Subject 12

by S. W. Douglas

  Kinsey. My blood ran a little colder. "I take it something happened."

  "That's the thing. I'm not sure. We lost contact with the small Guildhall in Canton, New York, so we called the local police. I got a call fifteen minutes later asking me to send a Guild representative to 'oversee their investigation into a multiple homicide' --- everyone in there was dead." The distress in his voice was plain to hear. "Normally I'd have sent Raymond, but I couldn't exactly do that..."

  "Do you think Alpha Zulu had anything to do with the deaths?" I had no doubt, but I couldn't read him well enough to know what he was thinking.

  "That's the other thing. I don't know." A worried look crossed his face and he looked twenty years older. "Assaults on Guildhalls are rare, sure, but they do happen. That one would take place in a small town in America is certainly suspicious, especially on the heels of this jackass's threat, but I don't know. I jus' don't know. Hell, there could have been a fight with a Confederation member or an arch-nemesis could have shown up. Firearrow certainly had some people he'd pissed off over the years. For all I know it was a simple, tragic accident. The police didn't want to give me any information. They said that's what the overseer was supposed to be for." He white-knuckled the head of his cane. I was amazed it held. "I never should've retired."

  I could see where this was leading. "You want me to go look into it for you?"

  "Son, I hate to ask, but since you know these punks and their methods..." He really was upset at having to ask me. His concern for the dead Guild members was evident, but he hated to ask me. Yet there he stood, bending over backwards and gritting his teeth. "I'd consider it a personal favor. If Kinsey and his boys did this..." He trailed off again but he couldn't hide the anger roiling below the surface.

  "What if I find out that Alpha Zulu did it?" What if I found out they didn't?

  "Then come tell me and we'll see where we go from there." Jackhammer wasn't a good liar. He obviously didn't get a lot of practice and I had my doubts as to the amount he liked doing it.

  I nodded agreement even though I didn't believe a word of it. "Alright then."

  "Then you'll go have a look?"

  "I'll go have a look. If I find anything that leads me to think they did it I'll let you know." I made to stand but he waved me down.

  "Son, I appreciate it. I'll get you a Guildphone so you can call in as soon as you get anything."

  I thanked him. A Guildphone was a cellphone locked into a specific frequency range assigned to the Heroes' Guild. Ostensibly it was for calling back to base from anywhere in the world with cell towers to report or request backup, but only the frequency was locked. There was no GPS chip, no monthly fee, unlimited text and talk to anyone on any network or landline, full web-browsing capability, a battery guaranteed to last five years of hard use, specialized MP3 playback with two gigabytes of storage, but no camera because they ran out of space. It was a handsome gift for someone who wasn't a Guild member. It was also unheard of.

  "You sure about that?"

  He laughed. "I got about twelve of them in a room I never go into just in case I lose one or two. Corrine hates the blasted things and refuses to carry one, Vivian keeps hers at home, and Wildcard can't talk so what use would one be to him?"

  "Thank you," I said, inclining my head slightly to show respect and choosing not to point out that texting would be extremely useful for the multi-colored masked man.

  "Might as well keep it, too. Just make sure you log the number with Vivian. She handles all that computer stuff." He looked thoughtful. "Make sure she gives you the house line and not the main line. I don't want your report goin' out over tomorrow mornin's news cast."

  I shuddered at the thought.

  So there I was again, taking orders from someone who wasn't me. It rankled. It more than rankled. It grated like a machine made for cheap Parmesan cheese let loose in a warehouse full of fermented lactation and small, round, plastic jars.

  But I knew I had to do it. The other choices weren't acceptable.

  To be totally fair, I wanted to know if Kinsey was threatening the Guild. It changed the strategic and tactical situations tremendously. It also put me and the Guild on the same side, much as that thought turned my stomach. Sure, the guys at the top were alright, but overall... Overall there wasn't much to distinguish them from Alpha Zulu. All I needed to do was think about Grid Iron and his ilk to be reminded of that.

