The Campbell Chronicles
Chapter 7
Nicholas floated above the United States Mint, a large rectangular building that stretched for miles. Dark windows sat in rectangular recesses on the upper floors; a few reflected the street lamps outside them.
Drifting forward, he eyed the arch at the front of the building, its bold stylized letters proclaiming the United States Mint.
A 9-foot-tall Barb wire fence surrounded the massive building. A single guard station stood before the front gate.
Reaching out with his mind, he touched one of the guards inside the facility, taking an image of their surroundings. Once he had the image firmly in his mind, he reached out. Threads of reality blossomed around him, and he ran his fingers along them like he was strumming a harp. As they vibrated, images flashed through his mind.
Strumming the threads again, he forced them to twist and weave together.
A portal appeared before him. Stepping inside, he emerged in a large white room. As he stepped out, video cameras turned away.
Sending a pulse of telekinetic power through his feet, he closed his eyes as a detailed map formed in his mind.
Multiple security stations sat behind him, each one containing an unconscious guard.
Before him sat a sizeable gated room. Inside were stacks of damaged bills, waiting to be destroyed.
Moving past the door, he stepped down the hallway, his footsteps echoing in the quiet.
While it would be easy to steal and repair the damaged bills, it would be noticeable, and he had a better plan that, if it worked, would hopefully net him a lot more money. Exiting the hallway, guards stiffened, raising their rifles.
With a wave of his left hand, the guards slumped to the floor.
Ignoring them, Nicholas approached the large incinerator in the center of the room. It was turned off but big enough for someone seven feet tall to walk in and stand with their arms wide.
Releasing a breath through his nose, Nicholas placed his hand on the incinerator. Red threads of reality emerged from the machine. He could see a different moment in the machine's history inside each one.
Running his fingers along the threads, the ones that dealt with burning money glowed brighter while the others faded away. Energy drained from him as the threads widened, becoming windows to the past.
Heat buffeted him from all sides as the flames from the furnace warmed the space around him.
Grabbing that thermal energy, Nicholas funneled it into the damaged bills, using it to repair them as the doors to the incinerator clicked shut and their timelines.
The heat around him faded as it was used up. Curling his fingers, Nicholas pulled the newly restored bills through the threads.
The space quickly became small as multiple stacks of bills from different eras filled the space around him. Sweat poured off his brow, and queasiness ran through his stomach.
As the last stack came through its temporal window, Nicholas allowed the threads to revert to normal and fade. The pressure on his mind faded as the threads disappeared. He leaned heavily on his knees, staring blearily at the stacks of money around him.
He didn't know how much money he'd grabbed from this venture, and honestly, he didn't care. Right now, he felt like crap; his recent boost in power from the venture at the Maroni family ship and his ability to make portals had made him overconfident.
It was apparent that manipulating time was beyond him if he didn't want to be severely weakened. He was lucky that stunts like this didn't require him to feed.
Strangely, once he was restored to his youthful state, the only time he really needed to feed was to increase the range and potency of his powers.
Nicholas turned at the sound of shifting behind him, cursing as he saw the guards begin to wake.
Flicking his fingers, red threads blossomed in a 6-foot radius around him, weaving into a circle below his feet. Just as the first guard began to rise, Nicholas and the money fell through a portal.
–XX –
Nicholas's knees bent as he landed in his basement, the money scattering around him. Pulling off his soaked balaclava, he threw it in the corner and lowered himself to the floor.
Balancing his arms on his knees, he took a moment to breathe, letting the cool air of the basement soothe his skin. As his heart rate slowed, his eyes became heavy, and before he even realized it, he was asleep, his head resting on one of the piles of money he knocked over as his body fell backward.
–XX –
The following day, just as the sun began to peek over the horizon, Nicholas stood before his three-story home with faded white paint. Columns sat at the edge of a wraparound porch, supporting a deck that encircled the upper floor.
Windows reflected the light of the early morning.
Wind weaved its way through the trees, pulling at loose shingles on the roof.
Nicholas took it all in while eyeing the materials he had gained from the Maroni family ship.
Threads blossomed from the materials, curving through the air to encircle him with their possibilities. His lips pressed into a frown as his gaze flicked to the trees around him. There wasn't a lot of wood on the ship, so he would have to use some of the trees to repair the house.
Focusing on the trees, Nicholas pulled with his mind; threads flew from the trees around them, joining those that encircled him.
While there was probably enough glass on the ship to repair the windows, the wood and paint would cost him energy to produce. Reaching forward, he splayed his fingers, placing them on specific threads.
The threads glowed under his touch, and glass floated up viscously from the items surrounding his home.
It swam through the air like a living thing, smashing into the windows and merging with them.
Cracks in the windows healed, and the chips filled in. The threads connected to the glass shifted from the house's windows.
