“What?”
“My agency set up an appearance this afternoon. They want you to tag along because the client said his kid is really into armored heroes and you’re the closest thing available.”
I ignore the slight and say, “A birthday party?”
She smirks. “A rich kid’s party. Your cut is fifteen grand for three hours of taking kids up for a flight and maybe firing off some star shells for fireworks.”
Five grand an hour? There might be something to this scam She-Dozer has going on. “Alright count me in. Do you do the balloon animals?”
“Up yours, Stringel. Here’s the park they’ve reserved. Meet me there at three and try not to screw this up.”
• • •
Wealthy people sure know how to throw a party. The tent is huge with bundles of balloons anchoring each corner. A sign indicates pony rides and it looks like a miniature carnival has been set up.
I’m flying a little slow with the weight of Roller slowing me down. While it wasn’t part of the deal, I still want to practice issuing commands to my sidekick. Plus, it’ll probably piss off Sheila. That’s an added bonus.
Dropping Roller onto the ground, I land on it and look for the adoring partygoers.
Nothing. There’s no one here! My paranoia shifts into overdrive and I dial up thermals and sweep for life signs.
A large area force shield slams down over the immediate area. It takes a moment to locate the force field generator crudely disguised as a barbeque. It wouldn’t be a problem if several other objects hadn’t just powered up. Threat assessment reads four in the tent and two coming from the gaming area.
Magnify.
I lock on to the nearest one. It’s about eleven foot tall. Too small to be a Type D Warbot. The face is shaped like a hammerhead shark. The optical receptors on each end are a dead giveaway. I’ve only seen pictures and crude schematics of these before – Type C Assassin Bots. Two clawed arms and four heavy lasers that spread out in an “X” pattern from its back.
Gee, who might be behind all this? Considering the UN issued a proclamation banning the use of these back in the late nineties when they were sent in and killed that Iraqi dictator … and his sixteen body doubles.
The lasers targeting me can’t be bought in an office supply store either. Lazarus isn’t pussyfooting around. I sling my mini-gun into the firing position and power it up. At the same time, I issue commands via my neural network.
Roller: Activate all weapons systems. Destroy all hostile targets.
All hell breaks loose. I leap away from Roller and start firing as the six techno-assassins bring their weapons to bear. The area defined by the shield includes precious little cover. Coincidence? I don’t think! Frantically, I dig around my mind for the little I know about the Type C model.
The six star shell forty millimeter grenades are fired without concern. The two tear gas rounds will follow after that. I need to jettison all of them to get at the four high explosive armor piercers I keep at the bottom of the magazine. The HEAP rounds should take one out once I punch through some shields.
Roller fires the twin pulse cannons I mounted on it. Twice the amount of firepower a normal B can bring. They knock an attacker to the ground with the first salvo. The second rips into the torso, stitching damage all along the left sides. My mini-gun penetrates the weakened area and set off some explosions. The other five combine their twenty odd lasers to blast me back into the force shield and shave half my shielding off in a single shot.
That’s when I realize that the problem and the solution are one in the same. They’re all attacking me and ignoring Roller completely. The targeting system they use is single purpose.
Roller: Target Shield Generator. Destroy. Then return to previous order.
I lose another five percent before my robot complies and dodge as best I can while discarding the idea of returning fire.
It takes two shots, but Roller slags the generator. The shield drops and I shoot skyward. They pursue. I feel like that guy Maverick hated in Top Gun when all those Russian fighters are hounding him. The best I can do is swiveling my grenade launcher to the rear and use the HEAP rounds to knock them off my six. The four rounds strike home, but are done all too soon.
Sadly my wingman, Roller, is stuck on the ground. My crude solution is to bring them by on a strafing run right next to the twin pulse cannons and let my robot blow one out of the air at a time, all the while reinforcing my shields and hoping Patterson runs out of robots before I run out of protection.
