After the Golden Age

not a judgment call. Like she didn’t care that he’d killed.

“Weber, hand me that folder. Yes, that’s the one.”

One of the people in a lab coat brought Paulson a thick file from the top of a filing cabinet. The brown pressboard folder looked familiar; Celia had been looking through similar folders all week. The texture of files from that era was distinct.

Paulson passed the folder to her. “Take a look at this.”

She opened the file, balancing the spine in her left hand. Stacks of pages were fastened to both sides. She flipped through, taking in random lines and data. Charts, graphs, diagrams, rows of jagged lines labeled with numbers, black-and white-photographs.

The top page of text read, “Use of Directed Radiation to Induce Neurophysiological Responses, with the Intent of Encouraging Specified Emotional Traits in Human Subjects.”

The early West Corp logo, before the last couple of redesigns—the crescent moon as the arc of a bow and an arrow tipped with a star preparing to launch—was printed on the bottom of the page.

West Corp didn’t have a medical research division. At least, it didn’t now.

“This is the original lab report,” Celia said. “I found the financial statements, but not the research notes.”

“Because I found them here months ago. One of my aides uncovered this place during a survey of the area. This is what I put the highway plan on hold for. Go on, keep reading.”

Sito, a psychologist with an interest in how the physical structures of the brain contributed to the development of personality and psyche, had been experimenting with methods of altering the brain physically to treat mental illness, as an alternative to medication or shock therapies. Other potential applications had presented themselves.

In a memo to Jacob West in which he urged secrecy, Simon Sito outlined the potential applications of his procedure. Some of the most promising involved nonlethal crowd control: draining aggression from people at the touch of a button, or pacifying prison populations to prevent riots. The process could curb the sociopathic tendencies of habitual criminals.

Initially, Sito planned on concentrating his efforts on one emotion, one simple but particularly useful personality trait: loyalty. With a press of a button and a dose of mild radiation, the test subject would become instantly loyal to the chosen ideal or person. Convicted criminals could finally be made into useful citizens. And more—the military and police forces would have nothing but intensely loyal soldiers and officers in their ranks. No more treason, no more bad cops.

Sito had identified the characteristic that he believed held society together, and he wanted to learn to manipulate it. This was the same technique he would later use to develop the Psychostasis device, which used radiation to erase his victims’ basic sense of self and individuality. Like the rest of his psyche, he’d gone from wanting to alter—to improve—to wanting to destroy.

“I don’t understand,” she said, not because she didn’t, but because she didn’t believe it. She didn’t believe she could possibly understand what she was reading. The conclusion refused to allow comprehension.

The superhuman mutation was a side effect. Completely unintentional and unobserved by everyone involved in the experiment. It was crazy. But it wasn’t. It was all right here. She couldn’t let her shock show. She had to be vaguely interested. Not appalled.

Paulson said, “If it had worked, West Corp would have had a monopoly on the human spirit. Too bad for you it didn’t. Your father might have been the mayor now.”

Now that was an appalling thought. But he was missing something. He didn’t know about the superhuman connection.

“You know there was an accident, right? You may have the lab report, but I’ve seen the accounting files. The employees were paid off.” The lab file didn’t have anything about the accident, as if no one had thought to update the information after that. The report was frozen in time.

“Nothing happened,” Paulson said. “The device released a benign dose of undirected radiation. It had no effect.”

So she did have something to hold over him. She had a lot of cards, in fact. Play them one at a time. Let him think she was giving him something.

“Would you like to hear some of the names of people who worked here at that time? The people who were present during the accident? Jacob West, father of Warren West, also known as Captain Olympus. Anna Riley, who went on to have a daughter, Suzanne, who became Spark. George Denton, father of Robbie Denton, the Bullet. Emily Newman was the mother of Arthur Mentis. I’m not through tracking everyone down. But I think you get the idea.”

She let him consider that. The look of wonder growing on his face was rewarding.

“Really?” he exclaimed finally. “Sito accidentally created the superhumans? That’s kind of ironic, isn’t it? It almost makes me wish we hadn’t fixed the thing. Oh well.”

He didn’t want superhumans. He wanted a troop of undyingly loyal supporters. He didn’t want anyone stronger than he was getting in the way. That was why he’d worked so hard keeping the Olympiad busy, wearing them down, distracting them from the real danger.

She stopped her slow pacing around the machine and looked at Paulson across the radiation emitter.

“Have you considered something?” he said. “The device must have worked partially, even when it malfunctioned. Why do you think the superhumans have all become crime fighters and not circus freaks? Something inside them drives them to it. They’re loyal to this city over everything else in their lives. You know that better than anyone.”

She’d asked Arthur if people were born or made. Maybe they were both. She could be forgiven for feeling that her entire life had brought her with purpose to this point.

But the process wasn’t perfect. Janet Travers should have passed along the mutation to Anthony Paulson— and she had, Celia supposed. The man had become mayor, after all. But he’d inherited Sito’s megalomania as well. For every person Paulson successfully converted, how many would he push into insanity? Did he, in the end, think he was doing this for the good of the city? Then again, maybe the loyalty experiment had been passed on untainted to Janet’s grandson, Mark, the dedicated cop.

And what of Jacob West’s granddaughter, who had spent half her life standing on the cusp between success and disaster?

In a low voice she said, “You think you can make the experiment work.”

“I have.”

He had a room full of loyal scientists and bodyguards here to prove it. And more—

“You tested this on Andrea.” Instead of a sullen woman who’d grown tired of politics, he now had the eternal publicity photo standing by his side.

He just smiled.

Nothing frightened her anymore. She had to remind herself of that. Otherwise, her hand would shake. She closed the file and set it on a nearby table. One of Paulson’s technicians glared at her and shoved it away from where he’d been working.

“Great. Now what?”

“Ah. This is where I make an unlikely speech revealing all my plans, thereby giving you a chance to thwart me. That doesn’t happen in the real world.”

“Who says I’m trying to thwart you? You know my history. Maybe you’ve shown me where the cards are falling. Maybe I want to ask you for a job.”

“I’m curious, what exactly do you think you can offer me and my operation? What did you bring to the Destructor’s operation when you joined him?”

“Nothing,” she said. “Absolutely nothing.”

“Figures. Too bad I’m not in need of a staff accountant.”

The evil masterminds never were, more’s the pity. Accountants knew when to shred the documents.

“Then what can I do for you, Mr. Paulson?”

“Sit quietly in the corner like a good little hostage.” He smiled.

At some unseen cue, the two henchmen took a step toward her, preparing to herd her off again. As soon as they moved, she jumped.