought, who’d been together even longer.

      I’m going take one for the team and sleep in Nancy’s room tonight, Frieda said. Give you and Breezy some smashing space. She elbowed Annalisa. You just make sure you return the favor in February if I’m still dating Jeremy. Jeremy was calling himself Knacker, which Annalisa didn’t think would take as a superhero handle since he was forever explaining knackered meant wiped out, and his power was to disrupt electrical systems—which also included human nervous systems.

      Sure, no problem. Nancy’s not that bad, Annalisa said.

      If you sleep with the window open, Frieda said.

      No way. What if I float away? Some people were somnambulists, walking in their sleep. Annalisa had an unfortunate tendency to fly in her sleep. Aighleigh called it somnaerialism, but Aighleigh was the smartest person Annalisa knew. Waking up while flying was terrifying, so she’d taken to sleeping with her ankle tied to the bed frame. She was strong enough to fly with a bed dangling from her leg, but the act of dragging it upward always woke her, so it was her low-tech solution to what she considered a stupid problem.

      I’m sure your sweet young man would come rescue you, Frieda giggled.

      "Young is right, Aighleigh said as she rolled up to them. Annalisa’s a cougar."

      Annalisa hooked her fingers into claws and growled appreciatively. Just for four days, then we’re both seventeen.

      Aighleigh laughed. You’ll always be older than him, girlfriend.

      Annalisa’s gaze fell on Breezy, who was hanging out with Ruben and Nancy and the others, bopping his head to the beat. Warmth flooded through her as she took in the line of his jaw, the thin mustache, the locs he worked so hard to keep clean, and that smile that made her knees go weak. Sure, she loved Cole, Vinnie, and Aighleigh, who’d been her dear friends since they were toddlers, but she loved Breezy . . . as in they might wind up as one of those sweet old couples who’d been together since high school.

      "I hope he’s up for, you know, us time tonight," Annalisa said softly.

      Frieda and Aighleigh laughed and bumped fists. He’s a boy, Frieda said. He’s prob’ly up for it right now.

      I don’t know, Annalisa said. He’s been a little, I don’t know. Irritable.

      Irascible, Aighleigh suggested.

      I don’t know what that means, Annalisa said, and crossed her eyes. Me am dumb. Smash stuff. Go boom.

      What’s up? You think he’s not into you or something? Frieda asked, real concern in her eyes.

      I think maybe he’s coming down with something. He said he’s got, like, ringing in his ears.

      He’s standing right by the speakers, Aighleigh pointed out.

      He says it’s like the way air pressure changes before a storm.

      Well, I guess if anyone’s gonna know what the air feels like, it’s him, Frieda said. He’s not, like, pushing you off or anything, is he? Because I will kick that boy’s ass up into the stratosphere if he ain’t treating you right.

      No, nothing like that, Annalisa said. We’re as close as ever. I’m just being stupid, I guess.

      Aighleigh reached up and squeezed her hand. No, you’re not. You’re being you. You care, Annalisa. You care about everyone. That’s why you’ve always been the best of us.

      October 2022

      Just Cause Dallas Headquarters

      Dallas, Texas

      We’re not going to be gone long, said Sondra Raymond, the eagle-winged commander of Just Cause Dallas. Couple of weeks. Maybe a month, depending on how long they want to keep Jack for observation. She gathered a handful of folders and deposited them into a briefcase.

      Maribel Montoya, also known as It Girl, gave her a lazy shrug from her seat on the overstuffed chair near the window. She was Sondra’s second in command and was doing her best to take her friend’s mother-hen panic in stride. It’ll be fine, Sondra. It’s Paris in the summer. It’s probably gorgeous. I hear the French are crazy for parahumans. You’ll be an instant celebrity. And so will Jack. Never mind being heroes. She winked. "You’re famous."

      I just don’t want you to get in over your head, said Sondra. She fluttered her magnificent wings in reflex, and a couple smaller feathers drifted to the office floor.

