Spinning, he fired, catching all the Flyboys directly behind him. Then he changed angles and shot up into the sky, watching with satisfaction as several Flyboys started flying lopsidedly, smoke streaming off them.
"Hey!" shouted the Gasman from above. "Watch that thing!" Fang looked up to see the Gasman pointing to two holes in his jeans-Fang had shot right through his pants, but amazingly hadn't hit him.
"My bad!" Fang yelled. The drawback with guns, besides the fact that you might hit members of your own flock, was that they didn't take out hundreds of bad guys all at once. He needed something more massive. If Iggy or the Gasman had had any bombs, they would have used them by now. It was up to Fang.
He leaped into the chilly air again, shooting more carefully at Flyboys. When he was about five hundred feet up, he saw a broad expanse of gray with a rim of fire at its far edge.
The ocean. With the sun breaking at the horizon.
"It is your time to die," droned a full squadron of Flyboys, following him.
"I am one of many!" Fang shouted, heading east, away from the hangar. "I am one of many! You have no idea!"
117
I was braced and ready to launch into my next move against Omega when I heard the Director's voice boom, "Wait!"
I wasn't about to start listening to her now, and I sprang forward, fingers stiff to shatter his trachea-
But the metal collar around my neck zapped me with a nerve-shattering dose of electricity, and I dropped to the ground like a chunk of cement.
A while back, I'd been hit with a bunch of skull-exploding headaches that had left me weak and nauseated; this was a lot like that. When my scrambled brain finally cleared and my synapses began firing again, I was on my back with my worried miniflock p eering down at me.
I shot to my feet as fast as I could, a little off balance, to see Omega standing to one side, ramrod straight like a soldier, not looking at me.
I shot Nudge a questioning glance, and she shrugged.
"You have anticipated my commands," said the Director, sounding unthrilled.
I didn't start it, lady, I was going to say, but then I remembered that, technically, I had, so I kept my mouth shut.
"The first part of the battle will be a test of speed," said the Director.
The crowd of lemmings parted in anticipation of a race.
"Begin where you are," intoned the Director. "Run to the opposite castle wall and back, four times. May the better man win."
I gritted my teeth. The Director was a sexist pig on top of all her other faults.
The wall was about six hundred yards away. There and back, four times.
Someone scraped a line in the dirt with his boot, and Omega and I stood on it. What else could I do? I was shook up and barfy from the electric shock. I didn't think being a conscientious objector would go over well at this point.
Omega seemed unruffled, cool, and not like he'd just popped his shoulder back into place.
"You can't win," he said calmly, not looking at me. "No human can run faster than I can."
"Bite me," I replied, and leaned over to get a good start. "Also, watch my dust!"
"Go!" the Director cried, and we were off.
Well. I must say, Omega was a speedy little sucker, I'll give him that. He hit the opposite wall several seconds ahead of me, and I was dang fast, and taller than he was. By our third lap, he had about a quarter length on me. Neither one of us was breathing that hard-he was Superboy, and I was designed to be able to breathe in very thin air, way up high.
But he had no emotion-he wasn't angry, didn't seem determined to win at all costs, didn't seem invested in beating me.
Which made three more differences between us.
Finally we were on the last lap. He had almost a three-quarter-length lead on me. The crowd was silent-no one dared cheer. The only sounds were our breathing and the pounding of our boots on the ground.
When Omega was about thirty yards away from whipping my butt, I suddenly dove forward, pulled out my wings, and went airborne. I thought I heard the crowd gasp.
Keeping very low to avoid the electrified net at the top of the castle walls, which Max II had warned us about, I streaked toward the finish, my wings working smoothly. I tilted as I passed Superboy, so I wouldn't whap the back of his head with a wing-tempting though it was.
Then I shot across the finish line, ten feet ahead of him, and ran to a somewhat clumsy halt, trying not to careen into the gray sea of spectators.
I stood up, breathing hard, and punched my fist in the air. "Max, one!"
118
"Cheating disqualifies you!" The Director said, looking mad.
"I didn't cheat! Did you say 'no flying'? Did anyone say 'no flying'? No."
"It was a race on the ground!"
"Again, said who? Just because Wonderlad is stuck to the ground doesn't mean I have to be. I've evolved past being stuck to the ground."
Now the Director looked really mad. The sea of indistinct faces murmured; feet shifted on the ground. I folded my wings in, aware of dozens of eyes watching me.
"You are disqualified," the Director said shortly. "Omega is the winner."
"Whatever," I said, pushing down my disgust. I shot Omega a sideways glance. "Does she tie your shoes for you too?"
His perfect eyebrows drew together, but he didn't speak.
Nudge and Angel took my hands and stood close, and Ari came up behind me, as if to protect my back. I felt very comforted by their being there. I would have felt even better if I had seen Fang standing with me, ready to back me up.
"Next will be a contest of strength," said the Director. "Omega's muscles are approximately four hundred percent stronger and denser than a regular boy's. Bring out the weights!"
I am weirdly, wickedly strong, and not just for a girl, not just for my age. I'm stronger than just about any grown-up, man or woman. We all are. But I didn't have the bulk that Superboy did, and in general I was designed to be smart and fast, and to fly well. Not to be able to compete in a tractor pull.
It really was a tractor pull, in a way. Heavy weights were loaded onto a wooden platform. We were each given a thick chain. The idea was literally to pull the platform across the dirt. We were even until about five hundred pounds, then Superboy started to edge past me. I could barely budge six hundred and fifty pounds-he pulled it three feet.
They piled on more weight-eight hundred pounds. I couldn't believe I was going to lose a strength contest to a boy. There was no way.
I gritted my teeth, cracked my knuckles, and put the chain over my already bruised shoulder. Omega and I looked at each other, side by side. When the Director blew sharply on her whistle, I put my head down, planted my feet in the dirt, and pulled with all my might. Sweat broke out on my forehead. It felt as though the chain were wearing a furrow in my shoulder. Breath hissed through my clenched teeth.
I made the platform tremble a little, moved it maybe a quarter of an inch.
Omega hauled it almost a foot.
When he was pronounced the winner, he looked at me with those weird, expressionless eyes. I didn't think he was a robot, like the Flyboys, but I did wonder if his emotions had been designed out of him. Of course, with a guy, how could I tell? Ha ha!
Anyway.
You might not know this about me, but I hate losing. I'm not a good sport, I'm not gracious in defeat, and I hated Omega for making me lose. I was gonna get him. I didn't know how, I didn't know when, but I knew I would.
"The next contest will be intelligence." The Director looked smug.
I almost groaned. Of course I'm really sharp, really bright. But I'd had almost no schooling. What I knew I'd learned either from television or from Jeb. I knew a lot about how to fight, how to survive. I knew a bit about some places, like Egypt and Mongolia, from National Geographic. But I didn't have much book learning at all. The couple of months I'd spent at that hellhole of a school in Virginia had shown me that compared with most kids my age, I was a village idiot. Just in terms of book learning. Not about stuff that mattered.