“I don’t know. But I can find out. Wait here.”
She turned away, ready to retreat behind the doors that separated her kind from the worried families awaiting news of their loved ones. In the periphery of her vision, she saw a man in military fatigues enter the waiting room, pushing past the others. He stomped up to the Guardian, stopping just short of colliding with the tall exo, and glared up into the reflective faceplate with clear hostility.
“Why,” the soldier said through clenched teeth, “are you here?”
Cassie paused at the door, her anger piqued by the soldier’s tone. The unit insignia on his shoulder – an eagle clutching a shield under the arched letters “XAC-E” - marked him as an Enforcer, one of the government watchdogs who supervised the country’s small exohuman population under the authority of the Exohuman Affairs Committee.
“Sergeant Alfaro,” the Guardian said. “I’m here on business. I transported a gunshot victim, a young girl--”
“That was hours ago,” Alfaro interrupted. “You were scheduled for your weekly check-in at eight o’clock. So, let me rephrase my question – Why are you still here?”
Alfaro stabbed a finger into the Guardian’s chest, punctuating his words with pokes to the curious material that made up 175’s uniform. As the sergeant vented his obvious disdain for the Guardian, Cassie’s eyes were drawn to the uniform, picking out small rust-colored flecks on his chest and arms - dried blood.
The scene replayed in her mind – his somber gray form, rocketing through the air, cradling the small limp figure against his chest. Had he tried to comfort her with soothing tones? You’re going to be okay. Just hold on. She remembered him standing there, helpless and covered in her blood. He’d probably tried to clean up in a restroom while he waited to hear word, dabbing at himself with wet paper towels as he lingered to find out if he had been fast enough.
“I… I apologize, Sergeant,” the Guardian stammered. “I lost track of the time.”
But the XAC-E sergeant wasn’t after an apology. He wanted his pound of flesh.
“Are you under the delusion that your check-ins are optional, exo? Is that helmet squeezing your brain?”
Guardian 175 didn’t answer. Cassie had to admire his restraint. If the sergeant were talking to her that way, then she’d have long since lost it and probably be in handcuffs.
“Or maybe you think because you got assigned to your hometown, that you’re special, that you get some sort of pass other exos don’t. Is that it? ‘Cause I can change that. I can have you freezing your ass off in Montana or North Dakota. Or maybe you’d prefer someplace warmer, like Phoenix? How do you think that helmet will feel when it’s a hundred and ten in the shade?”
Cassie’s Irish temper, already stoked by Zacharias, continued to rise as she listened to this asshole vent. The exohuman had played a part in saving a dying girl, and that deserved respect. All the anger she had been pushing down, keeping inside, was just below the surface. Crossing the distance in a few hurried steps, Cassie angled her slight frame in a way that intersected the tense space between the two men.
“Guardian 175, thank you for waiting. We’re ready for you now. Come with me, please.”
Both men turned to look at her. Only the sergeant’s expression was evident, and he wasn’t amused.
“I don’t know who you are, girl, but this exo-meat isn’t going anywhere except back to my office.”
Cassie arched an eyebrow and gave him her best authoritative look.
“I,” she said, poking her chin out as she stepped in close to the Enforcer, “am Dr. Cassidy Whelan and this is my ER. So, whoever you think you are, and whatever business you have with this Guardian, it will have to wait. I require his assistance. Now get the hell out of my way.”
She saw surprise register in the XAC agent’s eyes. When he took a half-step back, she knew she’d already won. Big, strong soldiers are trained to combat a lot of things, but tiny, redheaded spitfires are not among them. She turned her attention to the Guardian, pointing him to the doors, their escape route. When he didn’t immediately follow her cue, she gave him a shove.
“Let’s go, exo. Time costs lives here.”
Finally, the helmeted head nodded, and he moved. Cassie slapped the button to open the automatic doors and he followed her through. Only when the doors closed behind them did she let out the extra air she’d unconsciously been holding in. She led her companion around a corner and then backed up against a wall while her heartrate settled. The Guardian peeked back around the corner at the glass doors. “He’s gone,” he said.
