by Mercedes Lackey; Cody Martin; Dennis Lee; Veronica Giguere
This was a need driven by revenge.
* * *
“Bull, can we trust this guy?”
Bulwark acknowledged Acrobat with a look, but didn’t answer. He watched as Red and Jack stood apart from the group, speaking quietly. At times, Red looked as if he were about to make some sort of outburst. Each time, Jack held up his hands and spoke quickly, talking the Djinni down with calming gestures. And Bull continued to watch.
“No,” he said finally. “I don’t think he’s the trustworthy sort. Helluva thing, though. I can’t shake the feeling he’s telling the truth.”
“How do you know?” Scope asked.
“No sure way of telling,” Bull grunted. “He’s got the walk, he’s got the weight, this old boy’s been around for a while. He knows how to play, but something tells me he’s on the level with this one. Got nothing to say it’s one way or the other, really. Just instinct.”
“We trust your instincts, Bull.” Harmony said with a soft smile. “They’ve carried us this far.”
“Mmhm,” Bull answered.
They watched as, after a strained moment of silence, Red reached out, shook Jack’s hand and caught him in a rough embrace.
“Gosh,” Scope muttered. “Guess this means we’re all friends now.”
Bulwark nodded. “Looks like. By now, you all know as well as I do that Red’s a reader. When you watch him. When you look past his bluster and bravado, past the wit and bad humour, when you watch his eyes. He’s always watching, even when he’s ranting, he’s watching you. He sees tells, he picks up on the most subtle body language, and his intuition is pretty solid . . . where people are concerned, anyway.”
Scope considered that, and nodded. “That it is.”
“And it looks like Jack’s got Red believing,” Bulwark said. “So the only question is, has Red made the grade?”
The Misfits shared a look of confusion.
“Bull . . . ?” Harmony started.
“Do you all trust him yet?” Bulwark asked.
He regarded them each in turn. They looked to each other again, their eyes probing for a consensus. Finally, they met his gaze, and nodded.
Red sauntered up, and flinched as he caught their attention.
“What’s with you guys?” he asked. “You all look like you want to hug me or something. Especially you, Bruno. Quit it.”
“So what’s your verdict?” Bulwark asked him.
Red glanced back at Jack, who had lit another cigar and stood under a canopy of trees. It was Jack’s turn to watch them.
“I think he’s all right,” the Djinni said. “He’s just here to talk.”
“You’re sure?” Scope asked.
“He’s not armed, for one thing,” Red answered. “He usually has a few guns tucked here and there on him, and a blade at the small of his back. I didn’t sense anything on him, not even a pocketknife. I figure he knew we wouldn’t let him anywhere near the boss with his usual hardware. As for the rest of it . . . I’ve known him a long time. Call it intuition.”
“All right then,” Bulwark said. “Harmony, call it in. If Tesla’s willing, you and I will escort our visitor to him.”
“Wait, what?” Red objected. “Just you two? Hey, this is still the head of our main competition here . . .”
“I’m sure Harmony and I can handle ferrying one unarmed non-meta to Tesla’s office. After that, he’ll have to go through us as well as Tesla’s squad of armed guards. We’ll be fine.”
“What about us?” Scope asked, pointing to herself and Acrobat.
“You two get to the infirmary,” Bulwark said. “I want you both checked out.”
Scope and Acrobat immediately started to protest, but Bull cut them off. “Forget it. I saw the hits you both took. Once the adrenaline wears off, you’ll feel it. Plus, you could be sporting some bad bone bruises, hairline fractures, even breaks. You know the drill. You get tagged on the field, you get checked by the docs.”
“And me?” Red asked.
“You know Tesla’s banned you from his presence, Red. He doesn’t want you anywhere near him, not since the last meeting you two had.”
“Oh, come on,” Red protested. “I only roughed him up a little . . .”
“You nearly broke his nose, Djinni. Stay here, we’ll fill you all in later. Besides, someone needs to clean all this up.” Bulwark gestured to the course, parts of which were completely destroyed, and interspersed throughout, the androids stood patiently, dripping their viscous payloads of goop. Red glanced at the wreckage and winced.
“I mean it, Bull,” Red warned. “I think Jack’s on the level here, but he never has just one item on his agenda. Just because I’ve got these dumb issues with him about second chances doesn’t mean you owe him a thing. Don’t let down your guard, not for a second. Double the guard. Hell, triple it. Always keep a few guns trained on him. You won’t believe how fast he can move.”
Harmony was speaking quietly on her comm unit. “Understood. We’ll meet squad four by the east gate. That’s right, load them up, full battle gear.” She turned to Bull and nodded.
Bulwark grunted. “I guess Jack was right. Tesla must want to speak to him pretty badly. I can’t remember the last time someone gained an audience so fast.”
“Bull . . .” Red sighed, his tone a warning.
“I got it,” Bulwark said. “No chances, Djinni, I heard you. When was the last time I took a chance on anything? Or anyone?”
The Misfits looked at each other, at Red, then back at Bulwark, and broke into helpless gales of laughter.
