《Blue Bloods》


 Chapter One - Damage Control

    Drew Williams stared at her bathroom mirror in disgust. Six years on the force wasted. Four years of college, four years of graduate school, all shot to hell by one stupid bust. Fog crept up the mirror as the reprimand played over and over in her head. The rhythm of the words settled into the pounding of her pulse, reinforced the headache that dragged her from her bed.


    She reached groggily for the medicine cabinet door, even that slight motion caused pain to shoot through her skull. The latch stuck. She pulled harder. It gave with a crack, swinging open and smacking her in the forehead. Aspirin forgotten, she slammed the door open, driving it against the wall over and over. The glass shattered, sending shards across the floor. She kept hammering at the cabinet until the door tore free.


    She stood panting, her twisted, broken prize clutched in one hand, leaning against the sink with the other. The shower head had slipped free of its cheap setting again, and it dangled into the tub, spraying water against the door.


    Stupid cheap shower tub. Stupid cheap medicine cabinet. Stupid cheap apartment.


    She turned to throw the shattered remains into the wastebasket.


    Her feet slipped out from under her on the slick, wet floor. She slammed butt-first into the tile, pain spiking through her head as it bounced off the hard ceramic of the sink. Her feet and thighs slid through the shattered remains of the mirror, covering her with painful cuts. She howled, her fists and feet lashing out at the sink, toilet, and shower tub. Over and over again she struck, pounding out frustration, pounding out depression, pounding out the injustices of the world.


    Long, uncounted minutes later she lay in a puddle of bloody water, her rage burned out. Her bathroom was a bloody, broken mess. She wasn¡¯t much better. An alarm went off in the other room, and she groaned as the sound cut through her head. She had to get cleaned up for the party tonight. At least she had another two days before she had to be back at work. At the training, anyhow. She wouldn¡¯t be going back to work for a while.


    A mostly clean washcloth wiped across her face let her know that at least there were no cuts there. That was good, she didn¡¯t want to give the shrink any more ammunition than he already had. A quick glance told her she might need some work on her hands, but it was hard to tell with all the old scars. Her legs would need all kinds of little bandages and stitches. Without thinking, she groped for her first aid kit, dragged herself into the tub, and poured alcohol on the cuts.


    Her adrenaline spent, nothing remained but depressed disgust in its wake. Nothing she did made a difference. All the attaboys in the world got erased by one oh shit. She¡¯d had no idea the suspect had been an undercover cop. She had no idea he was going for his badge. She had no idea why, after the fact, they blamed her for his injuries, docked her pay to cover his insurance deductible.


    This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it


    And I don¡¯t need any fucking anger management training!


    ***


    Charlie looked through his book collection. He thought about bringing some of them along to the party. At first it seemed like a good idea. Everyone loved books. After a while, he decided against it. People did stuff like eating, drinking, or doing other stuff with their hands at parties. After that, they wanted to handle his books. They never wanted to take the time to properly clean their hands, never wanted to let their hands dry.


    As he put his boxes of books back on the shelf, his cell phone chirped. A text message from the hospital administrator. Something had gone wrong with the electric in the older elevator again. Charlie shrugged, holstered his cell phone and grabbed his gear vest. The denim settled comfortingly on his shoulders; the weight of each tool pulling from its accustomed spot. He walked to the door, pulling his keys from the retracting lanyard on his belt.


    Three locks and a chain to open the door, four locks and a security system to arm, and he was ready to leave. A single button press initiated the deep roar of his pickup truck¡¯s engine coming to life. He sauntered down the walk, giving the truck time to warm up. Mrs. Gardner next door called out to him, and he walked over to find out what she wanted.


    ¡°How are you doing, Charles?¡±


    ¡°Excellent, Miz Gardner. How are you?¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s good to hear you¡¯re well, Charles. I¡¯m getting on in years, and I¡¯d hate to think what¡¯s going to happen to you when I¡¯m gone.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ll be fine, Miz Gardner.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m sure you will. You¡¯ve always been such a good boy. My arthritis is acting up again. Could you carry my bag down to the curb for me?¡±


    ¡°Sure, Miz Gardner. I¡¯ve got to get going to the hospital now.¡±


    ¡°Such a good boy.¡±


    He smiled, picked up the bag, and took his time carrying it to the street. By the time he had it firmly ensconced in the trash can, his truck had warmed up, the engine running smoothly, with no funny knocks indicating it had been tampered with.


    The trip to the hospital went uneventfully. The classical station had something weird playing, so Charlie toggled his built-in mp3 player, bringing up a playlist heavy on Mozart and Beethoven. The music soothed him as he plodded through the traffic to the hospital. Traffic clogged the roads, and it took him nearly half an hour to drive the ten short miles to the hospital. Most of that traffic came from the turnpike. Some folks headed to the shore to see the light show when the meteorites hit. The smarter ones drove west, getting out of the potential flood zone.


    Charlie backed his truck carefully into his reserved parking spot. When he finished, he took a few minutes to ponder the asteroid once more. Everything he read online said it wouldn¡¯t hit the Earth. It would do one close pass around the planet, then slingshot toward the sun. When he thought about it, he got a tight feeling in the pit of his gut, fear that gripped and wouldn¡¯t let go.


    He gripped the steering wheel and concentrated on breathing. In, out, in, out, he focused on the endless cycles of his body, the way they¡¯d shown him so long ago. After a little while the fist let go of his gut and he forced his hands from the steering wheel. The asteroid would make some pretty lights in the sky, then go away forever. The elevator needed fixing, now. Charlie thumbed his cell phone, sending a preprogrammed ¡°I¡¯m here¡± text to the hospital administrator, and gathered up his tools.

 Chapter Two - Stages of Grief

    Time slowed down, and Angela Merylin stared at the skylight. The screaming injuries, the crying children, the angry voices of two dozen stressed people all faded into the background. One by one, she sifted through possibilities until only one remained. Closing her eyes, she checked the facts against remembered diagnostic charts. Satisfied, she opened her eyes and looked back at the patient.


    ¡°Mr. Gerard, you have a headache.¡±


    ¡°I know that doctor. I called for you because I have a headache.¡±


    ¡°Unfortunately, that¡¯s all you have.¡±


    Roger Gerard didn¡¯t reply. Instead, he looked pointedly at the dialysis machine hooked to his veins.


    Angela rolled her eyes in response, nodding. ¡°Yes, Mr. Gerard, I¡¯m aware that you¡¯re on dialysis. I¡¯m aware you¡¯re bordering on terminal kidney failure. However, in this case your headache is not, I assure you, a symptom of a worsening condition.¡± She shrugged, scribbling on a pad as she did so. ¡°I suspect you¡¯re slightly dehydrated, and that¡¯s exacerbated by your stress. I can¡¯t offer you medication, but I¡¯m going to have the nurses make sure you drink more water.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m swimming in water already.¡±


    ¡°Yes, you are. It is actually possible that I may be shaving a few hours off the months you have remaining by doing this. It¡¯s also possible I¡¯m adding a few hours, since your quality of life will improve if you¡¯re not constantly in pain. It¡¯s your call. I can lead you to water, but I certainly can¡¯t make you drink.¡±


    Roger smirked at her. ¡°Spare me your feeble attempts at humor, doctor. I appreciate the gesture, but if I¡¯m that depressed, I¡¯ll call the Improv and have them send someone.¡±


    Roger rarely smiled, but he smirked a lot. He didn¡¯t have much to smile about, she knew. He¡¯d been a wealthy, powerful man six months ago. He¡¯d been on the cover of Forbes. Now he lay tethered to a machine, unable to leave the hospital. He¡¯d retreated to this particular hospital because it was close to the City without being too close to the City. He wanted to hide but couldn¡¯t bring himself to be far away. Now he waited for a replacement kidney Angela could tell him wasn¡¯t coming.


    He was on the list. He was high on the list, possibly artificially so. But no amount of money could make him a match for the available kidneys.


    He saw her looking, and his smirk melted into a scowl. ¡°That will be all, doctor.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ll check back on you later tonight.¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t put yourself out on my account. I¡¯m sure you want to go see the pretty lights.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m not. I¡¯ll be watching from the roof. I¡¯ll come down and check on you right before and right after.¡±


    ¡°Please, doctor, tell me you¡¯re not one of those UFO freaks. If you don¡¯t, I may be forced to rip my own dialysis leads out of the machine and drown in my own filth. Better that than dying of accumulated stupidity.¡±


    ¡°Mr. Gerard, we both know you¡¯ll cling to life with both hands for as long as you can. Besides, I¡¯m going up to see pretty lights made by a perfectly natural occurrence. No little green men involved.¡±


    ***


    Jack looked listlessly around his hospital room. It wouldn¡¯t be his much longer. He hoped he¡¯d get a good view of the fireworks tonight. The way his luck had run lately, that wouldn¡¯t happen either. Then again, he¡¯d lost track of events recently. He might have seen the fireworks or missed them already.


    The door latch clicked quietly, and his eyes snapped from the window to see who entered the room. Old habits died hard. Twelve years as a construction worker hadn¡¯t dulled twenty years surviving the best efforts of men to make him dead. His ears heard the latch, his eyes tracked the movement as the door cracked open, and his hand¡­


    His hand twitched, feebly. Radiation therapy could have that effect. They called it muscular degeneration. Jack called it karma. He¡¯d killed more than one innocent man. Now it had caught up with him, killing him a bit at a time. If he could talk to his eighteen-year-old self, he¡¯d go straight into construction. Most days the pay was nearly as good, and people were happy when you finished a job.