“Thank God,” Cassie breathed. “What an ass-hat. I can’t believe anyone would talk to another human being that way.” She immediately regretted the words.
“Yeah, well…” the exo began.
Shit, Cass. Rub it in, why don’t you.
“I’m so sorry,” she backpedaled. “That was rude. I didn’t mean--”
He dismissed her insensitivity with a raised finger, thankfully changing the subject.
“Aren’t you a little young to be in charge of an emergency room?”
Cassie shrugged. “I said this is my ER, and it is. I work here. I never said I was in charge.”
A soft chuckle came from the helmet as it wagged side to side. “I hope you don’t get in trouble for all this. It’s a safe bet he’ll complain to somebody.”
She rolled her eyes and flicked a dismissing hand. “Pfft. It won’t even be in the top five things I’m in trouble for today. To be honest, I was sent out there to get rid of you. Not my idea, believe me. But, as long as you’re not still standing around out there, then technically I did what I was supposed to do.”
The helmet bobbed a bit in what she took to be a suppressed laugh. Cassie took a quick look down the corridor.
“The girl, the one you brought in, she should be in recovery soon. Would you like to see her?”
“Yes, very much. If it’s okay, that is.”
‘Okay’ was probably the last word Dr. Ari Zacharias would use to describe a ‘exohuman freak’ wandering around his department, but Cassie couldn’t help but empathize with this Guardian. She always felt a visceral need to check in with her patients after the immediate danger had passed. He might feel the same about a little girl he had rescued.
“No, it’s not okay. My boss comes in a close second to your sergeant in the Jerk Olympics. If he sees you, we’re both in the shit.”
He let a small chuckle slip. “Sneaking around with a cute girl, trying not to get caught? Sounds like high school. Not my high school, mind you. Not many cute girls hung out with nerds like me. But, I have to thank you, Dr. Cassidy Whelan. It’s not very often I’m the one getting rescued.”
Cassie turned away, hiding the blush that came to her cheeks. Cute girl… It was the compliment thing; it made her uncomfortable. Not that she minded being called cute. It did carry a certain thrill that she hadn’t felt in quite a while.
For God’s sake, girl, keep your shit together. She tried changing the subject.
“Guardian 175,” she said. “That’s a mouthful. Do you have a name?”
The helmet dipped. “We’re not supposed to use our real, I mean, our old names.”
His voice was soft and more than a little sad. She got the impression she’d touched a nerve. Somehow losing his name meant more to him than being stripped of his human rights. She tilted her head, trying to catch the eyes she imagined were now staring at the floor.
“Well,” she said, forcing a smile to her face, “doing things we’re not supposed to seems to be the theme today. How about just a first name? Or a nickname? I promise I won’t tell anyone.”
He hesitated, then she heard him draw a breath.
“Let’s stick with ‘175’,” he said. “Or just ‘Five’ if you prefer. It’s... less painful that way.”
She chided herself for probing what was obviously a sensitive wound. And was that supposed to be flirting? If so, she was clearly out of practice. It had been a long
time since she’d had time for dating or romance, or so she told herself. In any case, the last thing she needed in her life was more complications, and she imagined dating an exohuman was pretty high on the complexity scale.
“Come on,” she said. “Let’s get you cleaned up, and then we can check on our girl. There’s an old locker room with a shower in the back that nobody uses anymore.” She headed down the corridor, motioning him to follow. “Oh, and call me Cassie. Other than my grandfather, the only time anyone calls me Cassidy is when I’m in trouble - again.”
CHAPTER 3
Cassie peered through her reading glasses at the chart labeled “Acosta, Marissa.” On the other side of the glass partition, little Marissa rested amid the continuous activity of the Intensive Care Unit. Her chest rose and fell on its own, in time with soft beeps from the monitoring equipment.
