Burden of Solace: Book 1 of the Starforce Saga

by Richard L. Wright

  “I’ve forgotten what normal even looks like.”

  Nate crossed the space between them to sit beside her on the couch. He took her hand in his, small delicate hands embracing her manicured man-hands.

  “I know this is weird,” he said. “But at least we’re not in this alone now.”

  True, having Walsh on their side was a small relief. When Nate contacted Detective Walsh, it was with a sinking dread he would have the same suspicions as XAC about their identities. It was a stroke of luck that the detective had encountered Martin playing the part of Guardian 175, and that he played it so badly. Now they had the beginnings of a team. Walsh could manage the Atlanta Police’s role in this, which was a good thing. XAC had already requested local assistance in apprehending the persons known as Martin Ballantine and Cassidy Whelan. Walsh had pulled every string he could find to stall that cooperation until Nate and Cassie were permanently back in their own bodies. She decided to broach the subject again.

  “I still think you could let me back in my body for now. Hell, I still don’t understand why you won’t just let me fight him instead.”

  They’d already experimented with Ballantine’s secondary ability, swapping bodies and then back again to assure they knew how to do it when the time came. There’d be no time to work out the mechanics of Ballantine’s ability in the heat of battle. After having seen it in action, their learning curve was considerably smaller than Ballantine had experienced by himself. Martin had to learn it by experimentation, trial and error. She, on the other hand, had seen it done. In the same way control of her levitation powers came easily once Nate had explained them, she had a roadmap to accessing these abilities.

  It was a tremendous relief to be ‘home again’ but it was short-lived. After Nate had his turn, moving back into her form again, he had refused to swap back. His reasoning was that he needed to stay acclimated to her physicality as preparation for the battle ahead. Somehow it rang hollow with Cassie.

  Nate looked away, avoiding her eyes. “You’re not experienced in combat. With my skill plus your powers - as unfamiliar as they are to me - I believe I have a better chance of beating him. I know what my body can do and how he’ll use it against me, so that’s an advantage you wouldn’t have.”

  Since their first meeting, Nate had always held her gaze with his whenever he spoke honestly to her. There was a connection between them, something that went beyond words, and it found voice in their eyes. Even after they found themselves in different physical forms, they had used that connection to reaffirm who they were behind these facades. But, at that moment, he wouldn’t look at her.

  “You’re a terrible liar, Nate. And that’s a good thing, but I can tell there’s something else.”

  He didn’t respond. He stood and started to walk away, but she held onto his hand, clinging to the connection.

  “What aren’t you telling me?”

  He thought for a second before sitting back down. This time his eyes met hers.

  “I can’t let Ballantine keep my powers. Did you know that I am, or rather was, rated as the strongest exohuman ever tested? Level 10. And until I met you, and your blasts, nothing had proven capable of hurting me. Now that lunatic, that sadist, he has those abilities. I have to stop him.”

  Cassie smiled. No matter what, this guy was hardwired to be a hero. She was finally starting to understand this philosophy that drove him, the need to do what was best.

  “And that’s what we’re going to do. We’ll knock him down and do the mind-swap thing and then XAC can cart him away.”

  “What if we can’t knock him down? What if the only way to stop him is to take him down permanently?”

  Cassie sat back, rocked by his question. “That won’t happen. We’re going to get back to normal. We’re the good guys, right? We’ll win.”

  It sounded lame even as it came out. He looked deep into her eyes. His hands clutched hers and she felt he was trying to convey some deep meaning, some message that was lost on her.

  “It doesn’t always work that way. I learned that the hard way when Ironhorse died. But if it comes down to it, he has to be stopped no matter what.”

  “You’re talking about killing yourself, aren’t you? Destroying your body.”

  A small, sad smile pulled at the corners of ‘his’ lips. More than ever she felt their connection, the one that tied them together in their eyes.

  “That’s why I can’t let you have this body back, not yet. Because I know you wouldn’t be able to do what needs to be done. You won’t take a life. And I would never ask that of you. So, I have to be the one.”

