Free George R.R. Martin - [Wild Cards 18] by Inside Straight

very mind, strangers who can peer into your soul. Women who fly, men who lift tanks, deformities that strain our definition of what it means to be human. We’ve seen witch hunts, assassinations, politics run amuck, the world brought to the brink and back. You’d think that surely we’d seen it all.
    “But I can tell you that we haven’t. Over the last few weeks I’ve traveled from one end of the country to the other. And I have been amazed.”
    He introduced the next segment: highlights from the seven auditions, potential contestants who tried and failed—sometimes to the great amusement of the audience—and those who tried and astonished.
    A dozen concrete walls shattered.
    A dozen cars rose from the ground, or disintegrated, or burst into flames.
    A dozen bone-shattering falls were survived. A dozen aces flew to the tops of nearby buildings.
    The sequence of clips paid special attention to the ace, Curveball. The show’s editors were already deciding who their heroes were.
    She threw a baseball with an underhanded snap. Her whole body seemed to pop like a spring, and the ball flew, faster than any major league pitch. It glowed yellow, then orange, scorching the air it passed through.
    Then it turned. Hand outstretched, Kate guided it. As if it had a mind of its own, it flew around an overturned bus, back through a maze of twisted rebar, and slammed into one of the stacks of concrete blocks that served as a makeshift wall.
    The wall shattered with the force of an explosion. Concrete and dust flew in all directions and the sound rattled the seats all over the stadium. When the air cleared, the wall was gone. Disintegrated. The missile—a simple baseball, everyone was sure to note—had destroyed it.
    Downs’s prediction was right: The audience at home was astonished and amazed, and they couldn’t wait to see more.
    “Now,” Peregrine said, donning her brightest smile yet. “Meet your new American Heroes!”
    Twenty-eight contestants joined the winged beauty on stage, standing in groups of seven with their teams: Hearts, Spades, Diamonds, Clubs. It was glorious—lights flashed, music swelled, and it sounded like cheering.
    Ana was caught in it all like a deer in the headlights, a tight smile locked on her face. Drummer Boy punched six hands in the air, and Wild Fox’s tail flashed sparks as it twitched.
    Amidst the thrills, elation, and chaos, Jonathan Hive tapped his wrist.
    “All right, kids, check your watches,” he said. “Your fifteen minutes starts now.”

    A week later, the party was over.
    Four teams gathered on the same stage, which now servedas the field of judgment. Behind each team, as part of the backdrop, was its logo: Hearts, Spades, Diamonds, Clubs.
    No one knew what to expect, so the atmosphere was beyond tense. It crackled. The last time they’d stood here, the mood had been celebratory: They were the chosen ones, they’d been anointed. Now, they had failed. They’d had their first trial, and they didn’t feel good about it.
    One team—Clubs—held itself differently. Their frowns were a bit more smug, their backs a bit straighter. Before any of them saw the replays, they could all guess who had won this round.
    In fact, the replay of Team Clubs’ assault on the burning building couldn’t have been any more glorious if it had been scripted.
    Stuntman did the impossible: ran into the burning building by the front door. Nearly invulnerable, he couldn’t burn. He made three trips, pulling out four “victims,” including the doll programmed with a digital recording of a crying baby. His clothes were scorched to nearly nothing, but Diver was on hand with a coat from the fire truck to cover him. The others had been more successful operating the fire hose. Jade Blossom increased her density, making herself an anchor to brace the nozzle. The water dampened the fire enough to clear a path in the front entryway. Two more people rescued. Brave Hawk, who manifested illusory brown-black hawk