    The woman coming through the door saw his hand twitch, saw his eyes track her. She opened the door slowly, moved into the room quietly. Her voice matched the rest of her; quiet, soothing. ¡°How are you feeling today, Mr. Maliss?¡±


    Her cheer was the act of a consummate professional. He appreciated professionalism, even that outside either of his areas of specialty. He replied with a smile for her act, ¡°Not too bad, Dr. Merylin. I haven¡¯t soiled myself yet.¡±


    This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.


    ¡°Are you hungry?¡±


    ¡°I think I may be able to keep the Jello down. There¡¯s always room for Jello.¡±


    She gave him a small frown for his cynicism. ¡°Anything else I should know about?¡±


    Heck with it, he¡¯d work on his depression when the cancer was gone. ¡°Other than those? Still dyin¡¯. Not too much else matters at this point.¡±


    She shook her head with a sad smile. ¡°Did you want me to turn the TV on?¡±


    ¡°Nah. That last Korean soap just finished up yesterday. Can¡¯t abide the thought of goin¡¯ to my grave wonderin¡¯ how a new one will turn out.¡±


    Her smile firmed up into what he suspected was her real expression, a frown of determination. ¡°You¡¯re not dead yet, Mr. Maliss. Tell you what, I¡¯ll DVR it for you.¡±


    ¡°Oh, don¡¯t go to any trouble on my account.¡±


    ¡°No trouble. Charlie set it all up.¡±


    ¡°Handy fella, that. He¡¯s sweet on you.¡±


    The doc didn¡¯t even blush, which lent credence to her next words. ¡°No, he¡¯s not, Mr. Maliss. He¡¯s just a friendly guy.¡±


    ¡°What, he¡¯s gay? I ain¡¯t got a problem with it if he is. Long as he¡¯s not into dead guys. Knew a guy like that once. Really messed up dude.¡±


    Now her natural smile came out, her banter cheerful as she ran a practiced eye over his charts. ¡°No, Mr. Maliss. Charlie is ladies¡¯ man, I¡¯m afraid. I¡¯m really not his type.¡±


    ¡°Why not? Them guys know how to treat a lady. I ought to know, I was one of ¡®em way back.¡±


    ¡°Because I prefer breakfast in bed as proof I was something special, not a spot a guy¡¯s ¡®hook up¡¯ list.¡±


    ¡°Ooh. That bad?¡±


    Finished with her examination of his chart, Doc Merylin cocked her pretty blonde head, considering. ¡°Well, maybe he¡¯s not quite that bad, but he¡¯s certainly not boyfriend material at this point.¡±


    ¡°How am I lookin¡¯?¡±


    ¡°Well now, you¡¯re a solid guy, with a retirement from the military and a certain distinguished charm. I suppose I could see my way clear to dinner, but absolutely no nightcaps on the first date.¡±


    He couldn¡¯t help it, the laugh burst from him, rocking him as badly as any of his coughs had ever done. He laughed until the tears came, and when they did, he let them come. His eighteen-year-old self would have laughed at him. His thirty-year-old self might have shot him in disgust. He was neither of those men. His eyes slipped closed, and he wept silently until the doctor¡¯s arms go around him. His arms twitched, and she understood, lifting them to lie across her shoulders. It was a parody of an embrace, but she was warm and kind, and he was an old man dying alone, dying of too much bad karma.


    His tears finally spent; she settled him back in bed. ¡°Our cancer specialist recommended another round of radiation treatment today but think I¡¯m going to override him on this one.¡±


    Some echo of his younger selves rebelled, and his gaze found hers. ¡°No. I¡¯m not gonna die.¡±


    She didn¡¯t understand. Her eyes guarded, he could tell she didn¡¯t want to speak, but she remained a consummate professional. ¡°I¡¯m afraid you¡¯re going to, Mr. Maliss. We might buy you more time, but so much damage has been done already¡­ It¡¯s why you¡¯re my patient, Mr. Maliss.¡±


    He grinned at her, an echo of his younger selves drawing an answering grin from her despite herself. ¡°I know all that, missy. But I ain¡¯t gonna die. This thing is gonna have to kill me. Fire up the radiation bath, I¡¯m feelin¡¯ chilly.¡±


    Her grin spread as she made a note on his chart. ¡°Will do, Mr. Maliss. I¡¯ll let them know you¡¯re coming.¡±


    He couldn¡¯t help himself; the thrill of the fight had his blood up. ¡°You do that missy. And call me Jack. All my other girls do.¡±


    ***


    Something was wrong. Jane heard someone move into the room. Her eyes weren¡¯t working. She tried to open them, but they were already open. She couldn¡¯t see. She heard someone stop at the foot of her bed, doing something that made no sense. It involved a clipboard.


    Something was wrong. Jane felt her visitor talking. The voice felt confusing. Why would the voice feel sympathetic?


    Something was wrong. Jane smelled a cold steel shunt in her arm, a soft plastic tube in her throat. The coppery tang of her damp sheets cooled her lower torso.


    Something was wrong. Jane heard someone move to the side of her bed, slide her eyes shut.


    Something was wrong. Jane was deaf. With the world silent, smell took over, and memory reigned.


    Something was wrong. Jane saw someone tapping, tapping, tapping on her wrist. She saw them lay a hand on her thigh, felt them cursing vehemently. She felt them walk away, anger clear from the feel of feet striking the floor.


    Something was wrong. Jane lay alone in the soft gentle light of the damp bed sheets.


    ***


    Angela closed the last door of her rounds. When the latch clicked, she glanced up and down the hall. Once she was sure no one could see her, she leaned back against the door, one hand rubbing at her temples. Jane was always the hardest. Roger acted so much of a jerk that she could rein in her sympathy. Jack was sad, but so charming she couldn¡¯t help but leave his room happier than she went in. Jane¡­


    She found Jane simultaneously pitiful and horrifying. She¡¯d come into the emergency ward with a bullet lodged in her jaw. It had passed through her skull, bounced at least once. The rest of her injuries? Equally severe. Sixteen stab wounds to the torso, another few dozen to her arms and legs. Not an inch of her had escaped bruising. A rape kit had confirmed someone had forced her, repeatedly. No one knew how she¡¯d survived, but Emergency kept her alive long enough to get the bullet out, to sew up the worst of the bleeders.


    After that, Jane Doe just wouldn¡¯t die. Eventually her eyes opened, but she showed no comprehension when they did. Just a motor reflex, a neuron misfiring, forcing her eyelids to twitch, nothing more. They¡¯d belted her into the bed after the one time the orderly found her on the floor. A tube kept her fed. Another kept her hydrated. Other than that, she lay there.


    Before Jane, Angela had hated the idea of euthanasia. Every time she visited the woman, her resolve wore thinner. It didn¡¯t matter, though. After Jane had lain in the hospital for a month, word came down that they had to keep her alive as long as she could breathe on her own. Someone paid her bills, , and whoever paid the bills made the decisions.


    What really got to Angela? Someone knew Jane but didn¡¯t even care enough to give the hospital her name. Old, bitter anger merged with the new anger over the bed sheets, and Angela¡¯s eyes popped open, scattering saline across the records on her clipboard. She stood and started down the hall. Some orderly would get an extra orifice torn open tonight.

 Chapter Three - Players and Pawns

    Steve looked across the tiny break room and watched Jesse play with her sugar glider, Cory. The little rat bugged him. It would hide in her pocket and jump out at the least opportune times. Still, she doted on the thing. Charlie kept telling him to make a play, but it seemed too weird. She was almost a coworker, and that never went well.


    Looking for something to distract himself, he grabbed the remote for the television and flicked on the news. Every news station focused on the meteor. Meteor this, meteor that. He tried the local station first. The anchor, a slick older gentleman with a porn star moustache, had just handed off to the bright young thing sentenced to handling human interest stories.


    ¡°In other news, an area entrepreneur has started selling meteor protection helmets. Our reporter on the scene, Katrina Wells, has more.¡±


    Katrina took the handoff perfectly. If her looks were more middle America and less Hispanic-Asian mutt, she¡¯d have a decent chance of going network. ¡°Thanks Jerry. I¡¯m here with Troy Jackson, an employee at a local auto reclamation facility. Troy, why don¡¯t you tell us a little more about your invention?¡±


    That startled Steve a little. He knew Troy, sort of. The guy worked as one of the hourly grease monkeys at Charlie¡¯s junk yard. If they¡¯d called him an entrepreneur, the economy must have tanked. ¡°Sure Kat. It¡¯s pretty simple, really. I started thinking about the big meteor, and how there¡¯s all that space junk up in the sky. Y¡¯know, bits of satellites that got knocked off, that kinda thing?¡±


    ¡°Really?¡±


    ¡°Yeah, true fact, you can look it up on NASA¡¯s website. Anyway, I got to thinking that even if the big meteor is gonna miss us, it¡¯s gonna stir that stuff up something fierce. When it does, we¡¯re gonna have little bits of metal falling left and right for a while.¡±


    ¡°Isn¡¯t NASA working even now to move as many satellites out of the path of the meteor as possible?¡± Katrina had done her homework. She might make network if she worked the exotic look rather than trying to minimize it.


    ¡°Well, yeah, but they¡¯re looking to save the ones that work. They¡¯re not playing garbage man. It¡¯s the junk we¡¯ve got to worry about.¡±


    ¡°I see. That makes sense. You¡¯ve got a solution for us, then?¡±


    ¡°Sure do! I came up with the idea when my boss, Charlie, got an old armored car to scrap. If something¡¯s coming down from space, nothing short of a bunker is gonna stop it, but if you¡¯re walking outside you don¡¯t need to stop it. You just need to deflect it a little. So, I got Charlie¡¯s OK to pull the plates off the car, did a little welding work, and viola!¡±


    At this point, Troy whipped a sheet off a horrid looking metal monstrosity. Steve could tell it started life as a helmet, probably a construction helmet. It had flat bits of metal welded to it to form a ridge about two feet above its crown. Some kind of frame dangled from the sides. When Troy lifted it onto his head, Steve figured out why. Shoulder supports kept the weight of the thing manageable.


