Untouched The Girl in the Box - By Robert J. Crane Page 0,37
a wound to anything but your head would not kill you, but if one knows what they are facing...well,” his voice trailed off for a moment, “it’s not as though bullets and bombs are a commodity that mankind is soon to run out of.”
“So metas have spent a good portion of history trying to conquer people.” I shrugged. “Not a huge surprise. I’ve studied history. Why should we be any different than the rest of mankind?”
“Because we can be better,” he said with a low intonation. “The story of mankind is one fraught with struggle, true enough. But it is also the tale of a people reaching for more, desiring more than to be static, immovable, and mired in the mistakes of the past. If we are to be nothing more than a warlike people, forever locked in a struggle for dominance, then the metahumans are of no more purpose than any other weapon or person of power in the modern age.
“The need for secrecy has become a paramount concern, especially as governments possess more and more means to control metahumans.” His eyes were dull, almost sad. “We dare not challenge them openly, and thus far America has been content to let us rest in the shadows so long as we are not an open threat. I have worked with those in charge of the country’s response to metahuman incidents. They have little to no desire to round up a small minority of people for internment or worse so long as we keep a low profile. Other governments...” His words drifted off, along with his gaze, “...are not so reticent.”
Ariadne leaned forward. “Approximately three hundred and fifty metahumans were killed at a Chinese government facility less than a week ago.”
“That’s...” I let my mind run with the numbers I knew and came back with an answer. “That’s over ten percent of the metahuman population, based on the number you gave me.””
“It is.” She sat back and drew a deep breath. “We don’t know what happened; reports are somewhat sketchy. The facility was supposed to be a training center for the People’s Liberation Army’s metahuman development program. Either they destroyed it after deciding that it wasn’t worth the risk or someone else did it for them. Either way, the meta population took a steep dive last week.”
“Ten percent?” My words were almost a croak, no more than a whisper. “I believe the literal term for that is ‘decimated’.” I had never met even one of the people killed, but somehow I felt a connection to them because somehow we were the same.
“True enough.” Ariadne’s hands landed in her lap. “These are the sort of things that happen every once in a while. We live in a world where metahumans keep their powers secret—unless they’re—”
“Troublemakers? Ne’er-do-wells?” My hands found the padded armrests of my chair, felt the cool metal where the leather padding ended and squeezed it, more out of a desire to feel some pressure than anything else. “Like Wolfe.” I felt him stir in umbrage within me and ignored him.
“Similar.” It was Ariadne who answered, again. “Usually a meta doesn’t openly declare, committing crimes, harming people, unless they’ve decided to start shirking societal conventions and live by their own rules. At that point they’ve become a threat, both to human society and the collective metahuman secret.” She shrugged. “After all, it’s not as though we have something that can make a person forget when they see something crazy—”
“Like some beast rips through a dozen cops in a mall parking lot?” I saw a brief reflection of Wolfe’s grin, like a Cheshire cat, in the window as I turned from Ariadne to Old Man Winter.
“That’s not one we can explain our way out of,” she said. “We had to leave it to the media and the government to spin it.” She smiled. “Did you hear what they finally landed on?” I shook my head. “A biker on PCP and cocaine that was wearing multiple Kevlar vests under his clothes.”
“I suppose he was rather scruffy looking.” I ignored the shout of outrage that echoed through my head alone.
“But it’s at those points that someone has to get involved, for the good of society. Once someone crosses that line, if there’s no one there to stop them, they spin out of control, as though the taste of power over people and freedom from consequence is a narcotic that takes them over.”
“That’s where the Directorate comes in,” I finished for her. “But what about