When there are three left, one peels off and begins attacking Roller. Someone updated the targeting parameters. The other two keep pounding me with their lasers. One gets through and damages my jetpack. I plow into the ground and dig a trench thirty feet long. Groggy but desperate, I roll under the tent and blow the supports away with my force blaster. The tent collapses on all of us. The mini-gun is useless, twisted in the crash and I obviously need some system that will keep my force sledge attached during emergency landings. The clawed hands of the assassins rip through the tarp like confetti as the lasers stab like knives looking for a target.
The icon for Roller in the corner of my heads up display is orange with shades of red showing. That means heavy damage. The good news is it has disposed of its opponent and is turning the one remaining cannon on my assailants.
The telemetry I get from Roller pinpoints the Type C’s positions. I stumble over and under the furniture to come up behind one. Pouncing, I leap on the back of the machine and bear hug the lasers rendering them useless. Getting another bit of inspiration, I use it as a shield while shooting the remaining one with my force blaster. Between my attacks and Roller’s the last one falls and I start ripping the one in my arms to pieces.
The next thing I know, I’m barely awake, spitting up blood, flat on my back and staring up at the sky. It’s hard to think straight and after a few minutes my mind is able to piece together what just happened over the warbling of my Master Alarm. The person monitoring the fight triggered the self destruct hoping it would take me out in the process.
It almost did. I’m in a bad way. My arms are functional, but the lower torso is immobilized. Comm gear is out. The neural gear is still working, so I call my wobbling Roller over. With some effort, I crawl onto the robot and attach myself to the non moving part where one remaining pulse cannon is.
Roller: Defensive mode. Take us back to Guardian Headquarters best speed possible.
I suppose we made quite a sight on the Interstate. I don’t know for certain because I passed out somewhere along the way.
• • •
With bruised ribs, contusions up and down my legs, and sagging into my wheelchair, José pushes me into the control room. The main screen is split four ways. The other three Guardian groups and the Olympians are all in it.
I focus on Patterson, he’s in his armor with the faceplate open. Hazel eyes stare through me, but he doesn’t show any emotions.
Wendy is furious. “Would you like to see the telemetry, Andydroid removed from Mechani-Cal’s armor again, Lazarus. Either you sanctioned one of my team members or your one hundred percent inventory reported to the UN Security Council is in doubt. Which is it?”
“I’ve had my people checking on it, young lady. There appear to be irregularities and I will let you know when the investigation is complete.”
That sets off people on all four screens. The heavy set black man from Harlem, Bolt Action, is the loudest of them all. The human missile gets so close to the camera in his headquarters that his face fills the screen and I can see the spittle flying out of his mouth. “That kind of irregularity bullshit might fly in front of a congressional panel, but I ain’t hearing it, Patterson. You might have put up the money, but the Guardians were my creation! I’ll kick your ass out and disband the West Coast unit in a New York minute.”
Patterson is way too calm. “Unless you have definitive proof, David, I’d have to cite the bylaws of our charters. I can only be removed i
f someone from my team calls for a formal investigation,” he pauses and looks at all his sycophants. “I don’t believe anyone has. Consider this - the scumbag sitting in the wheelchair over there is using hundreds of robots taken from The Evil Overlord in a profiteering scheme. Anyone who has dealt with him knows he spares no expense when he feels he has been crossed. Since we know he has the capability to manufacture his own A, B, and D units, it can be assumed that he can also do the same with the C series. So keep that in mind before you rush to judge.”
“Then, why don’t you submit to an impartial telepathic scan and remove all doubt?” Bolt Action has the stones to call the mighty Lazarus out. Even through my discomfort, I can appreciate that.
“Whatever happened to innocent until proven guilty? Besides, I can’t in good faith allow a telepath to look at my thoughts because of all the proprietary information about Promethia in my mind. You’ll have to take my word on it.”
Wendy takes his word, chews it up and spits it right back at him. “Sheila was supposed to be there until she suddenly got a bogus text message saying her boyfriend had been in a car accident and was at the emergency room. Would The Overlord give a rat’s ass about collateral damage? Come after my team again, Ultraweapon and you better plan on dealing with me.”