  He didn’t look away. Heroes didn’t flinch in the face of difficulty. Heroes did what was necessary.

  “Even more reason to make our Plan A work, and soon,” she said. “Because we’ve got about a week and a half to get things straightened out before I have to teach you how to use a tampon.”

  *

  “Ooh, your uniform is so… hard,” said the blonde. Her hands moved across Ballantine’s chest, tracing the stenciled numbers with a scarlet fingernail before moving south. “Or is that all you?”

  “Is there a zipper or something?” The brunette asked, looking him over as she grabbed a handful of ‘his’ ass.

  Ballantine hadn’t really given much thought to how he would consummate this rendezvous with the two exo-groupies from the aquarium. Well, that wasn’t exactly true - he had all sorts of things he planned to do to them. They weren’t the kinds of things he would have done in his previous body, with the powers that resided in it. He’d lost the ability to take direct control of them, so he’d have to play a subtler game. So far, they appeared to be eager to do whatever it took to add him to their list of exohuman conquests.

  But he hadn’t considered how to get out of the gray outfit. He had figured out the crotch-flap that had allowed him to take a leak earlier. Those picnickers at Stone Mountain Park probably assumed it was rain.

  “Ooh,” the blonde cooed. “You should leave the helmet on. Just the helmet. That would be hot.”

  Guardian 175’s helmet was so light and comfortable Ballantine had almost forgot he was wearing it. In the day he had spent exploring life as a demigod it had just been part of the outfit. Now he wondered whose body this was, the person inside the helmet. Was it a face he would recognize, or some nobody?

  The brunette grinned, admiring herself in his visor as she maneuvered him backwards across the hotel room. He allowed her the illusion of pushing him back onto the bed. Ballantine had little experience controlling the strength of this body, so he’d decided to assume passive role - for now. Both women descended on his prone form, hands busily exploring. The brunette tugged at the helmet, then began probing under the edges for a release latch. Her eyes lit up when a click signaled her success. With eager hands, she lifted the front half. Ballantine felt a chinrest he hadn’t noticed before moving clear as the sour odor of old cigarettes and cheap wine filled his nose, no longer filtered by the headgear. The women giggled as they pulled the gray and silver helmet free.

  “Oh my God…”

  Both women recoiled, the brunette falling off the edge of the bed in her haste to back away from him. The blonde covered her mouth with one hand and seemed to retch.

  Ballantine bounded up from the bed, shattering the frame and headboard. On the opposite wall hung a mirror. The two women scrambled for the door as he stared, unable to process what he was seeing.

  “What…?”

  Only when the creature in the mirror mouthed that same word did realization strike.

  CHAPTER 30

  Atlanta’s annual Real Heroes event had started after 9/11. Ironhorse suggested it after seeing the sacrifices made by police, firefighters and paramedics across the country during the attacks by extremist exohumans that day. It was fitting that the ceremony was now held in Centennial Park - in the shadow of the forty-foot statue dedicated to that Guardian’s memory. Cassie couldn’t decide which XAC probably hated more – the statu
e, or that Atlanta had rejected the “Guardian One” name the government tried to pin on the city’s hero.

  After passing through the security checkpoint and metal detectors, Cassie mingled with the crowd, a Braves cap pulled down to conceal Martin’s face. She doubted anyone would recognize the billionaire in the baggy sweat suit she had ‘borrowed’ from a clothes donation bin, but she had found some cheap eye makeup to stipple on a stubbly beard for good measure. Her part in the plan was to stay out of sight until Nate had incapacitated Martin enough for her to attempt the first of the transfers that would set things right. She moved through the crowd, positioning herself for the opening moves. A young boy bounced up and down in front of his dad, unable to contain his excitement.

  “Where’s 175, Daddy? I wanna see 175. He’s my favorite!”

  Kiddo, you are gonna get your money’s worth today. Meanwhile, my job is to hang out until the battle royale is over and hope nobody dies. Can you say ‘useless?’