Allowing the window threads to fade, Nicholas focused on the threads coming from the trees. At his touch, the trees shifted, and thin threads of wood shot through the air, touching the outside and flowing through the doorway.
Closing his eyes, Nicholas followed the threads that entered the house; he watched them branch off and touch anything made of wood in the home.
Trees around him vanished one by one as their mass was used up to repair the house. As the repairs finished, a 5-acre clearing appeared around him.
Nicholas allowed the threads to fade as he took in the new clearing around his home, "At least every bit of the trees was used in the repairs."
Dropping to one knee, Nicholas placed his hand on the ground. Closing his eyes, he watched as threads of possibility rose from the churned earth. Thousands of threads wavered in the air around him in the blink of an eye.
Reaching out with his mind, his body shook as he fought to touch so many threads simultaneously, but it had to be this way. Each thread represented a point of the churned ground that could produce life.
The threads became clear at his touch, each showing a different possibility. Pushing them away, Nicholas focused his will through the threads, and they flared with energy.
The ground rippled beneath him as grass began to emerge from the soil. It spread out from him, quickly covering the bare 5 acres around his property.
Releasing the threads, Nicholas rose to his feet. Brushing off his knees, he went to the house and placed his hand on one of the smooth, unpainted wood pieces.
Pulling on possibility, threads from every piece of unpainted wood floated toward him. Wiggling his fingers, he willed the threads to weave together into a thick rope. Grabbing the rope, he pushed his will into it, and the wood changed, taking on a pristine white color that spread to the rest of the house.
When the rope faded, the house gleamed a fresh off-white color.
Floating into the air, Nicholas eyed the roof. While new wood was replaced. Shingles were still missing. He debated whether to use his powers to create them or buy them.
In the end, threads shot from his palms, touching the bare sections of the roof. The threads flared with power, shifting into shingles.
Honestly, he didn't know what type to buy and didn't want to create a double to buy them for him with his pending trip to Metropolis. He had no idea what he would face there, but he wanted to be as strong as possible.
The threads winked out of existence one by one, leaving behind a roof covered in repaired or new shingles.
Drifting to the ground, Nicholas eyed the metal he had gathered from the Maroni ship. He had decided to meet with John Henry Irons and show him a device bouncing around in his mind.
Stretching forth his hand, metal rose into the air as a smile curled his lips; it was time to bring it into reality.
–XX –
Nicholas stepped off the bus into Metropolis, the air brakes hissing in his ears as he looked around.
The buildings stood tall, straight, and perfectly clean, their Windows reflecting the sunlight. Shifting the device under his arm, Nicholas began walking down the sidewalk.
People glanced at him as he weaved through the crowd, their eyes flicking to his green hair before focusing on his eyes.
Catching a gaze for the third time, Nicholas wondered if he should've changed his features; shaking his head, he decided he wanted to use his natural face; he didn't want to have to remember to alter his features every time he went out.
Stopping before a 30-story building of glass and shining steel, Nicholas eyed the enormous blocky metal letters proclaiming the place to be Steel Works.
Stepping forward, a pair of glass doors hissed open, and a shiver went down his spine as he stepped into an air-conditioned lobby.
Stopping before the crescent-shaped desk in the center of the lobby, Nicholas's gaze flicked to the wall of elevators behind the woman, "Good morning," he greeted, his lips curling into a smile, "I'm here to see Mr. Irons."
The woman looked up at him, her professional smile not reaching her Hazel eyes, "Hello, Sir, what is your name?"
"My name is Nicholas Campbell," he glanced at his wrist, smiling sheepishly at his lack of a watch, "I may be a bit early, but it was a long way from Gotham."
The woman glanced at the thin glasslike screen of her computer, "Of course, Sir."
After a few minutes, the woman's eyes widened ever so slightly in surprise, "Mr. Irons is expecting you," she glanced at the device under his arm.
Following her gaze, Nicholas shifted the metal square with one side open and glowing blue circuits running through it. "This is why I am here today; it's called the Recycler. I heard that Steel Works was about cleaning up the planet," he raised an eyebrow, "I hope that was true."
"It's true; I'm just not sure that Mr. Irons would want anyone bringing an unknown device into the building."
"Ah," Nicholas nodded, "well, if you want to call up and ask him, that's fine; I'll sit over here," he gestured to the chairs lining one wall.
The woman nodded slowly, brushing a few strands of her short dark hair away from her ear. She placed the phone to her ear as Nicholas walked away and sat in one of the chairs.
Sitting the recycler in his lap, Nicholas closed his eyes, letting the world shift into the threads of reality within his mind as he scanned the city. Possibility swam around him as he took in the threads.
For a moment, he just sat there, relaxing in the potential.
Suddenly, his brow wrinkled, and his head tilted to the side as threads of reality dissolved a few blocks away.
'What is that?'
"Sir?"
Nicholas's eyes snapped open, and he focused on the secretary, "Yes."