“Her vitals are strong. Temperature looks good. No signs of internal bleeding. She’s on the mend. I wish I could say the same for her father. He survived surgery, but he was a lot worse than the paras thought. He’s listed in critical condition now. We’ll know more by morning.”
Guardian 175 stood in silence, the fingers of one hand almost touching the glass. No expression showed on the smooth faceplate of his helmet, but she imagined a soft smile and sad eyes behind it. It was odd how she insisted on visualizing the face behind the helmet, but she clung to it as a way of connecting with the man on the other side of the visor. Maybe it was her way of coping with what she had accidentally seen.
She really hadn’t meant to walk in on him half-dressed like that. When she suggested he use the shower, her idea was that he would just rinse the blood from that techno-textured super-suit of his. It never occurred to her that he might strip down for a regular person shower.
She had pushed through the door and was about to tell him the police had been unable to locate any more of Marissa’s family. Her first clue was seeing the helmet resting on the bench. His uniform only covered him from the waist down, and he was in the process of sliding his arms into the sleeves, his back turned to her.
She congratulated herself that her first impression wasn’t of his finely chiseled frame. Instead her eyes went immediately to the dense network of scar tissue that covered all of his left side. It looked like the aftermath of severe burns, except she’d never heard of anyone surviving that kind of damage, much less living long enough for it to scar over. He must have heard her come in. He turned his head toward her, then quickly ducked away and reached for his helmet.
“Oops! Sorry.” She quickly reversed course and backed out of the room.
“Not a problem,” he said from behind the closing door.
Cassie kept backing until she hit the opposite wall of the hallway, resting there for several seconds to recover from the shock. She’d seen a lot of injured patients - burned, shot, contused and otherwise mangled - but she had never seen a face as badly scarred as his. The flesh on one side was puckered and rippled. The eyelid drooped as if his face had melted and slid down his skull. His left ear was simply not there.
She had assumed the helmet was to protect his identity. Now she knew - he wore it to protect everyone else.
Another realization was that she’d seen that face before, the undamaged version of it. Her mind was very visual, capable of building elaborate internal imagery of bones, muscle and blood vessels. It was a talent that had gotten her through medical school. She’d seen enough of his undamaged right side to fill in the rest. She could visualize him without the scars, and it was a face she had seen before. She must have met him at some point, but she couldn’t remember how or when.
“It was just so stupid,” he said, reeling her thoughts back to the present.
He stared at the unconscious girl, his hand hovering at the glass as if he yearned to stroke the child’s hair. Cassie returned the clipboard to its holder and caught herself biting at her bottom lip, a nervous habit she’d never been able to shake.
“She was playing on the sidewalk,” he said. “Hopscotch, if you can believe that. I didn’t think kids played hopscotch anymore. I can’t imagine why anyone would want to hurt her.”
“Did you catch him, the shooter?”
He let his hand drop from the glass. His head swung from side to side.
“There wasn’t time. I got there a little after the paramedics. She was just lying there on her little chalked squares. There was so much blood. They had loaded up her father, but they said she was as good as gone, that she wouldn’t last the trip. I couldn’t let that happen. So, I grabbed her and took off.”
Cassie stepped closer to him, reaching out a hand. She wanted to touch him, to give comfort with simple human contact. She knew it was unprofessional, an inappropriate urge that hospital training counseled against. She didn’t really know him. She let the hand drop.
“You did the right thing,” was all she said.
“I hope so.” He turned to look down at Cassie. “I wish I could stop things like this before they happen instead of just picking up the pieces. I should probably be out there now, patrolling, but for some reason I felt I needed to be here, to make sure she was okay.” He took a deep, cleansing breath. "Thank you for this. Now I know she's in good hands. And thanks again for what you did with Alfaro."
He nodded and started to turn away. Her teeth nipped at her lip again. Say it, she chided herself. You may not get another chance.
“Listen, I’m sorry about barging in on you in the locker room. But, I mean, I couldn’t help but see--”
“It’s okay,” he interrupted. “Really.”