  She pulled back her sleeve to check Martin’s expensive watch. It was 6:08. The event was supposed to start at six. Up on the stage, organizers, presenters and honorees milled about. She spotted Detective Walsh among them, shaking his head and consulting his own modest watch. Their ‘hero’ was late.

  She stole a glance up at the roof of the Omni Hotel, where Nate was waiting. It was a little warm to be wearing a long trench coat, but the element of surprise was one of the few advantages they had. When the moment came, he’d don the helmet and attack Martin from above. The trick would be to catch him as far away from bystanders as possible.

  Someone on the stage pointed to the northern sky and a cheer erupted from the crowd. The sun flashed off of the Guardian’s helmet, heralding his approach. A couple of days in Nate’s body hadn’t given Ballantine any of the control and grace Nate displayed in flight. The zig-zag path he flew to the park was erratic, punctuated by stops. He slowed and came to a stop over the crowd. Cassie had more than halfway expected him to lift his palms up, calling for applause. That was Ballantine’s plan, after all - capitalizing on Nate’s good name and reputation. Instead, his fists were clenched, and his head jerked about as he scanned the gathered crowd.

  Up on the hotel roof, Nate would be preparing, removing the bracelets, ready for the fight of all their lives. It was time for Cassie to do her part.

  “Bomb,” she shouted. “There’s a bomb! Run! Everybody run!”

  And they did. Few things scattered a crowd like the B-word. Up on the platform, Bill Walsh and his men swung into action and herded those on-stage away from what was about to become a battle zone. Cassie moved with the crowd, dealing out judicious pushes and encouragement to stragglers or those too confused to move. She stopped when she saw a dark figure drop from the hotel roof, white fire already boiling around its hands. Ballantine was still looking around in a state of befuddlement when the first blast hit him from above. He slammed to the ground as people ran, screaming. A bomb was one thing, but a fight between exohumans was downright dangerous.

  Rocket engines roared as Nate braked to hover a dozen feet off the ground. His fists clenched and he summoned up another blast, striking Martin directly in the chest. Martin staggered back, shaking his head like a wet dog. Then he pulled himself together and bellowed. He squatted down to drive his hands under the edge of a concrete walkway. Muscles bunched as he strained to lift the slab, raising it over his head. Cassie heard a grunt and the slab hurtled toward Nate.

  With a twist and a short burst of rocket thrust, Nate dodged the cement missile and threw another burst of energy at Ballantine. This time he was ready, braced for the bolt. It washed over him, only pushing him back a few inches. Before Nate could fire again, the false Guardian sprang into the air. Nate’s thrusters fired with a roar and he shot upward. The fight had gone airborne.

  The park was filled with cries and shouts. People were running in every direction. Cassie noticed a couple of paramedics rushing across the open grassy area, their progress slowed by the equipment they carried. They were headed directly for Cassie. She heard a child scream and spun around, looking in the direction Ballantine had thrown the concrete.

  “Oh my God.” She began to run.

  The slab had come down near the Olympic rings fountain, a place frequented by kids. Most of the children had abandoned the dancing waters when Guardian 175 approached. One small boy stood crying next to his young mother. From what Cassie could see, the slab had fragmented and sent concrete shrapnel flying across the area. One of those pieces had struck the mother a glancing blow in her side. If it had hit her directly then the woman would probably have been cut in half. As it was, it had torn a hunk of flesh the size of a tangerine from her right side. One bystander pulled off his tee shirt and stuffed it into the hole, desperate to stop the bleeding.

  “Mommeeeeee!” The boy clenched his little fists in fear and frustration. A large woman grabbed him up and held him, burying his face in her shoulder to protect his eyes from the carnage.

  Cassie slid to a stop next to the bystander and dropped to her knees. The man looked up, grateful for the help.

  “We need more packing material,” he said. “Something to press against the bleeding.”

  Cassie pulled off her own sweatshirt and passed it to the man. Something in his grim expression said military to her. She started checking vitals.

  “Paramedics are right behind me. Keep the pressure on until they’re ready to take over. Could you tell if there was any intestinal rupture?”