    It still looked ridiculous.


    ¡°Is that Troy?¡±


    Steve looked over at Jesse. She smelled really nice. Still, he didn¡¯t date coworkers. They both volunteered here at the hospital, not really employees, but he liked the gig. It got him brownie points with the fire chief, and that meant he could spend more time at the gym or hitting the clubs with his wingman Charlie. If he asked her out, and it didn¡¯t work out, she had more friends here than he did, so he¡¯d have to find a new volunteering gig.


    Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on the original website.


    He sighed. Sometimes he wished things were simpler. ¡°Yeah, he¡¯s gonna try to sell those.¡±


    She shook her head, feeding Cory a cube of papaya as she spoke. The thing was cute as a button when it wasn¡¯t being all creepy and hiding. ¡°Does Charlie know?¡±


    ¡°He¡¯s got Charlie¡¯s blessing, apparently.¡±


    Jesse winced. ¡°Ouch.¡±


    ¡°Yeah. But¡­¡± Steve paused, caught her eye, and together they chorused Charlie¡¯s catch phrase. ¡°It¡¯s a really good idea!¡±


    From way down the hall, echoing out of the maintenance access for the old elevator, Charlie¡¯s voice echoed faintly, ¡°What is?¡±


    ***


    Katrina thanked Troy again, climbed into the cramped passenger seat of the news van and closed the door behind her. She held her professional reporter¡¯s grin in place while Damien slammed the back doors, secured everything, and started the engine. As they drove out of the parking lot, she waved and smiled at the skeleton crew staffing the junk yard. Once they made it to the local highway, she muttered to her driver and cameraman without moving her lips.


    ¡°Are we clear?¡±


    Damien had lost most of his soft New England drawl from his time living in New Jersey, but when he decided to get laconic it still came out. ¡°Ayep.¡±


    ¡°Are you recording video or audio?¡±


    ¡°Nope.¡±


    She slumped, collapsing into her seat like a deflating doll. Damien¡¯s sharp bark of laughter came from her comic relaxation as much as anything related to the story, but it still set her off. It started with a snort; another followed in short order. Before she could stop herself, she clutched at her sides, aching from the laughter pouring out of her. Her eyes watered just a bit, and she pulled herself back under control. If she started crying, she wouldn¡¯t stop.


    Being stuck as the human-interest correspondent for a local news station could do that to a girl.


    When Damien saw she had herself back under control, he pulled over at the next fast-food joint. Katrina could never eat before a shoot; she got violently ill on camera when she tried. As a result of that and a fast metabolism, the end of every shoot left her starving. By now Damien knew her like a book, in more ways than she wanted to think about right now.


    They rolled through the drive thru, their oversized order and goofy grins drawing chuckles from the girl working the window. They pulled up to one of the parking spots reserved for drive through orders and attacked the food. Midway through her second burger, Katrina saw Damien doing something odd with his hands and the fast-food bag out of the corner of her eye. When she looked over at him, he had his hands steepled over his head and the bag folded to cover them like a tall, skinny pyramid.


    Burger and soda spewed over the dashboard in front of her as her laughter ignited once more. She wheezed at him through her laughter.


    ¡°Stop it. You jerk. Stop. I can¡¯t breathe. You¡¯re killing me. Stop!¡±


    Damien grinned at her and crumpled up the fast-food bag, throwing it in a box full of similar crumpled balls behind the seat. While she composed herself and cleaned up the mess she¡¯d made, he settled in and ate his cheap fast-food salad and apple slices. As he finished, she turned her seat to look at him.


    ¡°Thanks D. I really needed that.¡±


    ¡°Ayep.¡±


    ¡°OK, if you go all New England on me now, we¡¯re not going out tonight.¡±


    ¡°Prolly not.¡±


    ¡°Oh, no. You¡¯re not sneaking me back to your place either. No going out means no going home afterward.¡±


    A look of mock horror crossed his features as he realized she might just keep her word if he kept up his laconic New Englander act. He relented with a grin. ¡°Well, I can¡¯t have that now, can I?¡±


    Katrina stared at him, openly leering. She ran her gaze over him from head to toe, lingering on the width of his chest, the strength of his features, the bulge of his biceps. When she spoke, her voice had the singsong she worked so hard to keep off the air. ¡°Well, I don¡¯t know. I think we could make arrangements for you to have just about anything you wanted.¡±


    Damien¡¯s wicked grin came back in a flash, his humor dragging her closer to him, despite how foolish it was to be so open about their relationship. ¡°How about a legion of Oompa Loopas that look like Snooki and will do my bidding, no matter how depraved or bizarre?¡±


    Katrina was glad she¡¯d put the fast food away. If she hadn¡¯t, she¡¯d be decorating Damien, and that¡­


    Wasn¡¯t such a bad idea now that she thought about it.


    ¡°OK, Mister. You¡¯re taking me to the movies in New York City tonight, but first we both have to get home and change. Now drive.¡±

 Chapter Four - Wireless Networking

    John Walker looked down on the Earth from above. He wished he could spend his life in the sky like this. He found peace above the strife, the politics, the people.


    Above the atmosphere.


    He wished he could live in space, but working here wasn¡¯t a bad start. After a final wistful look at the scenery, he turned and started working on the exposed controls of the satellite he¡¯d been ordered to adjust. Time left in the cold vacuum of space hadn¡¯t been as cruel as time in an atmosphere would have been, but this was an older satellite. The vacuum and cold had worked some mischief inside, and when he got the display to come up, half of it stayed blank. Frustrated, he hit the switch on his radio.


    ¡°Astronaut Walker to Space Shuttle Atlantis. Come in Space Shuttle Atlantis.¡±


    The radio cut some of the sneer out of the reply, but not nearly all of it. ¡°Space Shuttle Atlantis reads you Astronaut Walker. Go.¡±


    Walker ignored the sneer. His adherence to the minutiae of protocol made him a spectacular astronaut. Being a spectacular astronaut got him into space so often. He kept his voice even and unconcerned when he replied. ¡°Space Shuttle Atlantis, there is a problem with the adjustment to this satellite. The left half of the screen has been damaged. It will not display.¡±


    ¡°Understood Walker. Atlantis will research and advise. Stand by.¡±


    He waited while, inside the shuttle, the others fired up the radio modem that technicians had hastily bolted into the shuttle before the mission. With it the astronauts had access via satellite to all the information on the internet, as well as live real time chat with any scientist or engineer in the world. Ostensibly, that allowed them to find a solution to whatever problem came up during the mission. In reality, it let them check Facebook while they travelled from satellite to satellite.


    If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it.


    While he waited, Walker went through another check, varying the order this time to keep him from missing anything due to routine. Suit integrity was fine. Radio was functional as little as thirty seconds ago. Air supply held enough for another three hours. Battery pack would last twice that, although that went faster the more he used the radio or other powered items. Jets were functional, with nearly full fuel supply. Suit climate control was nominal. Everything critical was working fine.


    He looked down at the satellite, lowering his head until he nearly touched the display with his helmet. Close up, he barely made out tiny ice crystals formed just under the surface of the display. Walker smothered a curse when he realized what had happened. At some point before launch, the satellite had gotten wet. Damp, at least. When the launch vehicle fell away and the water exposed to space, some of it had crystallized in the display, cracking it. At this point it was probably irreparable.


    Worse, he realized, taking it inside would do more harm than good. It had been functioning normally for years now. That meant the only thing that was broken was the manual access computer display screen, not any of the functional parts of the satellite. If he took it inside, the water would melt. If he didn¡¯t get each and every bit of the satellite bone dry before re-releasing it, the water might crack one of the operational components next time it froze.


    Walker pushed himself back with his suit jets, careful not to brush the exhaust against the satellite. Once clear, he spoke into his radio again. ¡°Astronaut Walker to Space Shuttle Atlantis. Come in, Space Shuttle Atlantis.¡±


    After a few long moments the astronaut at the communications station replied. ¡°Atlantis to Walker. We read you, Walker. We don¡¯t have an answer for you yet. We¡¯ll let you know as soon as we can. Why don¡¯t you bring it inside? You¡¯ll be more comfortable in here.¡±


    ¡°Negative, Space Shuttle Atlantis. The satellite¡¯s seals have been compromised, and water has infiltrated and damaged the manual access computer display screen. We¡¯ll need to program blind, move it externally, or rig it for demolition. Please contact Space Shuttle Command at NASA for further instructions.¡±


    ¡°Atlantis to Walker: you sure on that damage, Walker?¡±


    ¡°Affirmative, Space Shuttle Atlantis.¡±


    ¡°OK, Walker. Do you want to come in while we wait on the reply?¡±


    ¡°Negative, Space Shuttle Atlantis. Astronaut Walker will remain on station.¡± And enjoy my private view of the world.

 Chapter Five - Admissions

    Jesse looked across the emergency room just in time to see a ragamuffin figure slip in through the sliding glass doors. The woman wore slightly tattered sweatpants, a blue sweatshirt with the hood up, and mirror shades. Jesse¡¯s first impulse was to go take the woman in hand. If she was a victim, she needed help and encouragement. If she was unstable, she needed guidance. If she was dangerous, she needed to be watched.


    Jesse took herself to task. This wasn¡¯t her classroom, where she had to maintain order in the face of recalcitrant teen chaos. This wasn¡¯t the weekend program where she introduced troubled teens to wildlife. This was the hospital emergency room, and her job was to drive the ambulance. Still, if the woman needed help¡­


    Then the unknown woman turned, and Jesse¡¯s tension drained away to be replaced by a mix of humor and exasperation. The broad yellow letters spelling out the word ¡®POLICE¡¯ across the back of the sweatshirt told her who had just arrived for the party.


