Gruefield 18 (Tarnished Sterling Omnibus)

by Robert McCarroll

  "You..." Jasmine's strength was ebbing, her voice growing weaker.

  "I didn't double-cross you, you were just too impatient to reap the benefits of our deal."

  Jasmine spat a profanity at Omicron with her dying breath.

  "How uncivilized you Americans are."

  Nikki slid away from the vent opening, visibly shaken, even through her mask. I'd only heard the transaction, and that was off-putting enough. She probably had a bird's eye view of the whole ordeal. Pulling a gun she swung it towards me. I caught her wrist before the muzzle pointed at any pieces of me. "What are you doing following me?" she asked, still distraught.

  "Actually, I was after the tracer that I disarmed you with. It apparently stuck to you. They're designed to do that." Looking herself over, she pulled the small disc off her side and planted it on my forehead.

  "There, now go."

  "I'm sorry about your stepmother," I said, moving away. "That's why I'm trying to stop Omicron."

  "The holocom is still on, children," Omicron said. "And it has sensitive pickups." The sheet steel roof was torn out from under us, sending us tumbling into the warehouse interior. The first thing my eyes fell upon was the bloody, skinless mess that used to be Jasmine Greeler. Whatever color her suit had been, it was now deeply stained a rusty crimson. Near her lay the fractured remnants of what might have been a bot. Looking around, I saw a half dozen of Omicron's white-coated bots, four of them carrying what looked like junkyard billhooks. Two had rifle-like devices that ended in a tuning fork instead of a barrel. "Don't be fooled by the pulp aesthetics of my bots and their tools. That's just style. Their substance is much worse." The hologram Doctor Omicron flickered and leaned forward. "But I shouldn't talk so much. Kill them."

  I started to think I needed to carry a weapon. At least something useful against robots. I ducked a slash from one of the polearm-wielding bots as its companion took aim. With a shape like a tuning fork, my first thought was of sonics. That wasn't what these guns used. Between the forks, electrical discharge built up plasma, which shot forward a half-second later. The delay made it easier to dodge than regular weapons. It did, however, manage to burn a large hole in the cement board wall. I guess it could be useful against tanks, but not against someone with any agility. Nikki's bullets rang off the metal shells of the bots, making me feel a little less bad that my fists hadn't been effective last time. It didn't take her long to realize that the Art Deco robots weren't slowing down.

  I wove around a few more swipes from the billhooks, only to have my aching knee give out, sending me into a tumble. Leyden Academy would not be happy to hear about this injury. The bots advanced, their unfeeling amber eyes looking down at me. As they raised their polearms, the loud rip of automatic fire filled the warehouse. Whatever Jasmine had loaded in her assault rifle tore through the bots with relative ease. Probably armor-piercing rounds of some sort. Nikki mowed down the lot of them by the time the drum magazine went empty. "All right, you, you, Doctor Omicron," Nikki said, failing to come up with a suitable expletive. "Where are you hiding?"

  "A pity," Omicron said, "The holocom is going to be a bit more expensive."

  "What?"

  Omicron pushed a button on a device in his hand. His image vanished as the holocom exploded, the shockwave tossing Nikki back. She rolled almost to where I lay. I crawled over to her and checked her pulse. It was strong, but she was dazed and moaning. I figured I had to call the police. After all, someone was bound to report gunfire and an explosion.

  Dear God, there was an unholy amount of paperwork. Having to clinically pick apart events and attest to every minute detail almost numbed the horror of how Jasmine Greeler had died. I was still filling it out, seated on the curb as the coroner wheeled her body bag out. I'd gone through three cheap-assed government-issue pens and a small army of cops were crawling over every inch of the warehouse. Nikki was long gone in an ambulance, and the sun was threatening to come over the horizon. I hadn't liked Jasmine Greeler, but no one should go out like that. It had been a psychological trap. Like all day traders, and other habitual gamblers, her willingness to take risks others found unacceptable meant she would never have waited for the translation. It was more insidious, though no less cruel, than what he'd done to the Fifth Street Gang.

  Every few minutes, Detective Esposito came back with another round of questions. I'd do my best to answer them, but he'd usually grumble something before I finished and wander off. I don't know what he was looking for, but I didn't seem to be providing it. With the amount of official traffic going in and out of the area, I barely noticed the arrival of another vehicle. My paranoia made me glance up to find it was a now-familiar limo. Torquespiral got out and approached the yellow tape. As he lifted it up, Esposito rushed over, trying not to fall out of a raincoat made for a much fatter man.

  "Look, Mister," Esposito said, "This is a crime scene, read the tape and stay on the outside."

  "Detective?" Torquespiral said, "You seem to be somewhat confused. Normally when something takes place inside a building, they don't tape off the street."