  “Not that I saw. But there’s a lot of bleeding so I didn’t get a good look.”

  Cassie nodded and pressed two fingers to the side of the woman’s throat, finding her pulse - rapid and weak. A lot of blood stained the brick pavers. Her face was pale. She was mercifully unconscious. The paramedics arrived and dropped to the ground, surveying the situation. Cassie filled them in.

  “Patient has a single subfascial avulsion to the right lateral abdomen, significant blood and tissue loss. Airway is open, pulse rapid and thready. Patient is unresponsive. Wound has been temporarily packed with non-sterile dressing, pressure applied.”

  One of the paramedics got on the radio to relay information to a dispatcher at Memorial Hospital. The other nodded and looked up at her as he peeled back the edge of the Samaritan’s makeshift dressing. “You a doctor?”

  Cassie nodded and grabbed his stethoscope. “Trauma surgeon. Let’s get some fluids going to keep her volume up, then we need to transport her, stat.” She listened to the woman’s chest for a couple of seconds then returned the stethoscope. “Tell Memorial to prep an OR and have a Gastro ready to scrub in.”

  One para nodded before grabbing his radio. “Do you want to ride in with her?”

  Cassie started to answer, then remembered that Dr. Cassidy Whelan was supposedly dead, and even so she didn’t look anything like that person.

  “No. I, uh, don’t have privileges at Memorial. I’ll stay here and see if I can help anyone else.” She turned and indicated the crying boy and his protector. “I think that’s her son, so maybe take him too?”

  The large woman stepped closer. “I can ride with him, keep him company a while. I don’t mind.” She patted the boy’s back and rocked him as he sobbed.

  The paramedics finished their preparations and lifted the young woman onto a stretcher and headed for their vehicle, the older woman with the boy following. Cassie exchanged nods with the Samaritan before he headed off to see if anyone could use his help. Like Nate, his kind had an instinct for helping others.

  Cassie looked up to see if Nate and Ballantine were still in view. The two hadn’t gone far. They were a few hundred feet in the air above the park. Nate was flying backwards and dealing blasts as he went. The only effect his attacks seemed to be having on Ballantine was to slow him down but the distance between them was still narrowing.

  “Excuse me. Can someone help me?”

  Cassie turned as the voice faltered. An old man stood, hat in hand, holding it over his chest
as if preparing to sing the national anthem. In slow motion his knees buckled, and the hat fell away. Underneath, his shirt was soaked with blood. Cassie sprinted the short distance and caught him before he hit the ground. She eased him down and ripped the drenched cloth away.

  Multiple wounds covered his chest and shoulder, probably from shards of concrete. She rolled him over to find that a couple had gone completely through. One puncture pumped a weak spurt - an artery or possibly a hole in the heart itself. Even before her hand felt his fading pulse the sluggish flow told her he didn’t have much time. She jammed a finger into the largest opening, trying to stop the worst of the bleeding.

  “I’m here. Hang on. I’m here.”

  She looked around, hoping to spot another paramedic team. All she saw was frightened people, running scared or standing still - ordinary people caught in a battle of giants. The Samaritan was across the field now, busy with another of the wounded.

  “Medic! We need a medic over here!”

  The old man’s eyes fluttered. “Can’t... see. Is… Is someone there?”

  She tilted his head back to make sure his airway was clear. There was no telling how many blood vessels were ruptured, pouring out his life onto the ground. If she had her powers, she would have been able to see them. If she had her powers, she could have fixed them. One of his hands crept up, the gnarled fingers twisted by arthritis, shaking. She took it in her free hand.

  “Fought in two wars and never got hit. Now this. Kinda funny, really.”

  “Don’t try to talk. I’ll stay here until help arrives. I won’t leave you alone.”

  “’preciate that, son, but I don’t mind alone. I been alone a long time, and we is old friends. My Tillie been gone more than fifteen years now. Kids, grandkids - they all got they own lives. Nuthin’ wrong with that. I did what I could to raise ‘em up right, teach ‘em what they needed to know. It’s my time now. No regrets...”