    ¡°Hey, Drew!¡±


    Drew¡¯s head swiveled around like it was on rusty bearings. She zeroed in on Jesse, stood motionless for a few moments, then trudged toward the door to the break room where Steve still sat watching the television and making snarky remarks. Jesse waited patiently until Drew made it to normal conversational distance, and then shouted to her again.


    ¡°So, Drew, you hung over or something?¡±


    Drew winced, her glasses falling askew when she did. One hand moved slowly up to rub a knuckle against her temple. When she replied, her voice was hoarse, like she¡¯d been screaming. ¡°Yeah. Something like that. Migraine. Only without the drinking.¡±


    ¡°You really know how to get decked out for a party, don¡¯t you?¡± Jesse said in a more normal tone. ¡°I mean, I normally expect to be wearing filthy police sweats out of the trunk of the cruiser after I¡¯ve gotten drunk and lost my clothes.¡±


    ¡°Not funny, Jesse.¡±


    ¡°Yeah, well. Neither is coming to the party dressed like a bag lady.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m not.¡±


    ¡°Yeah.¡± Jesse wrinkled her nose. ¡°You haven¡¯t washed those clothes in how long?¡±


    ¡°I wore ¡®em home from work yesterday.¡±


    ¡°Did you shower?¡±


    Drew¡¯s voice slurred a little. ¡°I knew I forgot something.¡±


    Jesse reached up, real concern overwhelming her irritation. ¡°Oh, jeez. Are you sober? We weren¡¯t really going to be drinking heavy tonight, you know.¡±


    Drew worked her mouth. When she wiped it on her sleeve, Jesse could see blood mixed with the spit before it all soaked into the fabric. ¡°Yeah. I kinda figured partying on the roof meant we were gonna be making it a near-beer and cola night.¡±


    ¡°Drew. What¡¯s wrong?¡±


    If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.


    Drew¡¯s voice was bitter, self-recriminating. ¡°I nearly got fired, ok? I¡¯m on indefinite administrative leave.¡± She stopped, the rest of her news dragging its way out of her. ¡°At least until I finish the stupid anger management course.¡±


    Jesse¡¯s concern spiked, but she kept her voice steady. ¡°Are you going to be ok? Do you need some money or a place to stay?¡±


    Drew¡¯s laugh was harsh. ¡°You think I can¡¯t make the rent on that little rat hole I live in? Nah. Thanks, Jess, but I¡¯ll be ok for at least a few months. If I can¡¯t play nice for a week given two months to try, maybe I¡¯m not cut out to be a cop.¡±


    Jesse knew how long her friend had studied, how hard she¡¯d worked. Hearing her cut herself down like this was just too much. ¡°Do you want to ditch the party tonight and go our drink on?¡±


    ¡°Nah.¡±


    ¡°We could get dressed up for reals and get our crazy party girl on down on Delaware Ave¡­¡±


    Drew¡¯s growing smirk vanished suddenly in a wave of self-loathing and embarrassment. ¡°Uh. No. I¡¯m not wearing these ¡®cause they¡¯re the cleanest thing I¡¯ve got.¡±


    ¡°Huh?¡±


    ¡°Look, I¡¯m not really in any kind of shape to show any skin, ok?¡±


    Jesse¡¯s concern spiked again. ¡°Drew? What the heck happened?¡±


    ¡°I got a little beat up, ok?¡±


    ¡°YOU got beat up?¡±


    Drew had the grace to look abashed. ¡°Look, I¡¯m really not in the mood to talk about it. I just wanted to hang with you guys and chill, ok?¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re at least going to have to take the sunglasses off.¡±


    ¡°I wasn¡¯t kidding about the migraine.¡±


    Jesse put an arm around Drew¡¯s shoulders and pulled her over to the break room. ¡°Let¡¯s get you some painkillers and a quiet place to sit then.¡±


    ***


    Grace lowered the bow from her cello, her gaze downward, unfocused, as it had been for the entire performance. The moment her bow touched the floor, the applause began. It thundered through the room, echoing through the near-perfect acoustics. Long habit forced a smile onto Grace¡¯s face, forced a polite bow to the audience, forced a longer bow when the applause continued.


    She didn¡¯t really hear any of it. Part of her recorded it for later reference, as always, but most of her just tried not to wince. In her mind, she heard the performance again from beginning to end. She almost missed that note again, fumbled her timing, and scrambled through the rest of the performance, desperately trying to complete the piece without breaking down completely.


    After her second bow and a simple ¡°Thank you¡±, she left the stage. Her manager, Phil, waited for her.


    ¡°Grace! Where are you going?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m heading home.¡±


    Phil¡¯s voice sounded like she¡¯d suggested dancing nude on the street. Check that, he probably thought that was a good promotional gimmick. ¡°Whoa! Grace! You need to get out there for an encore. This is your big homecoming concert!¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m done, Phil. I¡¯m heading back to the States. Just set it up, ok?¡±


    Phil¡¯s voice took on the wheedling tone she¡¯d come to hate. ¡°Grace, sweetie, we¡¯ve got six more concerts booked!¡±


    She ought to put more disbelief into her voice, but long habit controlled it, kept her voice dull and even. ¡°Since when?¡±


    ¡°Since halfway through your performance. You were perfect, baby!¡±


    ¡°No, Phil. I wasn¡¯t. I don¡¯t think you can comprehend how far from perfect I was.¡±


    ¡°Look, I¡¯ve seen artists get down like this before. You¡¯re just nervous. Last time you were here, you were property of the state. Now you¡¯re in the driver¡¯s seat, Grace! You can write your own ticket!¡±


    ¡°If I¡¯m in the driver¡¯s seat, I¡¯m driving me home.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m telling you, Grace, you just can¡¯t do that!¡±


    Grace finally raised her weary gaze to meet Phil¡¯s overexcited one. What she saw there would have terrified her as a girl. Now, after years of dealing with worse than Phil, it just made her tired. ¡°OK, Phil. But no more tonight. I need a break; I think I might have strained something.¡±


    Now Phil oozed solicitousness, greasy in her ears. ¡°Oh, sure, Grace. You need to keep yourself healthy, or you won¡¯t be able to finish the tour. Let me take care of things, and everything will be fine.¡±


    Grace forced another professional smile. Getting out of Hong Kong was near impossible last time, but she¡¯d done it. This time she had a Visa, a bank account, and a lifetime¡¯s experience. How hard could it be?

 Chapter Six - First Impact

    John Walker looked across the gap between himself and the shuttle. He¡¯d waited half an hour since they signed off. He ran through his check again; everything showed up as functioning normally. He had plenty of time on his suit, but Atlantis had to get out of the way before the meteor came through. Simple physics meant they had to start moving within ninety minutes.


    Walker checked the satellite again. The screen still wasn¡¯t working. He could try entering the code blind, but there were a few readings regarding available fuel he was supposed to take before he did the programming. Without those readings, he was taking a gamble with whether the satellite would successfully alter its orbit or send itself plummeting to the earth below.


    He¡¯d waited long enough. Keying his radio, he spoke slowly and carefully to avoid having his irritation come through. ¡°Astronaut Walker to Space Shuttle Atlantis. Come in Space Shuttle Atlantis.¡±


    He waited, but got no response. After five more minutes he tried again. Again, no response. He checked his radio; he could pick up fragments from the newly moved International Space Station, so he was receiving. It was possible he wasn¡¯t transmitting, but the telltales marked him as transmitting fine. The telltale and the transmitter might both have malfunctioned, but that was unlikely.


    He looked down at the satellite, checked his fuel. He could get the satellite back to the shuttle with what he had. It would have to be broken down and rebuilt completely, but they had the resources for that on the space station. If he left it here, it would wind up shattered wreckage decorating the south pacific. He adjusted his position, put the breakaway straps in place to secure the satellite to himself, set his hands on the satellite and fired up his jets. Slower than he was used to, he and the satellite accelerated.


    Luckily it wasn¡¯t a very large satellite, and like all satellites intentionally made of low density materials. When he made it a quarter of the way to the shuttle, he stopped thrusting and worked his way around the satellite. When he had his back to the rapidly approaching shuttle, he fired his jets again. Less than five minutes after he¡¯d made his decision, his feet touched the surface of the open shuttle bay.


    He flexed his knees to absorb the impact. That was second nature but doing it with a satellite wasn¡¯t. For a moment, he was certain the satellite would smash him into the floor of the shuttle bay, his helmet shattered, the warmth of his life spilling out into the cold of space. Then he managed to turn the satellite slightly skew to himself, and it came to rest less than gently on the floor of the bay, sliding him backward across the floor of the shuttle as it did.


    ¡°Needs to be rebuilt for certain, now.¡± He wasn¡¯t in the habit of talking to himself, but the fact that the crane hadn¡¯t reacted to his approach unnerved him. As he secured the satellite, he thought about what might have occurred that would completely distract the crew of the shuttle from their EVA crew member.


    He lumbered to the bay door controls. The doors needed to be closed before they moved, and they needed to get moving fairly soon. In silence broken only by a dull vibration coming through the soles of his feet, Walker watched the stars disappear. When they had, he moved to the controls to pressurize the bay. He threw the switches to pump air into the bay. Air resistance was the only thing that would keep fragments of the satellite from becoming dangerous projectiles when they thrust themselves toward the station.


    After sixty seconds, green telltales flickered amber, indicating something keeping the bay from pressurizing. Walker tried his radio again, to no avail. Frustrated, he hooked his suit into the shuttle intercom. He hated being chained down that way, but the intercom used a different system to the radio, and if his radio was broken¡­


    ¡°¡­God, oh God, oh God¡­¡± Walker didn¡¯t recognize the moaning litany. Before he could force his stunned voice into action, he heard another voice. Johnson, the engineer on the mission.


