Refraction Read online

  He may have been a minor, but when the government took down supervillains, it took them down hard—probably imagining it might discourage new supervillains from popping up. It didn’t, of course, because the government didn’t understand the mindset of a supervillain. Anyone willing to renounce their normal life and live reviled by society while fighting against the most dangerous and well-funded heroes of the world wasn’t going to be put off by a hypothetical, potential punishment. That kind of passion couldn’t be squelched by maybes.

  He had to acknowledge he was itching for a fight when it was third period already and he still hadn’t gotten one. Not only had Crush not asked him what was wrong, but he’d been abnormally quiet himself, sparing Max not much more than an occasional smile. He talked when they needed to but mostly seemed caught up in his head.

  Like last night had been upsetting to him? Unbelievable.

  “You seem quiet,” Max said at lunch, because he was an idiot.

  Crush poked at his meatloaf absently. “It’s nothing. Just a long night.”

  “I thought you had super endurance,” Max sniped, then cringed at himself.

  Crush laughed softly, though, and tossed his fork down with a sigh. “Not mental endurance. No jokes,” he demanded. Max zipped his lips obediently. “I just. Had an argument with someone. Can’t seem to shake it off.”

  “Oh, sure,” said Max. “Those can really stay with you. Especially when the other person is completely wrong and doesn’t even realize it.”

  Crush sighed. “Exactly. So wrong you can’t figure out how they could even think that way.”

  Did he just—did he just imply Max was wrong? Max made a gargantuan effort and harnessed his outrage.

  “You know, when that happens to me, I always wonder if maybe the other person knows something I don’t, and I just haven’t done my research because I’m being a lazy, self-righteous, know-it-all brat.”

  “Aw, come on,” Crush said with a smile. “You’re not lazy.”

  Was there steam coming out of Max’s ears yet? It sure felt like it.

  “I just. I don’t even know why it’s bothering me so much,” Crush admitted. “It’s not like I care about this guy’s opinion.”

  So. Rude. Max couldn’t get even professional respect, here.

  “You know, sometimes,” he said between clenched teeth, “we interact with people who, even if we don’t like them, we recognize that they’re our equals and that their opinions could have some merit.”

  Crush nodded, pushing his food around his plate again. “I guess you’re right. I didn’t realize how frustrating it would be when they let you down.”

  “When they let you down,” Max parroted incredulously. “Like when you put your valuable time into someone you know you shouldn’t bother with, but they’ve got just enough spark to be promising, and it turns out they weren’t nearly as terrible as you thought they were, and they’re actually smart and perceptive and see problems that other people don’t notice, and you start to trust them to have the potential to appreciate what you have to offer, and then they turn around and throw their stupid rigid worldview in your face, and you have to face the fact that you wasted your time and trust on someone who’s never going to be what you need? Like that, maybe?”

  Crush blinked at him and set his fork down. “Are you okay?” he asked, looking over Max with concern. “Did something happen?”

  “No!” snapped Max. “I have to go to my locker. I’ll see you later!” he yelled as cordially as possible.

  MAX WAS still fuming to himself over dinner that night, grimly twirling spaghetti around his fork across from his mother. He was too annoyed to even enforce their no-calculators-at-the-table rule, so she spent most of her time muttering, tapping, and occasionally getting a bite of salad into her mouth.

  Frankly, it was a relief when their warning klaxon blared to life, drenching the kitchen in red light as it screamed.

  Max was out of his chair a split second after his mom, and he chased her down the stairs to the basement workshop. They were suited up and taking off in the helibot three minutes later.

  “The Goodmans are moving the device,” his mom reported over comms as Max steered them downtown. “Maybe to a research facility in DC.”

  “Looks like our hits did the job,” said Max.

  “Their only options for transport are ground or air,” she said, working the computer station behind the cockpit. “GPS shows them moving northeast. Destination could be either the Plainmark Airfield or the Kauffman Turnpike for pick up.”