“Wendy, I know you’re new as a leader, but you can’t take every injury personally. These things happen. We’re in a dangerous business.” Patterson couldn’t sound more condescending if he tried.
Obviously, Ultraweapon has his plausible deniability lined up. Nothing anyone does here today will change a damn thing. The sad part is my deal with Florida helps him out. I chuckle, but it comes out as a grunt. Wendy turns toward me and says, “Do you want to address the body? As the aggrieved party, you have that right?”
I glare at Patterson and say, “The Overlord hasn’t shown his face since the bug invasion. There’s every chance he’s dead, but it doesn’t matter. Either you or him wasted somewhere in the neighborhood of a hundred million dollars to try and off me and it didn’t work. Whoever it is will get what’s coming to them. I promise.”
Patterson doesn’t flinch. Instead he smiles and says, “I hope you get better soon, Stringel. It’s been a long time since you worked for me, but I wish nothing but success to all current and former Promethia employees.”
I spin the chair around and roll toward the exit. “I’m sure you do. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ll be fixing my armor. See you around soon, Lazarus.”
“We should do lunch. Call my people.”
“When I do drop by, it’ll be a surprise visit.”
Andy and four José clones join me in the workshop and tell me to sit tight and give them directions. Andydroid I can count on and José is happy that someone is actually taking his clone powers seriously and trying to help him become a better hero. We have to cannibalize one of the three “El Cheapo” suits I’ve been making for the Six Pack. The irony is that those suit designs are the same ones that were going to make me a multimillionaire when Vicky and I were planning to ride off into the sunset. Roller is in bad shape. The second pulse cannon is shot and I don’t have a replacement. I’ll have to put something else in there instead, but I do make a command decision to put the missile mount on Floater. With limited armor and little shielding, it only really gets one shot. I might as well make the most of it. While I’m on the subject, I’m not going to carry any stinking tear gas or other useless grenades any more. It’s high explosive all the way from here on out.
The screen in the workshop lights up and Stacy’s face appears on it. She looks around the room and says, “Guys can I have a private word with Cal?”
I’ve got a good idea what’s coming and have no plans on making it easier for her. “Whatever’s on your mind, Aphrodite, just say it.”
If she notices that I didn’t call her Stacy, she doesn’t show it. “I told Lazarus that you and I aren’t seeing each other anymore.”
“I’m glad he was informed before I was.”
“Be reasonable, Cal. It’s for the best. I’m not the woman that fell for you. He’ll drop this vendetta he has, now.”
I shake my head and say, “For someone who has been in the business as long as you have, you’re an idiot.”
“Cal, you’re upset and lashing out. You need to calm down.”
Cutting her off, I say, “You just don’t get it. Patterson has a god complex. In his mind, he is incapable of failure and he just failed to kill me. I’m on his list of things ‘to do’ now. He wouldn’t let it go even if you offered to marry his ass tomorrow, but you’re right about not being the woman I loved. She had a spine and was ten times the hero you’ll ever be!”
With that, I cut the screen off not wanting to hear another word from her. The Stacy that was mindwiped wouldn’t recognize the one she’s become.
• • •
Five days later, I’m cleaning up after my first patrol in my new armor. For a change, things went well and the repaired armor performed nicely even up against a massive pile up on Interstate 10. There’re a couple of things I need to tweak, but I’m too tired to do it. I just want a shower. I’m pulling some fresh underwear out of my drawers when there is a knock at my door.
“Who is it?”
“Wendy.”
“Hold on a sec,” I yank the dirty shorts from around my ankles back up. “Come on in.”
She’s in some robes. “What did you want, Mechani-Cal?”
“Huh?”
“You buzzed me a minute ago and said it’s important.”
“I don’t think so…”
She yelps in pain and grabs at her neck. Writhing in pain, she rips off her necklace and tosses it to the ground.
I’m rushing to her and trying to process what the hell just happened when something washes over me. It’s like I’m in a fog, everything is blurry except Wendy. It was like I’d never really seen her before … so desirable. Everything I’ve always wanted.