    ¡°Will somebody sedate him!¡±


    Rosario, the shuttle¡¯s copilot, replied, his voice a strained hiss. ¡°You figure out how to do that through a suit with damaged electronics and I¡¯ll drag myself over and do it, ok?¡±


    Walker found his voice. ¡°Rosario! Johnson! What¡¯s going on?¡±


    After a moment of stunned silence, Johnson replied. ¡°Walker? Is that you? We can barely hear you.¡±


    Pain colored Rosario¡¯s voice, but he still sounded still more in control of himself than Johnson. ¡°Walker. It¡¯s good to hear you. We thought you were dead. Where are you?¡±


    The chain of command in the shuttle was clear. He ought to be reporting to the shuttle commander, Commander Wilson. Still, Rosario ranked him, though it was a near thing. Besides that, in an emergency, whoever took charge ought to be followed, at least until they screwed up or the emergency was over. ¡°I¡¯m in the cargo bay. The satellite is inside, the bay doors are closed. I¡¯ve tried to pressurize, but the telltales are showing amber; there are leaks.¡±


    Rosario¡¯s reply was immediate and firm. ¡°Shut down the pressurization, now!¡±


    Before he replied, he moved, shutting down the pressurization routine. He even had the presence of mind to start the pump to try and recover some of the air before it was lost. ¡°Sir, pressurization routine shut down. Where is Commander Wilson?¡±


    If Rosario was shaken, his voice didn¡¯t show it. ¡°Dying. The three of us are the only functional ones left of the crew. Johnson is the only one in good condition.¡±


    This story has been unlawfully obtained without the author''s consent. Report any appearances on Amazon.


    ¡°What can I do, sir?¡±


    ¡°Get in here and get us set up on a route back to the ISS. I¡¯m in no condition to do so.¡±


    Confusion hit Walker hard. He was qualified as a pilot, but he hadn¡¯t yet spent time in the chair. Rosario was experienced; he was a better pilot than Wilson, but Wilson had the time in grade and the mission time, so he got the Commander¡¯s slot. The words left his mouth before he could think about them. ¡°Sir, why aren¡¯t you flying us there?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m blind, Walker. Near enough, anyway. The decompression hit us fast, and Johnson was the only one suited up. He was getting ready to work on the satellite in the bay without pressure. You coming in here, or is the meteor going to make road kill out of us all?¡±


    Walker shuddered as he worked the controls for the air lock. Being blinded was a pilot¡¯s worst nightmare. Pilots without perfect or near perfect vision got grounded as a matter of course. By the time he made it into the shuttle, he had his terror under control. Inside, the sharp-edged shadows told him all he needed to know. The interior of the shuttle had gotten exposed to space in some way. Anyone not in a suit was already dead by now. Painfully dead and freeze dried.


    A sudden bark of laughter escaped him. Inside the shuttle, his suit had auto connected to the intercom. Rosario¡¯s voice remained calm, collected. ¡°Walker, are you getting shockey on me?¡±


    ¡°No, sir. I¡¯m fine. I was laughing at myself, sir.¡±


    Rosario¡¯s voice was understanding, but firm. Walker understood. In Rosario¡¯s position, he would have to know that his pilot was in control of himself. ¡°Walker, I need you to keep it together.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ve got it together, sir. Honestly. I was laughing because the idea of dying from exposure to vacuum is less frightening to me than the idea of being blind.¡±


    Immediately Walker wished he could take the words back. They hung there as he moved past the suited figures of Johnson and Rosario. When he was securing himself to the pilot¡¯s chair, the pilot spoke. ¡°Yeah. I know what you mean.¡± Then Rosario laughed. ¡°We¡¯re a messed up bunch, aren¡¯t we?¡±


    ¡°Might be, sir. We¡¯re also the finest our country has to offer.¡±


    ¡°That we are. That said, you¡¯re in charge.¡±


    Walker stopped in the middle of entering in his thrust calculations. ¡°What, sir?¡±


    Walker realized pain had made Rosario¡¯s voice sharp. ¡°You heard me. I decompressed enough to blind me, at least temporarily. You think I¡¯m in good shape otherwise?¡±


    His suspicion confirmed, Walker bowed his head a moment. This was his dream, but not the way he would have wanted it. Still, this was the reason for the chain of command. Every person knew that if it came down to it, he was in charge. Still, he had to be sure. ¡°Captain Rosario, are you certain you cannot remain in command of the mission?¡±


    ¡°Yes, Captain Walker. Log this, Johnson.¡±


    ¡°Recording, sir.¡±


    ¡°This is acting mission commander Captain Jared Rosario. I have sustained debilitating injuries in the same decompression event that rendered our mission commander, Commander Wilson, unconscious. With the return of our astrogator, Captain John Walker, who appears to be uninjured, I am no longer the best choice for acting mission commander. I am placing Captain John Walker in command and sedating myself at this time.¡±


    When Rosario stopped speaking, Johnson waited a few moments and then said, ¡°Got it. Want me to transmit it to ISS?¡±


    Rosario¡¯s voice already slurred as the drugs kicked in. His suit pharmacopeia apparently had its full complement of painkillers, and he¡¯d used some. ¡°Up to Walker now. I¡¯m¡­ I¡¯mma¡­¡± A soft snore sounded over the channel until Johnson leaned over and turned off Rosario¡¯s intercom connection.


    That left the piteous moans and whimpers still echoing through the channel. With no one talking, they were the only thing in Walker¡¯s ears. He spoke as much to drown them out as to get information. ¡°Just you and me then, Johnson. These two are counting on us getting them to the medical facilities at the ISS.¡±


    Johnson¡¯s voice wasn¡¯t pleasant, but it still rated as better than the moaning. ¡°If there are any medical facilities there.¡±


    Walker had already entered the sequence of thrust required to get them moving on a least time, zero relative velocity intercept with the space station. It was wasteful of fuel, but they had plenty, and if they got clipped by the meteor it would all get lost anyhow. ¡°What do you mean?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ve been trying to get them on the horn since we got hit. No luck.¡±


    The need to focus on his navigation distracted Walker, but he had to keep the conversation up, or Commander Wilson¡¯s moans would distract him even worse. ¡°Maybe our radio got hit when we were holed?¡±


    Walker smiled as he heard the faint rustle that indicated Johnson shaking his head. A suit made it near impossible to see, but some people never lost the habit. ¡°Nope. I was talking to them just before we got hit. They cut out just before we got nailed, and I swear I heard some impact sounds just before they did.¡±


    Walker knew Johnson had a bit of paranoia. It seemed to run in folks really savvy with computers and electronics. Still, while he might be paranoid, he wasn¡¯t a liar, and he was a good tech. ¡°Did you get it on tape?¡±


    ¡°Electronic recording, but yeah. I¡¯ve listened to it since, but I can¡¯t tell if I¡¯m imagining things or not.¡±


    ¡°Let me listen.¡±


    ¡°Two shakes.¡±


    For a few moments, as he entered in the last few settings and double checked his calculations, Walker listened to Johnson¡¯s breathing and Wilson¡¯s moans. Then, without warning, the recording cut in.


    ¡°¡­you have the parts required on board.¡± Walker didn¡¯t remember the name of the radio tech on the ISS, but he remembered her face. He¡¯d been vaguely disappointed that she was in active service to the military of a foreign power.


    Johnson¡¯s recorded voice replied, sounding put out when it did. ¡°I know that. I just hate going EVA.¡±


    The mockery in the radio tech¡¯s voice was clear. ¡°Scared of doing a Flying Dutchman?¡±


    ¡°No. I sweat. A lot. Everything gets sticky and sweaty, and the faceplate fogs up.¡±


    ¡°Well, that¡¯s¡­¡± Walker never found out what the distant radio tech thought of Johnson¡¯s problems with suits. A series of pops, like fireworks, sounded over the radio. A moment later, the sounds dissolved in static, but not before he heard a sound, one he hoped he¡¯d never hear again; the sound of a boneless body sliding across a microphone.


    He paused, saying a quick prayer for the distant crew of the ISS, then another for his own crew. The ISS might be damaged, but it would still have some parts they could use to affect repairs. His moment of contemplation over, he squared his shoulders and spoke.


    ¡°Johnson, secure the sedated crewmembers.¡±


    ¡°Already done, commander.¡±


    ¡°Please double check. We are under severe time constraints, and I will be putting us under full thrust at times.¡±


    Fabric rustled through the radio, Walker. Johnson¡¯s voice held far less impatience when he spoke again. ¡°OK, commander. Both Captain Rosario and Commander Wilson are secured in acceleration couches.¡± A short pause, during which more fabric sounds came over the radio. ¡°I am secured as well. All living members of the crew are secure, all deceased members are secure. We are secure for full thrust.¡±


    ¡°Thrusting now.¡±

 Chapter Seven - Awareness

    Grace looked across the bay. To get to the consulate or the airport, she needed to cross half of Hong Kong. To do that required taking a taxi, in which case she would still be stuck in traffic when Phil realized her intentions and moved to intercept her. The other possibility, one she knew Phil wouldn¡¯t think of, was the bay. Most Westerners thought of the water taxis as a tourist gimmick, but deep inside Grace wasn¡¯t really a Westerner.


    Then again, she was going home to New York City, so maybe she was.


    She looked around the bay, found one that looked good, and waved her hand to get his attention. It didn¡¯t work. Maybe he thought she¡¯d waved at someone else. Maybe¡­ He looked away. She sighed. She was tall for her family, mostly because she¡¯d moved to the US before her final growth spurt. The high protein diet in the states had plenty of problems, but it made people tall. Tall for their families, at least. Grace was at least four inches taller than her mother, nearly as tall as her father.