  "Look, I don't know who you are--"

  "Oh, my apologies." He fished out a card from the inside pocket of his jacket. "Berthold Edgars, Special Advisor to the commission of the Bureau of Hero Affairs."

  "One of those double-dealing conflict of interest seats," Esposito said, "Like the Pharma guys 'advising' the FDA."

  "The point is, I have the authority to enter this cordon and speak with any license holder here."

  "Right," Esposito said, storming off and grumbling something. Torquespiral moved in my direction, Ixahau showing up in his wake. She drew the eye of a number of people, most of whom pretended to go back to work.

  "Good morning, Shadowdemon," he said.

  "Morning."

  "I see the Detective has taken to malicious compliance with regards to paperwork."

  "I'm sorry?"

  "He's found every form that you could potentially be required to fill out as a means of punishing you for doing your duty."

  "There seems to be a justification for all of it," I said.

  "There always is. Police who don't like heroes soon find out that we know the rules just as well as they do. He's trying your patience, attempting to get you on willful noncompliance."

  "So for now, I just finish the paperwork to avoid complications?"

  "Indeed. Fortunately there is time before we need to be at the airport."

  "Am I leaving again? Because I should warn you, I hurt my knee earlier tonight and I might be a bit limpy."

  "In this case, we're picking up instead of dropping off."

  "I suppose you'll be needing medical attention again," Ixa said.

  "It's funny Ixa. I always seem to be hurt when you're around." I didn't mean it as mean-spirited as it came out, but I was tired, sore, and not at all happy about what went down.

  "When were you hurt the first time we met?" Ixa asked.

  "When you laughed at me." The words ran away from me before I could catch them, escaping my lips uncensored. I turned red and buried my face in the paperwork. I didn't see the reactions of the others. I was too embarrassed to look up. Ixa sat down next to me, but said nothing. As the sun breached the sky, the cops were startled by the sudden shift of the solar panels to catch its rays. I finished the paperwork and limped over to Detective Esposito, giving him the clipboard and the handful of dead pens.

  "Fine," he said with a sigh, "Just get out of here," Esposito said. Ixa and Torquespiral appeared beside me and led me back to the car. We climbed in and started off.

  "I take it this was not a social call," I said, "There's a reason you want me to be at the airport with you."

  "As I said, I'm finding members for the new team. Ixahau has agreed to join as she had to reason to move here already. I didn't pry as to what th
at was."

  "It'll be nice seeing you when I'm not injured," I said.

  "You need to work on your charm," Ixa said.

  "What I really needed to mention is that one of the recruits is also one of my granddaughters," Torquespiral said. "I want to pre-empt any claims she might try to make on special treatment. Jennifer has an unhealthy ego, and she was getting too light a touch where she was."

  "Is there any reason you're bringing it up with just us?" I asked.

  "You two are the only ones on the team with leadership endorsements, which means one of you will be the team leader when the time comes to elect one. Forewarning of potential interpersonal issues is only fair. And to be honest, she could stand to learn basic humility."

  "So," Ixa said, "What you're saying is that making her learn to operate as a team member instead of being the center of attention will be good for her."

  "You've got it," Torquespiral said.

  "So, you're telling us her secret identity for her own good?" I asked. Or out of habit from never being reliant on secrets, but implying that an elder hero has become doddering is at best impolite.

  "That, and in my experience, these things tend to come out among teammates. Also, she'll probably blurt it out herself to try to leech off the family reputation."

  "Yours is not the only family with a history in the community," Ixa said. Given that her legacy was implied to be passed from mother to daughter, and reached back to the time of the conquistadors, I wasn't sure if she meant her family, mine, or both.

  "That was the sort of reaction I was hoping for," Torquespiral said. Outside the window I saw a familiar sign advertising a shoe sale and realized we were now on the Avenue K Bypass. In my tired mind, it generated a chuckle.

  "What's her codename?" I asked, hoping they hadn't noticed the chortle.

  Torquespiral sighed. "Apexa," he said. "Because outside of existing legacies, noble and royal titles are barred."

  "Can we convince her to file a thirty-eight?"

  "You can try," Torquespiral said, "God knows I'd appreciate it if you did."

  "I'm still a bit in the dark as to who is on the team so far," Ixa said.

  "For the class-threes, I've wrangled you and Shadowdemon, Apexa, Blue Streak and Icerazor. There will be three traineeships, for which we have more candidates than spaces. One has been reserved for Cupric's old sidekick, should he choose to continue his career within the community."

  "I'm not familiar with Icerazor," I said.

  "He's had a rather adversarial relationship with his mentor and requested a move to New Port Arthur. And his powers come with an unwelcome medical condition. He was not forthcoming with details, other than that it could be controlled through diet."

  "Eight people is a bit on the large side," Ixa said.

  "The ages of the people on the team mean there will be ample scheduling conflicts, especially during the academic calendar. The size of the team was meant to accommodate this shortcoming."