Wendy seems to have forgotten about the burn to her neck and she stares at me. The tip of her tongue flicks across her lips as her hands unknot the sash, freeing her from her robes. A flimsy nightdress is all that’s underneath and seconds later it’s around her ankles. A gust of wind lifts the two of us into the air and tosses us on my bed. Her smile matches my own.
• • •
Hours later, I come to my senses. I’m exhausted, battered and have a splitting headache. My bruises from the battle with Patterson’s assassins have bruises on top of them. The sheets are stained with the blood from the scratch marks Wendy left on my back. There’s no mirror nearby, but I’m sporting at least one black eye.
The fog is lifting and what just happened is starting to piece itself together. A minute ago, she had her hands around my throat and was choking me.
“Wendy? Are you okay?”
“I think you broke my nose,” she says cupping her face.
“Sorry. What just happened?”
“I don’t …,” she starts and then winces tracing a bloody line across her throat where the new scar from her necklace was. “My necklace … then you … Mather! That sonnuvabitch Mather! He was controlling us!”
Stumbling out of bed, I say, “Get cleaned up. I’m getting into my armor in case he tries again.”
I stop as something catches my eye. There’s an item sticking out of my vent. Wendy sees what I’m pointing at and uses her powers to bring the vent and a chunk of the ceiling down. It’s a small surveillance bot with a now broken high resolution camera and transmitter attached – high tech gear made for the CIA by the industrious folks at Promethia.
Ten minutes later, everyone is in the monitor room. The inside of my armor smells like blood and sex. I’m not amused.
“MountOlympus is offline,” Sheila says. “I can’t raise anyone.”
“Andydroid, Cal, you’re with me,” Wendy says. Her nose is covered by one of those bandages and the four necklaces around her neck make her look like she’s shooting a rap video.
&
nbsp; “I should come to,” Sheila says.
“No,” Wendy hisses. “Andy’s immune, Cal’s armor should protect him, and I don’t have any more necklaces to spare. Stay here and run things.”
She-Dozer opens her mouth to say something, but wisely shuts it when she sees the look on WhirlWendy’s face. I’m more than prepared to do something rash, but so is the other victim of this.
“Be careful,” Chain Charmer says.
“I’m going to wring his skinny neck!” Wendy replies. “Cal, Andy, let’s get to the jet. Andy, start doing preflight and get us priority clearance with the FAA. I want to be airborne in ten minutes. Sheila, get Bolt Action on the line and tell him what’s going on.”
Two hours is a lot of time in the air to simmer about things. I link up and check the internet. Wendy and I are already all over it. The PR people arrive at our headquarters and contact us on the jet to formulate a plan. Wendy disconnects them. Mather’s little perverse act will damage her carefully crafted reputation. It will cost her millions of dollars and fans as well. I have no real reputation worth speaking of, but no one uses me and gets away with it.
After landing at Dulles, I have a hard time keeping up with Wendy as we fly to MountOlympus. True I’m carrying Andy, but she’s flying much faster than I’ve ever seen her before.
Ares, Apollo, and Athena are out front arguing with her when I arrive and deposit Andy on the walkway.
“Go back to New Orleans, Wendy. Take your team with you. We have the problem under control.”
“Where’s Mather?” I ask. I’ve already brought the mini-gun around at them and spin the barrels to let them know I’m serious.
Athena ignores me, probably knowing I don’t want to listen to anything she has to say. “Wendy, letting you all in there isn’t going to help the situation. It’s only going to make things worse. We’re not letting you in and if Stringel tries, he’s going to get beaten to a pulp.”
Wendy looks down at the pavement and I can almost see her resolve fading. I start planning how I can take all three Olympians in the quickest way possible when the young woman from Staten Island speaks. Her eyes come up and I can sense the power washing off of her in waves. The wind rises and my suits barometer takes a nosedive as a vortex forms around our small group. “Cal isn’t your problem, Crenshaw. I am. Get out of my way or I will rip your damn clubhouse off its foundations!”
Confessions of a D-List Supervillain Page 14