by Dana Kelly
“What’s odd?” asked Casey. “Is the target rabbiting?”
“I don’t think so,” April replied, and she exhaled slowly as she came out of her trance. “Here’s my report. As to the matter of his passenger, the man simply doesn’t want to go inside. That’s why he’s out there. He’s not a lookout, and according to the robot, it considers itself a longtime friend of both men.”
Casey recoiled. “You sensed the robot?”
“It must be a digital intelligence of rare quality,” said April. “I didn’t get anything from Orin.”
“Damn it,” muttered Casey. “Kendra conned us!”
“Let’s not be hasty,” countered April. “There is something highly peculiar about Orin. When I said I didn’t get anything from him, I meant exactly that. I can’t sense his thoughts at all.”
“Does he have Mind Vault training?” asked Casey. “Was I right? Is he a spy?”
April shook her head. “When I study Mind Vault artists, I can still sense thoughts, but there’s a mental maze to conquer, first. With Orin, he’s like a block box. Or a void. It’s as if he has no psychic presence at all. I’ve never encountered anything like it.”
“Maybe he’s a cyborg, or an android,” offered Shona.
“Good thinking, but that’s not it either,” said April. “The inanimate reflects traces of psychic energy, akin to distant echoes or ripples in a pond. No, this is something else completely.”
Casey raised her binoculars again. “Stay with him if you can. I don’t want him sneaking out the bathroom window without us knowing about it.”
“I’ll do my best,” said April, and she closed her eyes.
Malmoradan opened another snack bag. It crinkled loudly as he dug out a handful of crisps, and Casey glared at him. “What?” he asked.
“Can you not do that right now?”
“Sorry,” he mouthed, and he gingerly set the bag down in his lap. Even with his mouth closed, his crunching seemed to fill the van. Growling to herself, Casey donned her headphones and turned up the music.
◆◆◆
Dance anthems boomed all around him as Orin’s eyesight adjusted to the strobes and the darkness. On the other side of a welded wire wall, fog rolled from machines set throughout the dance floor. After a moment more, he crossed the lobby to stand before the cashier. “I’m here to pick up a friend!”
“It’s a ten-credit cover!” she replied, tucking pale-yellow dreadlocks behind one ear. She extended a gene-key reader.
“Just to pick up a friend?”
The cashier regarded him impassively. “I’ll give you ten minutes in the lobby, then you have to pay or leave! Okay?”
“Got it!” said Orin, and he checked his phone for the time. He shrugged slightly and meandered toward the nearest corner, where he leaned against the wall. Absently, he scanned the sea of dancers for his friend.
“Hey!” said Torsha from behind him, and she smiled brightly.
Surprised, he turned to face her. “Where did you come from?”
An ocelini woman, Torsha was lean and strong. Leather laces tied up her flowing black mane, held in place behind her prominent, angled ears. Her tortoiseshell fur had the look of a raging forest fire. With her thumb, she indicated the nearest bathroom. “How long were you waiting?”
“Oh, not too long!” said Orin. “Are you ready to go?”
“Almost!” said Torsha, and they shared a tight embrace. “Now I’m ready!” They followed a large group of clubgoers as they filed past Kondo, heading up the stairs.
“Thanks for coming to get me,” she said, and winced as cold air gusted against her, rustling her oversized rock concert T-shirt. Spotting Mike and Nimbus, she waved enthusiastically. Mike raised a hand in response, wearing just the hint of a smile, and Nimbus click-clacked in place, circling repeatedly.
“Any time,” said Orin. “Can I ask why, though?”
Torsha leaned into him, hugging his arm. “I missed you.”
As they joined the others, Orin said, “I missed you too, but usually when you’re feeling lonely, you organize an epic, pizza-fueled game night. You don’t call me for a pickup at four in the morning. What gives?”
Torsha laughed quietly and nodded. “You’re right. I do that, don’t I?” Drawing a deep breath, she said, “Okay, the truth. The guy who drove me here turned out to be a total creep. He and his crew had their own ideas about how tonight was going down, and it took a couple of sprained fingers to convince them they were wrong. Plus, he looked super pissed off when Kondo tossed him out. He said he was going to ‘teach me a lesson.’ Well, I’d like to see him try, but either way I didn’t feel safe, so I called you.”