“It’s just... There are some good plastic surgeons here. Maybe I… they, can help you with your... injuries.”
“I doubt it,” he said. “They happened when I Emerged. You know about Emergence, right? When an exohuman first develops their abilities?”
She wasn’t one of those people who followed exohumans like celebrity athletes, but almost everybody knew the basics. The genetic mutations that gave these people their exceptional abilities always manifested during times of crisis, of great stress or physical danger.
“I was trapped in a building collapse after an explosion. We were developing an alternative energy source, so there was a lot of nasty stuff that went sideways - including a nuclear reactor. I should have died that day. Then I felt the surge, like my body had been filled with energy. They say I hit the jackpot on abilities. The trinity, some call it - offense, defense and movement. I got super-strength, near-invulnerability and flight. My new powers kept me alive and let me escape from that building, but they couldn’t undo the damage that had already been done.”
He reached out, as if to lay a hand on her shoulder, then stopped and withdrew it.
“Dr. Whelan - Cassie, I appreciate your offer, but my skin is tougher than steel. No scalpel or laser will ever be able to remove the scar tissue that formed in those moments. This is just… what I am.”
He looked at the girl once more before turning to walk away.
*
Cassie’s mind had been uneasy since the Guardian had left. On the plus side, Zacharias had also left for the day, so whatever dressing-down he had planned was on hold. Maybe he’d be in a better mood tomorrow. She tried working on paperwork, only to find herself back in the ICU, repeatedly checking on the girl and her father. As tired as Cassie was, her brain wouldn't let her rest. It was late, well after midnight when she finally walked out of the hospital. She kept thinking about how the XAC-E sergeant had treated Nate, echoing in a way her own treatment from colleagues and superiors. As she walked the short couple of blocks to the MARTA train station, her anger returned – the omnipresent simmering pot that she’d lived with ever since her parents died. Usually the night air helped to clear her head, but tonight she was too keyed up. She heard the warning chime as she came down the station escalator and sprinted to beat the closing doors. She slid into one of the hard plastic seats and settled in for the short ride.
As she rode, her thoughts ke
pt circling back to him - 175 - and his horrible disfigurement. She tried to imagine an entire life trapped in that helmet, walled off from the people he protected, known only by an impersonal number. It must be so very lonely.
We have that in common, she thought.
Exiting the train station, she jay-walked across the street to the small all-night liquor store to grab a couple of bottles of cheap cabernet.
“You buy lots wine,” the old Vietnamese woman behind the counter said through her gap-toothed smile. “You buy case, save money. You bic?”
“Yeah. I mean, no. Just these, thanks.”
Cassie knew she’d pay less buying in bulk instead of two and three at a time, but that screamed ‘drinking problem’ and she didn’t have one. Sure, she bought something almost daily, but the important thing was that she wasn’t a drunk. She only drank because the world kept pissing her off.
Her apartment building was only a couple of blocks from the train station. It was an older complex - the brick notched and rounded from decades of being lived in - but it was well-maintained and quiet. The rent was reasonable, and it was a good location. If it weren’t for her student loan debt, Cassie probably could have afforded something nicer, but this place had a subtle charm to it. As she slipped her key into the worn lock, she felt a familiar presence against her ankles, winding around and between.
“Hey, Scratch. Looking for a late-night snack?”
The gray tabby purred and stretched up to rub his ears on the legs of her scrubs. The instant the door began to open, he abandoned all pretense of affection and darted inside. He knew from long experience that inside was where the food would be.
Cassie dumped her bag in a chair and hung her keys on the hook by the door. Scratch jumped up on the counter of her tiny kitchen. She’d given up on the futility of trying to teach him otherwise. He wasn’t really her cat, more an independent denizen of the neighborhood. She assumed he had homes sprinkled throughout the area. He definitely wasn’t going hungry.
Burden of Solace: Book 1 of the Starforce Saga Page 2