      "Don’t worry, Mom, I won’t have any boys over and no parties. Maribel grinned. But I might stay out past ten. And if I get in over my head, I can always . . . ask for help." She split a duplicate off herself, the second stepping out like she was emerging from a door. Maribel winked again, and her duplicate made kissy-lips.

      Self-duplication was a curious ability. She literally duplicated every particle in her body—as well items below a certain mass that were directly connected to her, like her costume. She became the embodiment of a quantum pairing at a macro scale. The duplicates didn’t grow out of her or anything weird or gross. They simply appeared. She could do it nine times. Her consciousness didn’t duplicate, but she could control each duplicate like it was one of her fingers, even if they were performing wildly different tasks. Somehow, she was able to keep them all straight. She could instantaneously transfer her consciousness between duplicates, even when great distances were involved. Whichever one hosted her mind was It, hence her hero name It Girl. When she no longer needed them, her duplicates simply vanished, ending their quantum state.

      The broadening of her senses would have driven most people insane, she knew. Her brain was able to process information from nine more sets of eyes and ears, and control nine sets of limbs independently. Researchers investigating her powers thought she might be able to create far more duplicates than nine, but her brain wouldn’t be able to handle the additional load. As it was, she had her proverbial hands full, with ten of herself.

      Wiseass. Sondra caught sight of her fallen feathers. Shit. I’m molting.

      Maribel reabsorbed her duplicate, and stepped over to put her hands on Sondra’s shoulders. Everything will be fine here. Go take care of Jack. How’s he doing, anyway?

      Sondra frowned. He’s exhibiting some minor symptoms of what could be radiation sickness, although he says he’s just getting old. I’m just so worried, Mari. I shouldn’t have let him go on that mission.

      I don’t think you could have stopped him, Maribel said. Besides, it could have been much worse if he hadn’t gone.

      Sondra’s husband Jack had been the one, along with a small team of covert operatives, to stop the super terrorist Misrule from launching the nuclear missiles he had on board the stolen Russian submarine. They could have devastated a dozen different cities in America and possibly triggered World War III. Misrule’s detonation of the nukes as the Dmitriy Donskoi sank to the bottom of the Gulf had been a final act of defiance. At first, it seemed that Jack’s invulnerability to harm would keep him from suffering ill effects from his radiation exposure, but now things had changed.

      I know, and I keep telling myself that. I’m just worried that old fool finally found something to really hurt him. Sondra wiped at her eyes. And I’m scared, Mari. I’m really scared.

      Maribel stepped over and embraced her, understanding what Sondra needed now was not a teammate, but a friend. Don’t you worry about him, she whispered. Crackerjack’s too crotchety to let something like this take him down. He’s going to live a long time yet. And you’ll be stuck with the insufferable son of a bitch.

      Sondra burst out laughing even as she wiped her eyes. He really is, isn’t he? God, I love him so much.

      Then go be with him, Maribel said. I’ve got things handled here. Go to Paris. Get him treated. See the sights. Eat snails and shit.

      Snails?

      That’s a French thing, I think.

      The women embraced again, then Maribel stepped out into the deck to watch Sondra spread her wings and fly toward hers and Jack’s bungalow. Just Cause Dallas had been built upon the site of a former horse ranch, and instead of the tight dormitory-style quarters of the New York or Denver teams where Maribel had previously been assigned, everyone got their own house. Consequently, Dallas was a choice destination for heroes with families.

      Her own husband was actually from Texas, a Good Ole Boy by the name of Doug who cheerfully quit his job in accounting to spend his days being the unofficial handyman for Just Cause Dallas and his evenings barbecuing and smoking every piece of meat or vegetable he could get his hands on. Every day was a block party for the heroes of Dallas, to the point that Sondra had to institute stricter physical training requirements to offset the massive slabs of ribs, brisket and chicken that Doug served up daily.