    She still only stood four feet nine inches tall in stockinged feet.


    She sighed again, lifted two fingers to her mouth, and ignoring the warnings her sense of decorum gave her, whistled.


    Half the street turned to look for the source of the high, piercing, perfect note. The water taxi driver looked straight at her. When she made eye contact and waved, he waved back.


    At least something had gone right today.


    ***


    Nothing had gone right today. First her best bust in a year turned out to be an undercover narcotics guy. Then the narcotics guy tried to keep his cover by resisting arrest after insulting her. That would have been bad enough, but the narcotics guy turned out to be a nephew of Somebody. Then she got in a fight with her own bathroom and lost. Finally, when she got to the party, trying to relax, Jesse found her.


    Jesse was a way better friend than Drew deserved, really; kind, caring, considerate. Without question, an absolute gem. But right now, Drew wanted something with alcohol to drink, someone with a bad attitude to hit, and somebody with low standards to hook up with. Preferably somebody without a lawyer. The fight, not the hook up. Then again, she might need that for the hook up too, given how beat she looked.


    She took another glance in the ladies¡¯ room mirror. Her eyes had luggage for a family of four. Her hair, never the best in the world, hung ragged and looked like she¡¯d permed it too many times. Her nose had been set right away, which was the only thing that went right about the whole fight. Drew was pretty sure this time would correct most of the damage from the time she broke it sparring in the Academy. She smiled. Her teeth were all good. Despite a history of brawling, she¡¯d not lost any.


    Drew leaned on the bathroom sink and looked at herself in the mirror again. A heartfelt sigh forced its way out of her not quite flat chest. B cups were nothing to sneeze at. If she could fill them, she might even have a passable body. She looked down at the shirt she¡¯d borrowed from Jesse. It left her stomach bare, but that wasn¡¯t really a problem. She was in good shape; sparring every other day in the police gym ensured that. She wasn¡¯t fat. She wasn¡¯t actually ugly. She wasn¡¯t a lot of things.


    She wasn¡¯t beautiful, even made up. She wasn¡¯t a knockout, even dressed up. She wasn¡¯t anyone¡¯s idea of a good time, especially when something got her blood up.


    Drew stopped herself. She promised Jesse she¡¯d try to look on the bright side.


    ¡°I¡¯ve got good teeth. I¡¯ve got¡­ passable birthing hips? I¡¯ve got hair that won¡¯t snap or pull out.¡±


    She knew that. Enough people tried it. She looked one more time at the makeup kit, then back at her face. A little more foundation made her baggage a little less noticeable. She looked down at the loaner jeans from Jesse¡¯s emergency stash. There was a little too much room in the butt, and a little too much Drew in the thighs, but they fit ok. They also didn¡¯t show the myriad cuts and scratches from the bathroom fight, or the bruises from the undercover narc fight.


    Stolen content alert: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.


    ¡°Hey, Drew? You coming out, or do we need to send in a search party?¡± Jesse¡¯s voice through the door shook Drew out of her introspection, if not out of her funk.


    ¡°Yeah, I¡¯m coming. Just putting the stuff away.¡± She dropped Jesse¡¯s stuff and her own back into the backpack Jesse had tossed to her. Once everything was in and the zipper closed, she wandered out into the hallway. To one side of the door, Jesse leaned against the wall, texting someone on her phone.


    ¡°Did you even try to put your hair up?¡± Jesse¡¯s frown was the epitome of pixie cute.


    ¡°Yeah. The Hair laughs at your puny ponytail ties.¡± Her hair might be ragged and look awful, but it was durable and mighty. Yeah, that brought the guys running.


    ¡°Hold still, and gimme that.¡± Jesse spun her around and grabbed the backpack back. A few moments later, she felt Jesse playing with her hair. She stifled a sigh. It was useless, but try telling Jesse that. A moment later, she squeaked. She hated the sounds she made when she was in pain.


    ¡°What?¡± Jesse seemed honestly confused.


    Drew didn¡¯t want to upset her, but she wasn¡¯t at her best as it was, and she didn¡¯t deal with pain well. ¡°That hurts!¡±


    Sympathy was, apparently, in short supply. ¡°Oh, you big baby. Hold still just a second.¡± One more yank of her hair, and Jesse backed away. ¡°OK, that looks suitably exotic. Turn around.¡±


    Drew turned around. Jesse was not to be resisted when on a mission. By her tone, she was on one now, and it had to do with Drew¡¯s ¡®party look¡¯. Drew held still while Jesse did something with her makeup kit. Two endless minutes later, she backed away. Jesse''s mouth smiled, but her eyes didn¡¯t. Her voice agreed with her mouth, but Jesse always had good voice control. Drew supposed she got it from that stint doing phone support. ¡°You look great, Drew!¡±


    ¡°Yeah. Lemme look.¡± She walked over to one of the decorative mirrors in the hall. Jesse had done a bang-up job. Drew had deliberately asymmetric eye shadow, some kind of oriental bun with sticks in, and a little design high up on one cheek. It even made her look like she had cheekbones, sorta.


    ¡°Thanks, Jesse.¡±


    ¡°Y¡¯know, Drew, if you smiled the way you used to back in our freshman year, you¡¯d look pretty good.¡±


    Drew pulled her lips back in a mockery of a smile. Her voice came out appropriately strained. ¡°How¡¯s this?¡±


    ¡°Oh, can it. Let¡¯s get up to the roof.¡±


    ¡°You got it.¡±


    ***


    ¡°Coming up on flip over.¡± Walker strained to keep his voice coherent. He had taken more g¡¯s than this before, but not for this long. This many didn¡¯t pose an inherent danger, and didn¡¯t exactly hurt, but they caused incredible discomfort. He worried a little about the two injured crew members, but only a little. If he didn¡¯t get them out of the way of the meteor, they¡¯d die anyway.


    Johnson didn¡¯t respond. Walker killed the engines, rolled the shuttle through the flip with attitude thrusters, and then fired up the engines again. That done, he prodded his only conscious crew member again. ¡°You still with me, Johnson?¡±


    After a few moments, Johnson¡¯s voice sounded over the intercom. ¡°Yeah. Sorry, I waved, but I guess you didn¡¯t see it.¡±


    Walker counted to five before answering. ¡°I¡¯m watching too many things to look back, Johnson. You know that.¡±


    ¡°Yeah, I know. I¡¯m just rattled, I guess. Sorry.¡± He did sound contrite, at least.


    Walker tried to be reassuring. ¡°Don¡¯t worry about it. We¡¯ve got another half hour until we¡¯re within unaided visual range of the space station. Another hour until we make zero relative rendezvous. Do you think you can get up and get us a visual? I know you haven¡¯t had as much high g time as I have.¡±


    Johnson¡¯s voice was strained, but he showed willing. ¡°Yeah. I¡¯ll give it a shot, at least. I don¡¯t know if I can walk it or not, but I can crawl my way there if I have to. How soon until we¡¯re out of the path of the meteor?¡±


    Walker heard the tension in Johnson¡¯s voice when he asked the question. ¡°Assuming the projected path is correct, we¡¯re out of it already.¡±


    Johnson heard the qualifier. Paranoid, after all. ¡°But?¡±


    Walker decided to see if paranoia could be useful. ¡°You know the problem I¡¯m having?¡±


    Johnson¡¯s voice was speculative, but not really uncertain. ¡°Yeah, I think so. The astronomers who plotted the course of the thing also said it had no debris cloud.¡±


    Walker pushed. ¡°What does that say to you?¡±


    ¡°Couple things might be true. Simplest is incompetence. The astro boys messed up somehow, and there was a debris cloud that they just plain missed.¡±


    ¡°All of them?¡±


    ¡°Y¡¯know, Walker, I¡¯m not sure I like you playing Devil¡¯s advocate like that. Still, you¡¯re right. This thing is the biggest single astronomical event that humans have experienced since manned spaceflight became a reality. So many astronomers looked at it with so many devices, you think one of them would have seen the debris cloud.¡±


    ¡°So where does that leave us?¡±


    ¡°Well, either the thing broke up very recently, maybe due to proximity to the sun, or¡­¡±


    Walker heard the doubt in Johnson¡¯s voice. He understood the reason but wanted to hear it from someone else. ¡°Or?¡±


    ¡°Or that thing shot us.¡±

 Chapter Eight - Elevation

    Charlie finished setting up the sound system. ¡°This party is going to be out of this world. Pun intended.¡±


    Angela threw a carrot at him. She¡¯d been hovering around the food since some of the napkins blew off the roof. Mostly she¡¯d been trying to make sure nothing else would blow away, but Charlie had given that up as a bad deal after watching things for thirty seconds. They¡¯d lose some of the paper goods, no way to avoid that. Charlie¡¯s guys would clean it up, which meant Charlie, Troy, and a few of the part timers. Charlie had the contract for cleanup of the parking lot, after all.


    ¡°What? What did I do?¡±


    Angela responded, although Jesse looked like she was about to. ¡°You let that horrible pun out. Keep those things to yourself?¡±


    ¡°What would you prefer I share?¡±


    Steve¡¯s voice rasped already. Ever since he¡¯d taken some smoke pulling a kid out of a house fire, it got that way when the weather got cold or damp. It wasn¡¯t cold per se, but the roof had a fair wind chill. ¡°Geez, guys. Get a room already.¡±


    ¡°Hey, I keep asking, but the girls keep turning me down.¡±


    That earned him a celery stick from Angela, a hair band shot rubber band style from Jesse, and a dirty look from Drew. A moment later, the dirty look turned speculative, and he turned back to his portable stereo with a suppressed shudder. Drew wasn¡¯t bad looking, even if she wasn¡¯t up to his normal standards, and she was in great shape, but she had a violent streak wider than the interstate. One wrong move and he¡¯d wind up begging Angela to sew him back together.