  “Gotta be the airfield,” Max said. “Trucks take too long—we could intercept twenty different ways before they hit DC.”

  He was right. He put them down on the airfield seconds before an unmarked truck pulled onto the tarmac. The Goodmans hopped out of the cab.

  Max and his mom followed suit. Past the Goodmans Max could see the airfield security gathering outside the largest hangar on the base, but they held back, a black swarm of Kevlar and armored helmets. Standard training, of course—superhero standoffs were to be monitored but not interfered with unless directly ordered.

  And, luckily for Max and his mom, a superhero’s ego could be counted on to buy them some time.

  “You don’t give up easily, do you, Catalyst?” Mr. Magnificent called. He stood with his hands on his hips, shoulders held in a way that somehow communicated moral superiority.

  “You don’t return stolen property easily, do you, honey?” she called back. “Those admirable superhero values showing through, I suppose. Such role models!”

  “When your property is going to hurt people, I don’t mind stealing it.”

  “The only way anyone is getting hurt is if you don’t give up that device.” Catalyst clenched her fists. “You’re putting us all at risk by drawing out this ridiculous game. The device is safest with me.”

  “In the hands of a criminal?” Mr. Magnificent scoffed. “I would never allow that.”

  “You and I must have different definitions of criminal, then,” Catalyst said grimly.

  Mr. Magnificent smiled. “If you leave now, you won’t have to find out.”

  “We have to get the device off the tarmac,” Catalyst said, her voice tight. Max braced himself to attack on her cue. “You’ve made us into sitting ducks—”

  A sharp boom cracked the air, and the ground rocked beneath them as the hangar exploded. Max went to his knee as the base crumbled, dust billowing up from the building. The security team scattered, some emerging from the dust cloud and others going down with the shattered walls. Debris rained down around the building, hitting the tarmac with sharp cracks.

  Max coughed and dragged himself to his feet. His mom was already up, surveying the scene in front of them. Crush and Mr. Magnificent on the ground, the security team half down and half disoriented—and the truck, thirty feet away and unguarded.

  Max braced himself, and, on his mother’s nod, took off. He jettisoned straight past the heroes, ignoring their shouts as he flew to the back of the truck. He heard his mom engage, pummeling one or both of them from the sound of it, as he caught himself on the back door latch and swung around, bracing his feet on the door. He yanked a collapsible bolt cutter from his belt and fumbled it together. Too much noise around him—he couldn’t track where the fighting was or what the security team was doing. He only had minutes to get in and call the helibot over to load the device.

  The cutters finally assembled with a click. Max had just shoved the chain between its blades when a freight train slammed into him.

  He flew off the back of the truck and went down hard underneath Crush, hitting the asphalt with a crack that knocked the air from his chest. He scrabbled to get Crush off him, gasping, but Crush dodged his swings when he could and took the hits when he couldn’t. Max could hear their parents fighting still—loud crashes as they threw each other around the tarmac—and the remains of airport security were rallying under shouted orders.

  Max’s mom cried out once, a
pained, angry yell, and he redoubled his efforts to heave Crush off him. His mom was taking those hits from Mr. Magnificent to give Max time to open the truck, and Max couldn’t even reach it!

  He managed to get an arm down underneath Crush’s and swung a sharp hook into his kidney. Crush reflexively curled around the hit, enough that Max could bring up his knee and heave, rolling Crush off just enough to scramble up. He lunged for the bolt cutters but caught up short when Crush grabbed the back of his uniform. Max struggled, twisting—when suddenly he felt the pressure across his chest give as his uniform ripped clean across the shoulders.

  He twisted again, but Crush grabbed his shredded hood and yanked it up over his head. Max ducked and swung at Crush—anything to hide his face—but Crush spun him and pressed him up against the side of the truck, pinning his arms to the side.

  When he looked up into Max’s face, he froze.

  Max stared back at him, inches from the face he saw every day at school, and couldn’t for the life of him remember how to breathe.