      Maribel returned to Sondra’s office, which was now her office as far as she was concerned, and sat behind the desk on the plush padded stool Sondra used to keep her wings free. Oh no, she thought. This wouldn’t do at all. How was she going to lean back and kick her feet up on the desk? She went back to her own seldom-used office, retrieved her own desk chair, and rolled it up the hall to Sondra’s office.

      That’s more like it, she said aloud as she thumped her feet up onto the desk with considerable satisfaction.

      What’s more like what? Amber Kramer poked her head into the office. She was Maribel’s best friend. Amber was the great-granddaughter of the one-time Archmage Stratocaster. She wore one of his guitar picks encased in amber as a bracelet, and channeled her innate magical ability through it to create magical amber.

      Maribel indicated the office. I look good in here, don’t I?

      Very natural, Amber agreed. She pulled out her phone. I should take a picture to commemorate the occasion.

      "No!" Maribel gasped, and nearly fell out of her chair trying to get herself back into a more professional appearance.

      Amber laughed. I’m just kidding. You know I’m kidding. So what’s going on, O Fearless Temporary Leader?

      Maribel shrugged. I just took over for Sondra. She, Little Eagle, and Jack are on their way to Paris.

      Amber’s demeanor grew more serious. I really hope he’s going to be okay.

      Me too. He’s been around my entire life. I guess I kind of thought he’d just be there forever.

      Same.

      Silence passed over them as they considered what a world without Crackerjack and his lopsided smile would be like.

      Oh! Almost forgot why I came in here in the first place. Duh! Amber rolled her eyes. "We got a minor alert from the USGS. They said they’ve detected increased seismic activity from the Donskoi site. There’s a possibility of minor tsunamis along the Gulf Coast."

      How minor? Maribel asked, wondering if she should call Sondra back.

      They said less than a meter in height.

      That does seem pretty small, Maribel said. Manageable, more or less. Hmmm . . .

      "What’s hmmm? Amber grinned. You got an idea?"

      I do. Just Cause team commanders have standing orders from the Parahuman Resources Administration to identify opportunities for non-emergency callouts for heroes in training. It’s an opportunity to give them some real-world experience.

      You mean the Hero Academy.

      I do. Wouldn’t you have liked the chance to get some real-world experience? Maribel stopped suddenly, feeling her cheeks grow hot as she remembered to whom she was speaking.

      Amber had been an intern with Just Cause New York when the Hind aliens attacked, encasing the city in an impenetrable force field and landing troops in Manhattan. Not only had she gotten more real-world experience than most heroes ever would, she’d lost friends and teammates during the Battle of New York. Shit. I’m sorry.

      It’s all right, Amber said. Nobody could have planned for something like that. Aliens attacking? That’s like a movie, not real life. Tsunamis are real life. Even little ones. The experience will be good for them.

      Maribel nodded. I’ll make the call.

      October 2022

      The Preserve

      Luna

      The screaming yanked Penny out of a sound sleep. She leaped from her bed, light in the low lunar gravity, and ran for the door. Between steps, her nanotech armor burst through her pores to encase her in ultra-dense layers of red and blue metal. The door to her quarters slid aside soundlessly as she stepped into the corridor beyond.

      Cain, who’s screaming? Penny subvocalized, speaking to the collective artificial intelligence network that formed the cornerstone of her nanotech.

      ::Vocal analysis indicates it is Juliet.:: Cain spoke in the calm alto voice that Penny preferred.

      Other people on Penny’s team entered the corridor, mostly dressed for sleep. What’s going on? asked a yawning Michelle, who was also known as Simulcast.

      I don’t know yet, Penny said tersely.

      A tawny, centaurian figure loped down the hall—the Hind defector Garragh. That is a scream of terror, he growled.

      Well, no shit. Penny ordered Cain to deploy her blasters, and the weapons grew from her forearms. Cain, open the door.

      The door to Juliet’s quarters slid aside and Penny stepped into the suite, arms raised, ready to defend her teammate if required.

      Juliet sat up in her bed, her eyes horribly rolled

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