    ¡°Ok, guys. I¡¯ve got some CDs burned. You gonna let me be DJ again?¡±


    Jesse replied for the rest of them. ¡°You always do. You¡¯re getting pretty good at it. When¡¯s the show going to begin?¡±


    The wind had picked up, and the emergency helicopter blades'' vibration nearly drowned out Steve¡¯s quiet comment. ¡°It already has. Look up, guys.¡±


    Charlie looked at Steve, and followed his arm, pointing up into the sky. There, less than two hand spans from the moon, was another one. It moved visibly, if slowly, across the darkening evening sky. Charlie opened his mouth to say something, but nothing he thought of really captured the awe he felt. Quickly, he activated his tripod mounted video camera, then pulled out his smart phone and started filming. The camera on the tripod would track the projected path of the meteor automatically, but filming something like this was too ingrained a habit to resist.


    Jesse¡¯s voice seemed to come from a million miles away. ¡°It¡¯s supposed to tag the atmosphere, isn¡¯t it?¡±


    Angela¡¯s reply sounded equally distant. ¡°Yeah. Ought to happen any time now.¡±


    More to reassure himself than out of any belief the others were listening, Charlie summarized what he¡¯d read on a website earlier. ¡°The meteor is going to hit at a very low angle. With most stuff, that would make it bounce off. With something this size, they figured it would tumble, but radar imaging showed it¡¯s actually incredibly smooth. It ought to bounce, but it¡¯s going to skim the upper reaches of the atmosphere first. Gonna make for some ugly weather.¡±


    ¡°Do they think it¡¯s artificial?¡± Angela¡¯s sounded distracted, probably by the sight of the thing growing until it filled a huge portion of the sky. It blocked off more and more of the early evening stars. Charlie knew his own answer sounded equally distracted. Any moment now¡­


    ¡°They have no idea. If it weren¡¯t such a huge pain in the ass, I¡¯m sure we¡¯d be trying to land people on it to find out. Man, that would be so cool.¡±


    ¡°Scratch that techno player surface, you¡¯re pure¡­¡± Drew¡¯s voice cut off when the center point of the huge thing in the sky erupted in searing, brilliant light that tracked from east to west across the sky.


    Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on the original website.


    Most of his friends swore or groaned, rubbing their eyes. Charlie slid his welding goggles to his forehead and looked around, then slipped the goggles back on and looked at the light in the sky. This was the coolest thing Charlie had ever seen; a miles-wide falling star that would never hit the ground. The point of contact shone as bright as any weld he¡¯d ever done. He couldn¡¯t imagine how hot it must be up there right now.


    Without taking his eyes off the meteor, he ran safety lines from the tie downs in the roof to near each of the partygoers. Fortunately, he¡¯d done the same thing for incoming choppers so often he could do it without looking at what he was doing. When the winds of the thing¡¯s passage finally reached the ground, he didn¡¯t want to be cleaning anyone up off the parking lot, and he was sure Angela didn¡¯t want to sew them back together if they lived.


    ¡°Thanks, man.¡± Steve¡¯s voice sounded really ragged. Charlie would have to talk with him again, maybe this time he¡¯d actually go talk to Angela, see what could be done about his throat. Too much macho wasn¡¯t good for you. At least he was smart enough to wrap the end of the safety line once around his wrist.


    In the moment Charlie took his eyes off the meteor to see to Steve¡¯s safety precautions, something changed. He wouldn¡¯t have noticed if he didn¡¯t have the goggles. He wouldn¡¯t have noticed if he¡¯d just kept staring; the light shone so bright it made it hard to make out details. The movement had done it. Something had visibly changed about the outline of the burning shape, and not just the normal moment to moment variation of a fire, either. The edges expanded, flickering. Almost like something had broken off the main body of the thing.


    He blinked. Something had broken off the main body of the thing. His friends each stood motionless, staring at the thing in the sky, but he¡¯d moved. He could see something had entered the sky, separate from the meteor. A single glowing coal in the middle of a blazing fire, incredibly hard to pick out. He took a moment, trying to remember the astronomy class he¡¯d taken a few years back.  That caused him some confusion. He didn¡¯t need details from the astronomy class. He needed the military history class, and a comment the grizzled old vet teaching at the community college had made.


    ¡°If something doesn¡¯t look like it¡¯s moving, and it¡¯s getting bigger¡­¡±


    ¡°What¡¯s that?¡± Drew had a touch of whine in her voice, probably from trying to see while shielding her eyes from what she looked at. Her voice brought Charlie back from reminiscing to the here and now. Steve laid on a deck chair, Jesse next to him. That left Angela, Drew and Charlie himself standing. His decision practically made itself. Angela wouldn¡¯t beat the hell out of him.


    ¡°Incoming!¡± Charlie screamed and threw himself at Angela, trying to knock her flat, to lower her profile, to make shrapnel less likely to lacerate her.


    He only acted a second too late.


    ***


    Damien was a positive wizard when it came to a video camera, but he couldn¡¯t work magic with the roads. The planned evening in New York had become an evening at the new super multiplex in Newark. With the late change of plans, the romantic comedy they¡¯d planned on had become a disaster flick. Whatever, she got to wear something sexier than her professional wear, and he wore a nice shirt and tie instead of an old ratty station-issue crew jumpsuit.


    If the office gossips who whispered about their relationship could see him now, they might understand her attraction. Part of it, anyway. The harpies would likely get it all wrong. They¡¯d think he was some kind of player, stringing her along until he found a better meal ticket. The truth was he paid most of the bills on their dates. He even helped her keep her bills under control, which meant she could spend most of her pitiful salary on clothes and makeup.


    She wasn¡¯t stupid, despite the vapid persona she¡¯d carefully cultivated. She was smart enough to know that brains would get her absolutely nowhere as a newscaster. She wasn¡¯t nasty enough to get a spot as a commentator, which meant she needed to head the reporter to anchor route. Since she was a girl, she would be judged on her looks instead of her journalism. So, she bought clothes and makeup and spa treatments.


    Damien didn¡¯t complain. He only got odds and ends, but he got the odds and ends of a woman pretty enough to make a play for a national market in a few years if she worked her career right. She blushed to think of herself as pretty, but she¡¯d seen the pictures, compared them side by side with other national anchors at her age.


    Damien looked over at her, noticing her sudden shyness despite the darkness of the theater. With the empathy that made up most of the reason she¡¯d stuck with him, he reached up and brushed his hand across her hair, whispering ¡°Don¡¯t let it get to you. Hang with it. You¡¯ll break in eventually. I¡¯m really proud of you, you know.¡±


    She snuggled into his shoulder, nuzzling his ear and whispering her reply. ¡°Mister, if you keep that up, we¡¯re going to miss the rest of this movie.¡±


    She barely heard his murmured reply, ¡°Anywhere you want to go, anything you want to do, I¡¯m up for it, as long as I¡¯m with you.¡±


    He always made her feel like this; on fire, incapable of staying still, but at the same time utterly content. Ignoring the explosions and catastrophe on the screen, she slid a hand under his shirt. To heck with it, she might not get a chance to do this again any time soon.


    The world dissolved in light and noise.

 Chapter Nine - Reaction

    Charlie screamed ''Incoming!'' Reflexes Drew didn¡¯t know she had made her throw herself to the ground. In midair, before she hit the ground, one thought filled her mind. I am going to beat him to a pulp for that. Concrete and tarmac coated the roof of the hospital; her dive for cover would ruin Jesse¡¯s jeans and shirt.


    When the helicopter exploded, all thoughts of vengeance went out of her head. She twisted like a cat mid fall, her lungs already full of dust from the explosion. Like any good disaster, everything seemed to slow down, probably so she could see the pain about to hit her. One blade of the helicopter blasted free of the wreckage, spinning through the air like a giant flying scythe. Drew scissored her legs wide; the end of the blade yanked her shoelaces as it tore through the space where her legs had just been.


    The yank pulled her around, flipped her face down into the gritty pavement. She had time for two thoughts before she passed out.


    At least my face broke the fall; Jesse¡¯s clothes are saved!


    And


    I broke my nose again!


    ***


    Out of the corner of his eye, Charlie saw Drew leap sideways. The incoming meteorite wasn¡¯t headed precisely for them. Its size, brilliance and speed made it seem so. Instead, it hit less than twenty feet away, nailing the helicopter. Dust billowed out from the impact, obscuring everything. A thick cloud of it obscured Drew in midair.


    Milliseconds after the impact, the aviation fuel in the helicopter exploded, an angry yellow blossom in the core of the dust cloud. Charlie heard the explosion as his shoulder impacted Angela. Coughing from the dust, he rolled to see what was happening. Everything seemed to be moving underwater as adrenaline shoved his reflexes into overdrive. One of the helicopter blades spun through the air, headed straight for him. He blinked, rolled, and something inside his chest and his mind gave way, and the huge heavy blade slowed still further.


    He didn¡¯t imagine it, either. Smaller bits of shrapnel bounced down around him, and more blew past the blade as he watched. More important than any of that, however, it hadn¡¯t stopped moving, and he hadn¡¯t got out of its way. Berating himself for a fool, he rolled out of the way at the last possible moment. Before he completed his roll, the blade slammed down into the roof, pinning his shirt to the spot with him in it. He rolled backward far enough to slam his hand into what should have been a light aircraft aluminum blade. His hand bounced off, knuckles bruised, and he howled without shame as his knuckles cracked.


    The rest of the crew on the roof moved like they were sleepwalking. Angela just now covered herself with her arms. Jesse landed behind an air duct where Steve had thrown her. Steve, off balance from the throw, recovered just in time for the end of the sheared helicopter blade shard to cartwheel into him. It sank into his chest with a horrible crackling crunch. Steve, the blade, and the torn end of Charlie¡¯s shirt went flying off the side of the roof. A moment later Steve¡¯s safety line played itself out and stretched taut. Charlie winced as a crash came from below. The safety line held.