  "Lowers the probability of everyone being otherwise occupied."

  "Exactly." We were working through the coils of roadways around the airport, approaching the front of the terminal. As we approached the loading zone, the tint on the rear windows darkened. We waited for a few minutes before I heard the trunk pop. I tensed up when the door opened out of paranoid reflex, but a young woman climbed in and kissed Torquespiral on the cheek.

  "Hi Grandad, who's your favorite granddaughter?" she asked.

  "You know I don't play favorites."

  Jennifer frowned, adjusting her hair and the gold headband holding it back. She was tall, probably taller than me. A lot of that height was made up of her long, athletic legs which she seemed eager to show off, dressing in a pair of khaki shorts and running shoes. Her white blouse had the sleeves rolled up high above the elbow. She looked to be maybe eighteen or nineteen. "That's not fair," she said, closing the door.

  "Of course it is. It is the only fair solution," Torquespiral said. "Jennifer, these are Ixahau and Shadowdemon." Jennifer examined us with critical green eyes.

  "Grandad, you should learn that masks and secrets are the norm these days. What if I didn't want to tell them who I am?"

  "Do you ever?"

  "No, but that's not the point."

  "That's exactly the point," Torquespiral said as the limo pulled away from the curb.

  Part 17

  Jennifer Edgars liked to talk at people. Letting you respond seemed low on her list of priorities in a conversation. As she prattled on about every detail of her flight, usually with criticism attached, I tuned her out and watched the city pass in the early morning sunlight. It was probably the least diplomatic response, but all I really wanted to do was get some sleep. Fortunately, or unfortunately, the trip from the airport back to Twenty-First Street wasn't long enough for me to nod off.

  "This place is a dump!" Jennifer exclaimed as she climbed out of the limo. "Why here?"

  "That's a good question actually," I said. "Why here?" I thought this was supposed to be my hideout, not a group base. Mentally going through the layout, I couldn't find space to fit eight people, so we'd be in trouble unless some of the members lived off-site. Especially with the distribution of bathroom and shower facilities. There was a private full bathroom off my room, a half bath by the garage, and two shower stalls in the locker room.

  "Joint use of the facility will contribute towards Shadowdemon's community service, and it is convenient, as we don't have another base built that is available for use," Torquespiral said.

  "There aren't enough bedrooms for eight people," I said. There was, in fact, only one bedroom built in. Nora had set up a cot in the room she'd claimed. Xiv tended to sleep in a different spot each time, just finding a cozy patch of floor to curl up on.

  "I will be sleeping off-site," Ixa said, "So don't worry about me."

  "Well," Jennifer said, "I'll see about staying with--"

  "I'm afraid not," Torquespiral said, "I sold the old house. It was just too big and empty, and expensive to keep rebuilding. I live in a one-bedroom walk-up in a senior living center. My lease does not allow long-term guests."

  "Hmph," Jennifer said. "Anyway, let's see the inside. It can't be worse than the outside." She extracted her suitcases from the trunk. We approached the front door and I opened it. The two girls followed me in while the elder hero rode off. "What sort of freak show is that?" she asked. Xiv growled, his overly large eyes narrowing.

  "Jennifer, this is Xiv. Xiv, Jennifer is going to be on the team."

  "She smells like pain," Xiv said. I gave the dragon boy a quizzical look. That was not exactly a descriptor I'd heard before.

  "What do you mean?"

  "Most people smell like people, but she smells like pain."

  "Whatever," Jennifer said, pushing past Xiv and heading down the ramp to the garage because it was the most obvious path from the door.

  "Who are you?" Nora asked. We went through another round of introductions. "Well," Nora said, "While you were off waiting for Miss Pain, a Paragon truck stopped by at three in the morning and dropped off those two palettes." She pointed to the patently obvious new addition to the garage's décor: two palettes of cardboard boxes in a cellophane wrap. Jennifer went over to the nearer palette and opened one of the boxes, extracting a yellow plastic jar, not unlike the kind used for coffee.

  "Eww, powdered beef blood? What do you need this for?"

  "I suspect that's for the member of our team who hasn't arrived yet," I said, recalling Torquespiral's cryptic comments about Icerazor's medical condition.

  "Well it's sick," Jennifer said, tossing the jar on top of the palette and walking away. She poked her head in the first room down the hall.

  "That's a trophy room," I said. It wasn't terribly obvious from the mostly-empty shelves
. She kept dragging her suitcases down the hallway. Before Jennifer reached the second doorway, Nora rushed into the space.

  "My room," Nora said. Jennifer 'Hmph'ed and went to the last door. Currently, it was earmarked as storage, but didn't have anything in it.

  "Any objections?" she asked sarcastically. Hearing nothing, she moved in. "I'll have to call Ikea, there's a serious shortage of furniture. And I'll have to do something about these gray walls."