  At least I was only an errand boy for someone who might turn me over to my enemies instead of an agent doing wet work for a psychotic freak. It was a real improvement no matter how I sliced it, and that was the pill I swallowed to settle my guts.

  It still irked me.

  The Guildphone fit neatly in my pocket. It weighed less than I'd thought it would, but it wast still a physical reminder of the chain on my ankle. The temporary Guild ID was still warm from the laminator as it rode next to the phone.

  Time to fly.

  I glanced over my shoulder and saw Venom watching me. I waved, bent at the knees, and pushed off. I willed myself into the air, focused the movement, and blasted into the evening air.

  It got chilly pretty damn fast. I had to split my attention ever so slightly to keep a bubble of air around me so I wasn't frozen by the wind of my passage. That slowed me down some, so I had to focus even more on my speed.

  It was boring, though, and I couldn't enjoy the scenery because the sun was already down. Wind resistance was lower at higher altitude because the air was thinner, but that meant it was harder to breathe if I didn't keep the bubble around me. That meant that every time my mind started to wander I started to drift lower, or go slower, or I noticed the bubble thinning out because I was getting winded. Please pardon the pun.

  A couple of hours of this was about six too much, I decided. How the hell I'd managed to fly from Philly to Reno without a hitch was beyond me, but was probably a testament to how obsessed I'd been at the time, thanks to the conversation with Kinsey.

  So, time to speed things up. I slowed to a hover, focused, felt around till I could just sense the jet stream (Which was a lot easier to find than one might think --- it's fucking huge!), and with a smile --- quickly wiped away by a scream of sheer exhilaration that was just as quickly snatched from my lips by the wind --- I accelerated from an almost total stop to somewhere north of the sound barrier. The sonic boom rattled windows and scared wildlife the entire track I took from northwestern Alberta to Lake Erie, where I scrubbed off speed to something a little more sane. At least I hoped it was Lake Erie. I had a margin of error that was acceptable and if I'd gone outside that I might have a devil of a time finding where I needed to go.

  I hadn't given much thought to getting back, actually. Probably an oversight on my part, or downright stupidity, but I could always look at a map or something.

  Or ask for directions. If I was desperate.

  The wind had managed to force its way through the bubble and had whipped my face until it was raw, pulled tears from my eyes till every blink felt like I was buried in sand, and left my ears ringing like I'd been on a target range without benefit of earmuffs during a military exercise.

  None of that wiped the smile off my face, though. That had been, without a doubt, the most fun I'd ever had.

  I saw some lights and, since I knew I'd drifted off-course at least a little during my flight, I decided to come in for a landing. I checked the phone because I didn't have a watch and saw that I'd been flying for just over two hours. When you included the time I'd been in the air before I'd broken the sound barrier... I'd been flying about as fast as the Blackbird, though at a much lower altitude. I grinned at a stray thought that drifted like a cloud across the sun into my mind. While I couldn't possibly have pulled that much energy from the jet stream, I still had to have affected it slightly. That meant I'd just impacted North American weather patterns, even if only a tiny bit.

  I saw what appeared to be a small airport near a highway and came in for a landing outside the fence. True, the Guild ID
would probably get me out of any trouble I might be in, but I just didn't want the drama. Especially since an airport meant radar and my track over the Great White North wasn't exactly quiet. The likelihood that their radar was sensitive enough to pick me up was remote, but I didn't want to take too many chances.

  The headache was gone, but my face itched and burned. I thought it was an acceptable trade. At least it was new.

  The air was warmer, though the breeze smelled of rain. I'd landed a ways outside of town, but all I really needed was to know where I was. Unfortunately the airport sign didn't have the city/town name on it, so I was out of luck. Still, the lights were close. I jumped and let myself float closer at a speed rather... restrained compared to the supersonic flight I'd just enjoyed, though it was probably about as fast as a car would travel.