“What’s his name?” asked Mike. Fury simmered in his eyes. “Did he pick you up from your house or from a public place? What does he look like?”
Torsha rested a hand upon his forearm. Her gray undershirt’s long sleeves fluttered in the breeze. “I’m sure he’s gone. I just didn’t want to take any chances.”
“Please,” said Mike. “I’d like to know.”
“Sure, okay. His name is Bello.” With a sigh, Torsha confessed, “And he picked me up from home. Before you say it, I know it was stupid.”
“It’s not your fault he made you feel unsafe,” said Mike. “What does he look like?”
Wistfully, she answered, “He’s a little short for an ocelini, but he has the most beautiful, velvety, Siamese coat.”
“Torsha Madagan, you are consistently infatuated with Siamese-coated males,” said Nimbus. “To utilize an Earth adage, I believe it to be your Achilles heel.”
“Why would that kill my heel?” she asked.
“He means it’s your one weakness,” said Mike.
Orin looked grim. “Mike, we passed a Siamese on the way here.” Subtly, he nodded toward the hoagie stand.
“I must have missed that.” Mike studied the group Orin had indicated. One figure stood out. Even hunched, the Siamese ocelini stood taller than the rest of his friends. Clearly agitated, he glanced repeatedly toward the club as his gaze darted across his surroundings. Mike leaned close to Torsha. “Is that him? Is that Bello?”
Torsha swore. “Yeah, that’s him. And his crew. Plus a few more, by the looks of it.”
Orin said, “No worries! We can take the long way back to my truck. There’s at least three alleys we can use to sneak by them. First, we’ll need to head back into the club so we can use the side exit. Torsha, you go in first. After a minute, I’ll go in. After another minute, Mike and Nimbus. Once we’re all inside—”
“Stop,” Mike interrupted. “This guy knows where Torsha lives, and no one knows how far he’s willing to go. No, Orin. We’re going to show him a better way.” He marched toward the hoagie stand. Uncertain at first, Nimbus skittered along after.
“I love it when he says that,” said Torsha. She fought the urge to grin.
Orin’s heart raced, and his voice caught in his throat. “I don’t.”
They hurried to catch up to Mike.
As they neared Bello and his crew, the ocelini stood up straight, rivaling Orin’s height. At Bello’s urging, six others—all of them human and dressed in stylish loungewear—spread out to form the horns of a crescent. “Too bad you didn’t bring more friends,” said Bello.
Mike closed the distance between them. He lowered his chin. As he got close to the eatery’s entrance, he bent his legs and extended his hands.
Regarding Mike as he stood close, the ocelini sneered, “But I guess you’d have a lot more if you weren’t such a stupid, cockteasing—urk!”
Mike backed inside the doorway, stepping out just long enough to hit Bello in the throat. Retreating into the diner, Mike kept just inside the door and punched one of the goons in the solar plexus, elbowed another in the stomach, and as that fellow doubled over, brought his fist down on the back of his head.
Frantically, mutely, Bello held his throat with one hand and pointed at Mike with the other. The rest of his crew charged inside.
Mike grabbed a stack of plastic trays as he bolted for the kitchen, casting them down in his wake. Two of Bello’s goons slipped on them and fell. One cracked his head open on the edge of a table and collapsed on the tile floor. Mike hopped over the counter as the startled cashier fumbled for words. The cook barely looked his way as Mike dashed for the back door with three others in hot pursuit.
Bello finally found his voice and roared, turning his attention to Torsha. “I’m gonna kill you, bitch!” Raising his arms, he extended his claws and charged.
“No. You’re not,” growled Orin, and he balled his fists. He dashed around back, and as Bello drew close, Orin shoved the restaurant’s trash bin with all his might. It slammed into Bello’s flank, knocking him off balance. As the ocelini stumbled, Orin kept pushing until he pinned his opponent against a parked car. Turning around, he rooted in place, bracing the trash bin. Bello shoved and lunged, but Orin stood fast.
