After the Golden Age (Golden Age 1)

The Destructor put his hand over the girl’s. Olympus flinched. “She came to me of her own free will, Captain. Not like the last time.”

“Celia,” Olympus said, trembling with suppressed fury. “Get down from there. I don’t want to hurt you, but I will.”

The girl made an indignant huff. “It’s a little late for that.”

“What in God’s name are you talking about?”

“You said I was useless! You said I embarrass you!”

This was the first time in her life Celia West had ever dared yell at her father.

Olympus clenched a fist and started for the dais. Spark—his wife—grabbed his arm. “Don’t,” she said.

“He appreciates me,” Celia said, nodding toward the Destructor.

“But he doesn’t, don’t you see? He’s only using you to get to us!”

The Destructor showed a thin, appreciative smile.

Celia, perhaps because of the short skirt and too much makeup, looked even younger as her eyes shone with tears. “You just can’t admit that I don’t need you. I never needed you.”

So much of the Captain’s power came from his anger. So often he clung to that anger when he couldn’t see another solution. “You’re no child of mine. No child of mine would do this to me.”

Standing, the Destructor put his arm around Celia’s waist. “This is all very entertaining, but it distracts from the purpose at hand. You’re too late, Captain. I will still bomb this city to oblivion, and you can’t stop me.”

Then the Captain smiled. “Really?”

The Destructor hated that smile. It usually preceded unexpected complications. Nevertheless, he had to move forward. He picked up his remote and pushed the detonator button.

The three of the Olympiad stood side by side, arms crossed, watching him expectantly.

The closed-circuit screens showing a dozen views of the city didn’t change. The bombs didn’t go off. Somehow, the Olympiad had stopped them. Once again, the Destructor’s elegant plan was crumbling to pieces.

The elevator door slid open, and a man wearing a well-tailored suit and a trench coat strolled into the room. The fourth member of the Olympiad, the young Doctor Mentis.

“Found your bombs, if that’s what you’re wondering,” he said amiably in a clipped British accent.

And this was why, no matter how perfect his plans were, they always included an escape route. The Destructor pressed another button. A trapdoor opened behind him, where a chute led to his rocket pod. “This is when I leave you all.”

He brushed the girl away and turned to the door.

She grabbed his arm. “Take me with you.”

“The pod only holds one.”

“But I thought—”

“My dear, your father was right. I only kept you because of the pain it would cause him. Now, good-bye.”

He shouldered her out of his way and disappeared down the chute. Celia, stumbling on her heeled sandals, fell off the dais and sprawled on the floor.

The building’s sprinkler system finally reacted to Spark’s flames and burst into action, raining down on them all. After the Destructor’s sudden departure, the only sound was water hitting the floor.

“Dammit,” the Bullet said, kicking a puddle. “I hate when he does that.”

Mentis joined them. “But the city is safe once again. It’s good enough for me.”

The Golden Thunderbolt’s grimace showed nothing but contempt for Celia. “You could have stopped him! You didn’t know we’d defused the bombs, you thought he was really bombing the city, and you just stood there, you didn’t even try to stop him! What the hell were you thinking? The only thing left is to lock you away. I don’t know what else to do with you.”