  I followed the highway, it looking to be mildly important, heading inland. The lights I'd first spied were from a small village almost right on the lake, just a little north and west of the airport. Night was closing in and I didn't want to get lost. Highways meant civilization, and civilization would either tell me with a sign where I was or would at least have a convenience store I could ask directions and hit the bathroom. Apparently supersonic flight was hell on the bladder and I was a little bit above leaving a trail of warm rain as I traveled, though if I saw some pretentious asshole with an expensive convertible I might change my mind.

  There were many more lights ahead, which I took to be a good sign. I was slightly disappointed when after a couple minutes I saw what appeared to be another small village off to my left, but the traffic volume was increasing and the overall brightness ahead of me continued to grow. I wafted a bit higher and spotted a major highway directly ahead of me with tons of ground traffic heading in both directions, even at this hour. If I remembered the map I'd checked before leaving, and I was where I wanted to be, then I must have been looking at Route 81, and I wasn't too far off where I wanted to be. Good. Directly behind the highway was a city, judging by the traffic density, amount of light pollution, and the sheer size of what I could see.

  I followed the road a little further, since it took me right where I wanted to go, but something off to my right caught my eye. A mall. Beautiful. I could drop in, hit the bathroom, maybe grab a quick bite to eat if my Guild ID got me a discount, since all I had for cash were a pair of Canadian ten dollar bills Venom had pressed into my hand with the Guildphone. Probably get directions without any problem, too.

  True, there'd be a lot of people there, which meant my chances of being seen by an Alpha Zulu agent was increased, but the same was also in my favor. I'd be only one face in a sea of humanity. Unless I was directly observed by someone who was familiar with me, chances were I'd be overlooked. Depended on the size of the city, really, and how busy a night it was.

  I had, momentarily, forgotten about the detectors tuned to pick up on my residue. Logically, Kinsey couldn't afford to put a detector on every mall in every city in the USA, let alone the world, but that didn't mean I could let myself slack off.

  But no matter how I looked at it later, the fact remained that I'd forgotten. That was a bad enough lapse, and when I finally remembered I kicked myself for it.

  I entered through some glass doors, right next to a movie theater with at least six screens. It was a standard chain; charging too much for entrance, with insane prices for popcorn and candy, and showing nothing but crap. What caught my eye on the initial flyby was the name of the place. Salmon Run Mall. Where the hell was I?

  I was in the middle of the entranceway of a very busy small-city mall, standing still and gawping like an idiot. I needed to get moving or I'd be drawing attention to myself in a big way. I was obstructing foot traffic and anyone who spends long enough doing that draws the eye of mall security.

  I entered and turned to the right, where the theaters were, to try to adjust myself to the new situation. I scanned the movie titles, wishing I could yawn and pat my mouth to demonstrate my opinion of the current showings, and looked around a little. There were a surprising number of men in those gray "digital" uniforms the US military had adopted wandering into the back where, presumably, the screens were located.

  The large number of military types was distressing till I saw the sign offering a military discount. That suggested a base in the immediate area. I thought back to my days with Alpha Zulu and dredged up the list of active military bases in the country. One immediately came to mind that made me feel better.

  Fort Drum was located relatively close to Canton, New York, and just north of a small city called Watertown. So, unless I was way off, I was pretty much right where I wanted to be.

  Correction. I was right where I didn't want to be. The proof of that was eating a greasy burger that had just dropped a large dollop of ketchup on his cheap shirt.

  Jack Redgrave. A mercenary in the sometimes employ of Alpha Zulu, he was a norm with a long history of taking on and taking out supers of various power levels for the highest bidder. He was good, he was dangerous, and he was shovelling fried potato pieces into his mouth like he hadn't eaten in a month.

  He was a lot heavier than I remembered him being.

  I turned my head so he wouldn't feel my stare, but I knew it was too late. Anyone who'd spent that long living on the sharp end had honed his instincts to a razor's edge and learned to trust his gut more than his gun.

  I didn't remember him liking floral-print Hawaiian shirts, either. Or letting his hair get that long.