Nimbus scuttled along as Mike pushed the emergency exit’s release bar, triggering the alarm. Dashing outside, he instantly whirled around and slammed the door in the face of a pursuer. With a quick punch to the kidneys and a vicious head butt, the man went down, blocking the doorway. Looking to his companion, Mike said, “Nimbus, you could be more helpful!”
Nimbus barked at Bello’s goons.
“Great, thanks.”
Bolting back around to the main entrance, Mike leapt through the air and brought his knees down on the back of the man he had first struck. Dashing back inside the diner, he attacked from the doorway, laying out another brute, just as the two who had followed him through the kitchen stepped into view.
They glanced between Mike, their fallen comrades, and Bello as Orin struggled to keep the ocelini immobilized.
Mike smiled and beckoned to them.
Glancing to one another, they readied to strike, turned, and ran away.
The cook and the cashier looked on, dumbstruck. As the emergency alarm blared, the brute with the head wound climbed painfully to his feet. In a daze, he stumbled outside. Not long after, the alarm fell quiet as the last of Bello’s entourage ambled slowly from around back of the eatery, wincing and hissing as he trudged into view.
Calmly, Torsha approached Bello. “Too bad you didn’t bring more friends,” she jeered. “It was just starting to get fun.”
“Torsha,” sputtered Orin. “I need your help!”
“It’s okay,” she replied. “I’ll take it from here.”
“All right,” said Orin, and he jumped away.
Bello propped himself on the car at his back and pushed with his legs. The trash bin shot across the sidewalk, rolling back toward its recess. Savagely, Bello lunged at Torsha, but she extended her own claws, and a flurry of slashes left him face down on the sidewalk, dazed, with a shredded and bloodied suit. He moaned in pain.
Orin hurried close to grapple Bello in an inverted arm lock, and Torsha knelt upon his back. Leaning in close, she spat, “Teaching moment, asshole.” She dug her knee into the base of his neck. “No means no.”
Mike and Nimbus gathered beside her.
“You guys are the ones who attacked me,” he croaked. “Let me go, and I might not press charges.”
Still a bit out of breath, Mike crouched near Bello’s head. “Let’s get a couple things out of the way, first.” Mike retrieved his wallet and dangled his identification card in front of the ocelini. “I’m part of the Falcon Sovereign Diaspora.”
“You want a medal, or something?” Bello grunted as he struggled against Orin’s vice-like grip. “Am I supposed to be impressed by that?”
“My father is Archduke Martin Santos,” said Mike. “Perhaps you’ve heard of him.”
“Is that name supposed to mean something to me?” Bello winced in pain as Orin reasserted his hold.
“Ah.” Mike flipped to a picture of him and his father on a fishing boat. “That’s okay. Maybe you only know him as El Sangron. I’ve been told we look a lot alike, but personally I don’t see it. Do you?”
A bitter wind gusted as Bello studied the photo. “Oh,” he breathed, and the strength fled his body. “Yes, actually. You do.” A chill rippled across his fur, and tears welled in his eyes.
“Go figure.” Mike closed his wallet and pocketed it. “It’s just one of those things, I suppose.”
“Please forgive me,” pleaded Bello.
“I’ll think about it,” said Mike. “Give me your ID.”
Bello stammered, “W… What?”
Mike nodded patiently. “Your ID.”
With his free hand, Bello strained to retrieve his billfold. It fell from his grip as he tried to pass it over. Mike snatched it up before Bello could react. “Sorry,” said Bello.
“No, you’re not,” said Mike, and he studied Bello’s identification card. “Bellogatto Della Pelliccia,” he read aloud. “You’re a Della Pelliccia?”
“I am,” said Bello.
Mike laughed. “Nice!” He dropped the billfold on the sidewalk, just out of Bello’s reach. “Then we both know you won’t press charges.” Mike squeezed Bello’s shoulder and stood. “Torsha, I think we have an accord. Bello’s got plenty to think about on the long drive home.”
Torsha stood, stepped back, and crossed her arms. She nodded toward Orin, and he released the ocelini from his hold. Orin got quickly to his feet.
“Thank you,” Bello squeaked. He hobbled up to stand, collected his billfold, and limped away. One by one, his crew followed.
“You’re just gonna let ‘em do you like that?” barked the thug with the head wound.