  “What,” said Crush. “M-Max….”

  Max caught his breath and tried to think of how to explain—I have a non-evil twin; I’m wearing a holographic mask; this is all elaborate performance art!—but the whumpwhumpwhump of a helicopter overhead saved him. They looked up.

  Doctor Decay hung from a thick metal cable swinging from the bottom of the helicopter. It was weighted by what looked like an industrial grade magnet—2014 MagLev Premium Line, top quality. He hadn’t even taken the time to upgrade it, Max noted with disgust—although it wasn’t a secret that applied physics wasn’t Decay’s strong suit.

  Decay waved at them, and Max flinched, yanking his hood back over his face. Crush spared him a quick glance as he stumbled backward a few steps, pulling Max away from the side of the truck with him. They watched dumbly as Decay dropped the magnet onto the top of the truck with a bang, the click of the magnet engaging echoing across the tarmac.

  Decay tossed them a sloppy, irreverent salute, his grin visible from the ground as the helicopter took off, jostling the truck as it heaved it up off the ground. Decay threw his head back, and Max could see him laughing, covered by the thrum of the helicopter as it ferried the truck—and their doomsday device—off through the air.

  Max watched it clear the airfield fence, and dismay welled up in his chest. Across the empty space where the truck used to be, his mother stood with Mr. Magnificent on the ground at her feet, staring after the truck. She turned and locked eyes with Max.

  He swallowed and worked his jaw a few times, but couldn’t come up with words.

  The sound of pounding feet broke through their stunned silence, and Max whipped around to see the remaining security team running toward them, apparently regrouped after their hit. He turned and sprinted toward his mom, letting her grab his arm and drag him with her to the helibot. She dived into the cockpit, and he scrambled into the back after her.

  As he turned to close the door, the security team was just skidding to a halt behind Crush and Mr. Magnificent. Neither moved to follow them, and after one breathless moment, the helibot lurched into the air. Max pulled the hatch shut and collapsed back on his elbows.

  What a mess.

  WHEN THEY got home, his mom stormed straight to the computer station in the workshop. She hadn’t spoken a word since they’d left the airfield.

  Max was pretty sure she wasn’t mad at him, but only a fool wouldn’t be nervous in the face of his mom’s silence.

  Max approached slowly as she ran a key sequence on the main computer terminal. The large screen flickered to life with a nearly inaudible buzz, and she drummed her fingers on the console.

  Max jumped slightly when Doctor Decay’s face popped up like a huge, evil mural gloating down at them. He looked far too satisfied for Max to feel comfortable.

  “Catalyst,” Decay cooed. “How kind of you to call. What’s the occasion?”

  “Where’s the device, Decay?” she demanded.

  “Well, it’s not being held by the heroes anymore,” Decay sneered. “You seemed like you needed some assistance.”

  “Thank you,” Catalyst said. “Now where can we meet you for its return?”

  Decay grinned. “Oh, let’s not be hasty. I liberated that device for you. You’re a big fan of liberty, aren’t you, Catalyst?”

  Catalyst gripped the edge of the console, her knuckles white. Max shifted on his feet, feeling his shoulders drawing up as he tensed. When his mother spoke, her voice was even.

  “Article 10-2, subset a(4) of the League charter states that one member will not steal weapons, technology, or information from another without a vote from the League majority, and I know you don’t have that.”

  “Mm, no,” Decay agreed, “but that won’t be necessary anyway. I fully intend to return it to you.”

  “When?”

  Decay smiled again. “After I’ve… helped it reach its full potential.”

  If he’d had a mustache, he’d have been twirling it. Max wanted to fly him in circles until he puked all over his hackneyed lab coat costume.

  “So,” Decay continued with his smarmy, obnoxious grin, “when my associate and I are done with the device, you’ll know. Until then… toodles!”

  He waggled his fingers and cut the call, leaving the screen a black window on the wall.

  “Shit!” Max’s mom slammed her fist on the console.