* * *
Alex Tesla sat alone in his office. He had expressed his desire to be left undisturbed to his assistants, had dimmed the lights and collapsed with a groan into his chair. He let his head fall back against the plush rest and drifted away, if only for a moment.
He thought of a time, not so long ago, when his life consisted of board meetings, policy meetings, project meetings, departmental meetings, PR meetings, meetings to discuss and organize conferences, a gathering of individuals to attend even larger meetings. In hindsight, the ennui of that life had been near enough to drive him to the madhouse. Despite the tenacity of their rivals, the promotional nightmare of convincing Joe Everyman to trust superpowered Echo agents able to level entire city blocks, not to mention the daunting obstacles in reining in said mavericks to be the backbone of a well-oiled peacekeeping institution, Echo had grown into the preeminent meta organization on the planet. Alex had much to be proud of, but at times he wondered if he had done too good a job. There seemed no crisis that Echo couldn’t handle. But then, had there really been anything on the scale of the last World War to really test Echo’s mettle? And so, he had settled down to run his highly trained band of action figures and law enforcement personnel in a sort of mindless haze to maintain peace in a stagnant time. The challenges of the past were forgotten as he fell into a complacent routine that consisted mostly of deciding which new technology Echo would introduce next to the world, how the patents might further add to their stock options, and what color socks to wear to the office that day. And fighting the never-ending battle to get Nikola Tesla’s broadcast power finally accepted for everyday use, and not just for the vehicles and gadgets Echo used exclusively. That fight was so slow, so drawn out, and so glacial, it hardly seemed like a fight at all. There were moments, usually during proposals from other men in suits droning on and on, fueled by their own self-importance, when he had caught himself wishing for an apocalypse, some enemy of worth to pit Echo against. An excuse for Echo to shine.
Alex stood up, his shoulders weary, and staggered to the window. He laid a hand on the glass, and the optical blinds faded to let the harsh light in. He gasped, wincing at the sudden light, yet forced himself to look upon the center of his beloved enterprise. He took in the view—broken complexes held together with ugly scaffolding, mounds of displaced gear, supplies and sundries tied down by mud-splattered tarp and canvas, hastily erected tents of drab green and gray, and among
st them were people, milling about seemingly without direction or purpose. They each had their own job, of course, a reason to be out there, but what was once a beautiful, sprawling esplanade had become, in the stroke of one massive assault, the combined offices, storage and housing for most of the personnel here at Echo HQ. The crowded conditions demanded a certain chaotic appearance, no matter how organized the stream of human traffic actually was. And for each soul he observed from his aerie, Alex saw his own despair and defeat mirrored back at him.
This, he thought, is Echo. This is how we shine.
No, he realized. He couldn’t put any of this on them. They had withstood the assault. They had rallied and now worked tirelessly to mount their defenses against the coming storm. This wasn’t anyone’s fault but his. For years he had dismissed all proposals to strengthen what forces they had. He had been far more interested in sustainable growth, in market shares, hell, even in the political machine, than to fortify what he believed was an indestructible vanguard. His arrogance had brought about an air of complacency, and complacency had left them open to this.
A cheerful chime from his desk interrupted his descent into self-loathing, alerting him to an incoming message. Ignoring it, he found his seat and brought up his command screen. He stared at the numbers again, and shook his head in disbelief. Someone out there could smell the blood in the water and was buying up shares in Echo like it was going out of style. He was steadily losing the voting majority. Even here, in his area of expertise, he was losing the fight.
Some of his advisors had been optimistic. It was encouraging, they claimed, and a sign of public confidence that Echo would, again, emerge on top. The market being what it was after the Invasion, everything was thrown into chaos. It didn’t make sense. The buyers seemed too varied to be a united front, but something about this just screamed “hostile takeover.” Over the last few months, Echo had taken massive losses in personnel, infrastructure and, of course, in capital. Aided by the fervent efforts of men like Spin Doctor, Alex had spent a good portion of that time building up as much stockholder confidence as he could, and over the last month the precipitous drop in share values had leveled off, and even climbed to a modest plateau. Still, the dismal quarterly numbers would be released soon, and it was fully expected that the market prices would drop again, and hard. This was a piss-poor time to buy into Echo. The numbers just didn’t add up. Which meant someone out there was looking to force themselves in.
Ding! His screen blinked as a new alert appeared. Echo shares had just dropped, heavily.
What?
Alex stared in horror as he watched the ticker. Blacksnake stock had just jumped 20 points . . . 30 . . . 40 . . .
Oh. Wait . . . what?
Frantic, Alex brought up the lights and activated his wall of monitors, jabbing at the touchscreens for his preset channels. Scanning the business news, he fell back a step with a gasp. Blacksnake and Echo were everywhere, in dozens of headlines, all proclaiming a heavy downturn for Echo in light of Blacksnake’s new push for international contracts. He brought up the Bear and Bull site and read . . .