“Shut up!” Bello roared, and he swung wildly at his comrade. “You guys suck! All of you suck! Find your own ride home.” Fuming, he shambled toward his luxury SUV.
Orin watched them scatter. As soon as Bello slammed his door shut, Orin turned his attention to his friends. “The cops will be here soon. Should we wait around? I’m not completely sure we’re on the right side of the law on this one.”
“We’ll be fine,” said Mike. “And yes, we should wait.”
“I hate cops,” grumbled Torsha.
“I know,” said Mike, and he hugged her sidelong. Looking toward Milo’s, he suggested, “Let’s help clean up.”
“Good thinking,” said Torsha. “Maybe they’ll give us discounts on cheese steaks!”
“Probably not,” chuckled Mike.
He led Nimbus and Torsha inside as Orin pushed the trash bin back into place.
◆◆◆
Catching her breath, Casey said, “Malmoradan, Shona, stand down. The situation is under control.” She faced April. “Did you sense anything? Any evidence of the target’s powers, at all?”
April replied, “Nothing.”
Casey set her binoculars on the dash, right next to her headphones. “We can’t detain him for being proof against psychics.” Leaning back in her chair, she said, “I hate to say it, but Kendra was wrong. We’ve got nothing to bust this guy on.”
“There’s a first time for everything,” said Malmoradan.
“Unless she wasn’t wrong,” said Shona.
“She just seemed so convinced this guy was the real deal,” Casey insisted. “‘Bleeding light on everything he touches,’ she said.” Turning to her crewmates, she asked, “What do you guys think? Should we wait him out? Follow at a distance and hope he eventually tips his hand?”
Warmly, April replied, “I think we should call it in. Local PD will want to take statements.”
“You’re right,” said Casey, and she retrieved her datapad. After a moment, she said, “It’s done. Now what about the target?”
April shrugged. “We should probably cut our losses and move on. Orin’s just a man with an unusual, but otherwise perfectly mundane gift.”
Casey grumped. “You really think so?”
“I really do,” said April.
◆◆◆
Mike and Torsha assisted the cashier and the cook in picking up the mess. Orin mopped up the blood, while Nimbus took
the form of a warning cone with a spinning light on top. He positioned himself just outside the door.
Suddenly, screeching tires filled the air. Headlights switched on the instant before Bello drove his SUV into the hoagie stand. Metal crunched, and glass shattered, but everything slowed to a stop as if frozen in time.
From a group of nearby clubgoers, cheers and screams filled the air, along with astonished gasps and whispers of, “Look at that!” and “Who’s doing it?”
Orin stood with the mop gripped tightly, his heart pounding in his ears. His right hand crackled with cold, blue fire. Swallowing hard, he released the mop, and its handle clattered against the dining room tile.
Close enough to touch, Bello’s luxury SUV floated in the air, directly in front of Orin. Dizzying waves of power flooded Orin’s body. Shards of glass and chunks of concrete tumbled slowly in place.
Eyes wide, throat tight, Orin felt connected to the debris, to his friends, to the vehicle and its driver. With a thought and a swipe of his left hand, Orin moved Milo’s employees and his friends to safety. He took a deep breath and rose slowly off the ground, drawing the SUV up with him.
The engine revved, and the rear tires spun. Behind the steering wheel, Bello pleaded, “What are you?”
Thinking back to the elderly man he had met at his shuttle stop, the light of realization dawned across Orin’s mind. This is my trigger event. Orin regarded his fiery hand with thrill and wonder. His heart raced faster, and he locked eyes with Bello as he yelled, “I’m a binary!” Clasping his hands together, blue flames wreathed them both.
“I… I didn’t know! You never showed me your badge! How was I was supposed to know? Please,” Bello implored. “Please don’t kill me!”
“I wasn’t planning on it.” Instinctively, Orin gestured, and waves of force surrounded Bello’s SUV. He made a tearing motion with his hands, and a terrible shriek of wracked metal filled the air as Orin ripped the vehicle in two. Bello floated helplessly as Orin set the mangled front and back halves of the SUV against the curb. “But I know your type. You won’t stop until you’ve soothed your wounded pride.”