"Mr. Irons will see you now. Take one of the elevators to the 30th floor."
Nicholas rose to his feet, tucking the recycler back under his arm, "Thank you," he began walking to the elevator but paused a short distance past the receptionist's desk, "may I ask your name."
"Julie Dunbar."
"Well, Julie, it was nice to meet you, and I hope you have a pleasant day."
–XX –
The door to the elevator opened, and Nicholas stepped out into a hallway lined with a thin grey carpet. Wooden doors lined the hallway, leading to double doors at the end.
Each door, except for the set of double doors, had a nameplate in its center.
'She didn't tell me, but I'm going to assume I go to the end of the hallway.' Stopping before the doors, he knocked.
A deep male voice, partially muffled by the door, called him to enter.
Opening the door, Nicholas was surprised to find it was a conference room. It was empty at the moment except for a large dark-skinned man sitting at the head of a long glass table, his form backlit by the window behind him.
Stopping at the opposite end of the table, Nicholas set the recycler down, "John Irons, I assume."
John stood to his feet, revealing himself to be 6'7" tall. "I am," he walked around the table, dressed in a grey blazer, pale blue polo shirt, grey slacks, and matching shoes.
He offered his hand, "Nicholas Campbell?"
"Yes."
"Well, it's nice to meet you. You said you had a device you wanted to show me on the phone?" John's Brown eyes flicked to the cube.
"That's right," Nicholas patted the cube, "This is the recycler; it breaks down whatever is put inside it into its base materials to be reused."
"Interesting, can you show me?"
"Certainly," Nicholas made a show of looking around the room, "Do you have anything we could put in the machine? I don't make a habit of carrying around trash."
Walking over to a trashcan near the door, John returned with a plastic bottle, a crumpled piece of paper, and a candy wrapper. "Do they have to be put in individually?"
John Henry placed the items inside the cube. He watched intently as a blue light shone from the sides of the cube. Before his eyes, the items broke down into Moats of matter before reforming into a plastic sheet, a pristine piece of white paper, and a piece of cellophane.
The opposite side of the cube opened, and a tray shot out, presenting the reformed items.
John picked them up one by one, rotating each in his hand, "Impressive, what's the loss during the conversion?"
"Less than 2%."
"What is it powered by?"
Nicholas pointed to the lines etched into the cube, "These not only direct the power flow, but they absorb solar energy."
John reached for the cube, only to pause and look at Nicholas, "May I?"
"Of course."
Picking up the machine, John brought it close to his face. Inside the grooves that lined the machine was what looked like crystal or glass. Placing it down, he turned to face Nicholas, "What do you want from my company?"
"I want you to work with me to distribute the Recycler to landfills nationwide."
"What will the profit margins be like, my investors will ask?"
"I would want 70% since I'm going to take care of manufacturing and materials."
John raised an eyebrow, "You, one man, are going to take care of developing enough of these devices to outfit every landfill in the country."
Nicholas raised his hand, and the conference table changed, transforming into a larger version of the Recycler.
John stepped back in surprise.
"I am a meta-human or mutant, Mr. Irons; I developed this device by studying my abilities, 'and with inherited knowledge from an extra-dimensional locus' 'he added mentally.'
Running a hand over his bald head, John sighed, "The investors are not going to like this."
"Is there a problem with me being a meta-human?"
"It's not that; it's just unusual for someone with powers to go into big business," John scratched his temple, "at least legitimately."
Nicholas nodded; he had noticed that normal meta-humans either worked a nine-to-five or went into superhero or villain work.
Nicholas lowered his hand, and the table reverted to normal. "I could go to each mayor," Nicholas glanced up in thought, "or is it governor, and sell these devices to the city directly. However, your company seems to do good work, so to save myself some time and help you out, I came here."
"Oh, I want to help you, but I need to show the machine to my investors and have research and development look it over to ensure the items it produces don't give off radiation or something."
"That's fine," Nicholas reached into his jacket and pulled out a rolled-up contract. To his sight, threads of reality wove in and around the contract, "but if your people are going to look it over, I'm going to need you to sign this."
John took the contract and unrolled it, finding it a standard contract saying that he wouldn't make Nicholas's device and sell it as his own. Taking a pen from his pocket, John signed the contract.
Unknown to John, the threads of reality wrapped around the contract flared. If anyone in his employ broke the agreement, Nicholas would be allowed to sue him, and a compulsion would not permit John Henry to fight it.
Rolling up the contract, John returned it to Nicholas, "How long will you be in town?"
"A few days, there are some things in the city that have caught my interest," Nicholas replied, thinking of the anomaly that destroyed the strings of reality.
"Good," John offered him his hand, "I'll contact you once my people have had a chance to look your device over."
Nicholas took his hand, "It was a pleasure to meet you, John Henry; I hope we can work together in the future."