  Max scrubbed his palms down his face. “Did we get a trace on the call?”

  She shook her head. “We narrowed it to the northeast quadrant of the city, but that covers miles and miles. And we don’t have any transmitters on the device or his equipment.”

  “Can we tap into any of his?” Max asked.

  His mom pressed her fingers to her temple. “I can try. Whatever he and his associate are going to be doing, it won’t take them long. Decay’s never had the patience for a long game.”

  Max nodded. Decay liked the splash and didn’t like to wait around for it.

  “Go grab a shower and some coffee,” his mom decided. “You’re on traffic cams and radios when you get back. I’ll try to hack his equipment. We’ll sleep in shifts.”

  Max nodded and trudged up the stairs with a sigh.

  This was just great. Now Max had to deal with the impending doom of a superhero outing his secret identity to the country’s law enforcement and a megalomaniac trying to destroy the city with technology that would lead any forensics team straight back to Max and his mom.

  This week was shaping up to be super.

  WHEN CRUSH showed up at Max’s house the next day, Max shut the door in his face.

  Or he tried to, anyway.

  “Why didn’t you tell me?” Crush asked, one palm pressed against the wood.

  Max grimaced, shoving at the door. Even bracing his feet and putting his whole weight into it didn’t make it budge. “You can’t be here,” he huffed.

  “You didn’t come to school today,” said Crush, having the nerve to sound hurt.

  Like it was Max’s choice, even. His mom had them on a 24-hour recon schedule after the tarmac fiasco—not that he could have gone to school anyway, with his identity compromised. He hadn’t told his mom about that yet, and he didn’t mind having an excuse to avoid the topic.

  Max gave up on the door. “Oh, I’m so sorry, did I miss my appointment with your armored guard?” he sneered.

  Crush frowned. “There was no guard.”

  Max glanced over his shoulder. His mom was in the basement workshop, but the last thing he needed was for her to come up for coffee and see him colluding with the enemy. He stepped forward, brushing Crush’s chest as he moved past him onto the porch. The door clicked shut behind him, and now Max was alone with the enemy, out of shouting distance from his mother, in a neighborhood that only existed peacefully because of everyone’s commitment to keeping their heads down and not witnessing the odd assignation, explosion, or aerial vehicle deployment.

  “No guard?” he asked, crossing h
is arms over his chest. “What’d Daddy have to say about that?”

  Crush scowled. “I make my own decisions.”

  “I don’t believe you,” Max snapped, “or you wouldn’t be doing what you are!”

  Crush grabbed Max’s arm, rooting him in place. “Doing what?” he snapped. “Hiding a known criminal’s identity? Saving you from prison? Lying to my father?”

  Max yanked his arm free, too furious to care that Crush had decided to let him do it. “You’re hired muscle for the city government. I thought you were better than that!”

  “I…!” Crush threw his hands up. “I’m a superhero! I’m the good guys!”

  “No, you don’t—ugh.” Max grabbed Crush around the waist, ignoring Crush’s stuttered “Whoa, what—” as he launched them into the air.

  He swooped up to the roof and dropped Crush unceremoniously onto the shingles. He pulled out a set of lock picks and had the window cracked before Crush caught his balance.

  Max yanked Crush into his bedroom and pulled the shade behind them.

  “Wow, this is—creepy.”

  “I think you mean thorough,” Max corrected, turning to the conspiracy map.

  It covered the south wall of his bedroom, photos, documents, and color-coded markers plastered from floor to ceiling, yarn and tacks connecting people who’d never been seen in the same room together.

  He’d been building it for three years.

  “This map is the city’s skeleton. You think it’s the economy, keeping everything moving where it’s supposed to go, but it’s this—transactions made under the table, from one leader to the next, never ever reaching the public eye. This is the mayor. The police chief. Congressmen. Business owners. Journalists. The head of the PTA. And this,” Max said, running his finger under the green yarn, “is the money trail.”

  Crush was silent for a moment. “It… touches everyone.”