  My bladder forgotten for the moment, I started to move. The best bet for surviving an encounter with someone like Redgrave was either to run like a cheetah was about to rip your throat out or strike first. I wasn't going to run.

  I circled around behind him, passing the hallway with a sign for the bathrooms over it, ironically enough, slowly drawing as much power to myself as I could with every bit of focus I could spare. There was more than enough movement I could tap instantly but, damn it, I wanted to be prepared.

  Of course, he wasn't there for me. At least not in the mall for me, that I was sure of. If Kinsey had ordered the hit on the Guildhall then it wouldn't be beyond him to have expected me to show up and hire Redgrave to wait for me. Of course, smash-and-grab wasn't Redgrave's usual style, but he was a master of improvisation.

  I was almost within arm's reach when he slurped his soda dry and wiped his mouth on a napkin. I froze, tensing, ready to strike with everything I had, when he turned in the other direction with his tray loaded. He walked to the nearest trash bin and dumped the tray like a good citizen --- even pausing to straighten the other trays on top before setting his down to join them. Then he stretched, rubbed his ample stomach, checked his watch, and headed for the bathrooms. He never once turned to look at me.

  Maybe he hadn't seen me. Maybe he had and was playing it cool hoping either I hadn't seen him or would be fooled by his nonchalance. Not bloody likely.

  I followed him down the well-lit but deserted hallway. We passed a bank of pay phones, some offices, a conference room, the ladies room, before arriving at the men's room. There was no door, and only one other occupant --- an older gentleman with a very tired face who was washing his hands rather perfunctorily --- which I was relieved at.

  If Redgrave had stashed a gun, it would be in one of the stalls or in the trash can. If he'd cased the place earlier in the day and had prepared for some kind of confrontation it was a logical place, if out of the way. My heart rate rose slightly as he passed the trash can, but as soon as he crossed into the second area, where the urinals and toilet stalls were, he just turned to the left. I lost sight of him for half a second, but when I hurried around the corner he was unzipping his horrid floral shorts and stepping up to a urinal.

  I let out a deep breath and forced my heart to slow down. Adrenaline or whatever was still pumping into my system, but I refused to let it take control. Maybe he hadn't seen me after all.

  Maybe so. That worked to my advantage no matter how I looked at it.

 
; My bladder reasserted itself, informing me in no uncertain terms it needed attention or I was going to need new pants.

  Redgrave had taken the urinal in the middle of a bank of three. That meant no matter what I did I was going to be standing next to him if I didn't take a stall. Perfect.

  I stepped up, unzipped my fly, waited till I'd started to relieve myself, then turned to Redgrave.

  "Hello, Jack."

  He seemed surprised to have someone standing next to him at a urinal address him. It certainly was no every-day occurrence outside of a gay bar. He looked at me, squinted slightly, and twisted his head. "I'm sorry, but do I know you?"

  "We've met a few times," I said, trying to judge if this was just an act. "We used to work for the same company, though my position was a bit more permanent."

  "Oh," he said, shaking and zipping up. "Well, whatever company this was, I'm out of the business." He seemed to be in a rush. "So if you're here to offer me a job the answer's 'no', so don't even bother asking."

  "I'm not here to offer you a job," I said, cutting myself off in mid stream so I could follow suit in the shaking and zipping.

  "Then what?" He sounded a little annoyed and, yes, a little afraid.

  "You really don't recognize me?" I stepped out from the little mini-cubicle offering a modicum of privacy. "I admit, we only met a few times, but we did work together at least once."

  Redgrave had commanded my unit on a rather sticky mission in some tropical hell-hole run by a two-bit dictator in a tiny Asian country I'd never heard of before. We'd watched each other's backs pretty well and had managed to develop a good working rapport, though that wasn't anything to really brag about. The target for that mission had hired a band of minor supers to safeguard the prison he'd been holding political prisoners in. We'd gone in ostensibly to free the prisoners to make a statement, but as I'd found out after the fact one of the prisoners was a scientist who'd been working on the super soldier serum they'd tested on me when he was imprisoned. Small world.