. . . breaking news on the sudden reemergence of Blacksnake. The Blacksnake Corporation is most known for its unprejudiced solicitation of services, offering full security contracts manned with metahuman personnel available to the highest bidder. Operating on an international scale for over a decade, Blacksnake has faced opposition from both members of the United Nations and independents for suspected trafficking of human slaves, for black market drug and munitions trading, and has faced allegations of breaking nearly every edict sanctioned by the Geneva Convention. These accusations have often undermined market confidence resulting in widely fluctuating indices since the mercenary corporation went public ten years ago. Today, rumors of recent negotiations with high profile interest groups have been confirmed, and Blacksnake is poised to hold sole possession of security contracts spanning entire cities in Dubai, Singapore, South Korea and Japan. Additionally, insider buzz persists of top secret negotiations with the United States military. Blacksnake’s main competitor, the US-based metahuman security giant Echo, whose shares have only in recent weeks begun a slow arduous climb from the bear market left in the wake of the worldwide invasion, found its options tumbling today in light of these events . . .
Alex Tesla stared at the feed in disbelief. He quickly gleaned over his monitors, skimming through all the major news feeds, and, sure enough, they all reported the same thing. He felt the knot in his stomach tighten as he staggered back to his desk and cast a pained look at his command screen. Sure enough, Echo stocks were being gobbled up by hungry investors. It was done. His majority vote was gone. With a roar, he lunged forward and sent his command screen flying. It flew across the room and crashed hard into the marble floor with a harsh flash of light and then, darkness. He stared at it, his lips trembling with rage, and smashed a fist down on his desk. The thick glass gave with a crunch, and he was dimly aware that his knuckles were now bloodied.
In response, his desk sounded off with another cheerful chime. Alex jabbed at his intercom, like swatting at a pesky mosquito.
“WHAT?” he barked. “I TOLD YOU ALL I AM NOT TO BE DISTURBED!”
There came a nervous titter, then a timid voice. “I’m . . . I’m sorry, sir, but I was informed this couldn’t wait. It seems the new head of Blacksnake is here to see you.”
“New head of Blacksnake?” Alex hissed, taken aback. “Here? Now? Where, at the gate?”
“No, sir, it seems he is on the grounds. Operative Bulwark has him under heavy guard. He is requesting an audience.”
Alex fell back into his chair. What were they playing at? Whatever those bastards had planned, surely there was more to come. Echo was down, but far from out, and it was far too premature to come swaggering through the front gates like victors claiming the spoils of war. Besides, a meeting of the heads of Echo and Blacksnake was unheard of. It was too risky; it promised bloody violence to just show up in the lion’s den . . .
Bloody violence . . .
Alex looked at his hand and grimaced. He reached for his handkerchief and wrapped it around his knuckles.
“Have him brought up,” Alex said. “I want to talk to this man.”
“Yessir.”
They want a fight, then I’ll give them one, and I’ll be damned before I lose any more ground.
* * *
And so, for the very first time, the leaders of Echo and Blacksnake met, face to face.
They sat and watched each other from opposite ends of the long conference table. It was a historic event, though far removed from the pomp and circumstance that would normally be associated with such a gathering.
There were no freshly pressed suits, no gratuitous medals on display and no assumed smiles to mask otherwise discernible signs of contempt. Alex had not slept in days. His hair was dishevelled, his eyes red and his clothes were wrinkled and unkempt. His smile was absent and his contempt was palpable. Jack lounged in his seat, his duster pushed forward and shading his eyes, his hands resting comfortably, folded together on his stomach. Dirt and oily patches clung to his ragged vest and khaki pants and his combat boots were caked with mud.
There were no dignitaries, no celebrities, no waiters moving through crowds of breathless guests awaiting the first exchange of pleasantries between the two chiefs. There was hardly anyone in attendance at all, save for two Echo operatives and six impressively armored guards who surrounded Jack with six equally impressive energy cannons, each trained on Jack’s heart. Bulwark stood behind Alex at a respectful distance, yet close enough to capture Tesla in his protective field at a moment’s notice. Harmony patrolled the room, slowly moving about with her scanners at the ready. Bulwark had heeded the Djinni’s warning. It just wouldn’t do to be caught off guard.
At a formal event, the tension might have been heightened by the nervous tittering of a crowd, anxious for something of a political play to unfold. Here, Jack and Tesla sat in quiet contemplation of eac
h other, the drawn-out silence unhindered by the lack of spectators and the absence of cameras. Alex didn’t allow surveillance devices in his own office. Besides, he wasn’t sure he wanted this particular exchange on the record. If things went badly, a recording of Blacksnake’s new and unarmed director being gunned down by Echo sentinels would prove embarrassing, to say the least.
“You’re not exactly what I pictured,” Alex said finally.
“Yeah?” Jack grunted. “Gotta say, I’m a little surprised too. From your rep, never thought you’d let yourself go to seed. You had a few minutes ’til I got escorted up here. I don’t rate even a quick shave?”
Alex bit back an angry retort. Instead, he sniffed and leaned back in his chair.
“What is it you want, Mr . . . ?”
“Jack. Just call me Jack.”
“What is it you want, Jack?”
“It’s very simple,” Jack said. He glanced at the guards and their guns, and as he shifted his weight he was careful to keep his hands clearly in view. “I want you to trust me, Alex.”
Tesla ignored Jack’s overt gesture of familiarity. He was being baited, provoked. He wouldn’t consider the possibility that Jack was, in fact, trying to be friendly.