    The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.


    Charlie looked around at the gathering dark and dissipating dust. Steve had gone over the side. Drew lay face down on the roof. Jesse pulled herself out from the air vent; she¡¯d fallen in somehow. Last, but by no means least, the remains of the helicopter burned and dropped a piece at a time through a hole in the roof.


    Angela and Jesse both had more medical skills than he did. Charlie¡¯s skills lay with mechanical things... mechanical things and preparation. He grabbed up the two extinguishers from beneath the stereo and charged the fire.


    ***


    Walker thanked the ever-vigilant drill instructors of the United Stated Military that servicemen in general and astronauts in specific never got ¡®out of practice¡¯. He hadn¡¯t docked a real shuttle before, but he had done it so many times in simulators that the current situation felt like an exercise worked up by a particularly vicious and imaginative instructor.


    Maybe not imaginative. After all, it¡¯s not that hard to just say ¡®station controls aren¡¯t working¡¯.


    It took moment to moment adjustment, but half an hour after they¡¯d approached the station they slid to a near perfect docking. Seconds after he heard the impact, Johnson¡¯s voice sounded through the intercom speakers.


    ¡°Cut the thrusters, docking secured from our end.¡±


    Walker cut the thrusters and, with his next motion, detached his restraint harness. Quickly yet carefully, he propelled himself across the cabin into the airlock. Once it completed its near-useless cycle, Walker stepped out and headed for the bay door controls. When the doors opened, he stared out at the space station hanging above him. A glittering cloud of crystallized water vapor and other gasses surrounded it. The lack of any space suits hovering around the station sent a chill through his gut that had nothing to do with the vacuum that surrounded him.


    As far as he knew, he had the only suit remaining with full integrity. The suits on Johnson, Wilson, and Rosario had been compromised and patched. They could transit vacuum, but if anything hit the patches wrong, they would die before they patched the new breach. Walker¡¯s suit could be holed, but with full normal integrity and function remaining, he had the best chance of keeping himself alive.


    Before detaching from the console, he activated the intercom once more. ¡°Johnson, this is Walker. Do you read?¡±


    Something had changed in Johnson over the course of the trip. Before the shuttle got hit, he took every opportunity to slack on verbal protocol, but with the disaster he¡¯d firmed up. ¡°Walker, this is Johnson. I read you loud and clear.¡±


    ¡°Johnson, I am preparing to go EVA. While I check the exterior of the station for sections with integrity, you¡¯ll be moving Commander Wilson and Captain Rosario to the Station Infirmary. Do not remove suits unless one of them goes critical or until I clear you to do so.¡±


    ¡°Walker, I read you. Move the wounded to the infirmary and await further orders.¡±


    ¡°Johnson, this is Walker. Orders confirmed. I am going EVA now.¡±


    Walker cut the connection, connected his safety line to a tie down, and went into space once more.

 Chapter Ten - Gravity

    Jesse bounced to her feet like a rubber ball. The shrapnel from the exploding helicopter had already gone past, so standing was relatively safe. Something had yanked Steve clear of her a moment after he knocked her down. That left only two of them on the roof with any serious paramedic experience.


    Charlie had attacked the blazing wreckage with a pair of fire extinguishers. He looked for all the world like some bad gun fu firefighter. Angela pulled herself up, moving to check on Drew. She didn¡¯t realize Steve had got hit. After a second, Jesse realized that she didn¡¯t see Steve anywhere on the roof. A fist of ice gripped her stomach; a fall from the hospital roof was far enough to kill or maim, and there were no soft landing spots below.


    A moment later, she saw the taut safety line stretching over the edge of the roof. Taut meant it still had weight on it. Weight meant that whatever dangled from it hadn¡¯t hit the ground. She scrambled over the chairs to the edge of the roof as quickly as she could without being blown over herself. The wind had picked up, and she wasn¡¯t a very big woman. Before she leaned over the edge, she grabbed another of Charlie¡¯s safety lines and clipped it to her belt. It wasn¡¯t a safety harness, but it should be enough to keep her from going over the edge.


    Jesse leaned out over the edge of the roof, scanning down the taut safety line. For a moment she couldn¡¯t understand what she saw. Halfway down the building, a bloodied fragment of helicopter blade stuck out from the side of the building. It looked like it had been hammered through the safety glass of the windows by the force of the impact. The double layered safety glass held it there, a bloody testament to Steve¡¯s fall.


    Ten feet beyond the blade, Steve clung to the rope, dangling from one arm. While she watched, he tried to grab at the rope with his other arm but couldn¡¯t get his hand up. When his motion spun him around so she could see his front, she had all she could do to choke back the bile that rose in her throat. The entire front of his shirt had ripped in two, and blood soaked his shirt and the front of his pants. She couldn¡¯t see the wound, but the blood on the helicopter blade was obviously his.


    She glanced over her shoulder. Despite Charlie¡¯s best efforts, the fire spread around the remains of the helicopter. Angela dragged Drew out of the path of the blaze. Given how much she struggled, she might not be much help anyway. She needed Drew and Charlie, and she didn¡¯t have either of them.


    If she didn¡¯t get Steve to the emergency room, and fast, he would die. He¡¯d probably die anyway at this point, but she didn¡¯t care about that. If she couldn¡¯t lift him, she had to lower him. She looked at the length of the rope. It would be barely enough, but if someone went downstairs to catch him, she could do it. She just had to be sure someone would catch him.


    And make sure she wasn¡¯t pulled over herself.


    ¡°Angela! Steve¡¯s hurt! You need to get down to the ER entrance; I¡¯ll lower him down to you!¡±


    Over the growing roar of the wind and flames, Charlie¡¯s shout was almost inaudible. ¡°Steve¡¯s dead! He took a chopper blade to the chest!¡±


    Anger washed through Jesse, making her fumble as she worked her safety line into a hitch to help her lower Steve. ¡°He¡¯s still moving! He¡¯s hanging on!¡±


    When she said that, Angela stopped trying to wake Drew and sprinted for the roof access door. Charlie looked up from where he fought the blaze, and something fey and wild crossed behind his eyes. He squinted, as if trying to see something in the blaze, and his voice carried in the sudden silence. ¡°And you guys say I make bad puns.¡±


    The flames had stopped. They hadn¡¯t gone out. They hovered there in midair, glowing faintly. They just didn¡¯t move. Neither did the dust and smoke. It all just hung there in midair. Jesse felt frozen in place as she watched Charlie sprint over to the elevator door, unlock it, and shove Angela in. He sprinted to Jesse next, and when he touched her shoulder, he seemed to break her out of her fugue.


    ¡°Good idea. Wish we had some pulleys, but we¡¯ll have to brute force it.¡±


    Jesse couldn¡¯t keep the acerbic tone out of her voice. ¡°Yeah, well, I guess you¡¯re not all that prepared, are you?¡±


    Charlie looked at her, deadpan, as he moved the PVC lawn furniture out of the way of where they would be lowering Steve. ¡°The pulleys are in the emergency helicopter, where they¡¯d be useful on a rescue. There¡¯s another set in my truck, but I thought that might take too long.¡±


    He got a speculative look in his eyes. She tied off the last of the hitch and waved him over. ¡°When we get a chance, you have got to tell me how you pulled that trick with the fire. We need to lift him a little to get some slack in his line. We can¡¯t get a grip on it otherwise.¡±


    He looked at the line, looked at her. ¡°I have no idea, but it¡¯s better than a treadmill for taking the wind out of me. I¡¯m beat. You lift the line up. I¡¯ll get a grip and pull. You grab the slack I make, then I¡¯ll grab behind you. Got it?¡±


    She nodded. ¡°On three.¡±


    They counted together, their voices loud in the stillness. ¡°One. Two. Three!¡± Jesse lifted straight up, trying to give Charlie the angle to get a better grip. She stood smoothly, her hands pulling the rope as if it didn¡¯t have a load on it. Her heart sank; Steve had slipped. Something still kept the rope taut, though, and she started hand over handing the rope up. She¡¯d pulled in about ten feet when Charlie shouted behind her.


    You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.


    ¡°Jesse! Stop! You¡¯re fraying the rope on the edge of the building!¡±


    She looked again; whatever the rope had hooked to had enough weight to fray the rope where it ran over the edge. Charlie shouted, ¡°hold it there!¡± and ran for the edge, trailing his own safety line behind him. He took a grip, leaned out. When he looked back at Jesse, his eyes had gone wide. When he spoke, his kept his voice tight, controlled, just loud enough to be heard.


    ¡°Jesse, how long can you hold that?¡±


    She shrugged. The weight of the rope wasn¡¯t much. It was good, high quality line. If the whole length weighed ten pounds she would be surprised. ¡°As long as you need me to, I guess.¡±


    ¡°Come over here.¡±


    She walked over to the edge. The line remained taut. A few feet on she felt a snag from behind her. Distracted by grief, she tugged angrily on the line. She heard a ringing metallic snap. Something flashed by her, and Drew jerked like she¡¯d been slapped. Drew sat up, holding her cheek. When she moved her hand and looked around to see who had slapped her, Jesse saw a fading welt, like she¡¯d been smacked on the cheek with a cheap ruler. It ran right across her cheekbone, counterpointing the fire in her emerald eyes.


    Jesse stared, the rope slipping as her hands went slack. Charlie yelled, and she grabbed at the rope before it played out, but her eyes remained fixed on Drew. When she spoke, she could hear the distracted awe in her own voice.


    ¡°Charlie. Look at Drew.¡±


    In the corner of her eye, Charlie looked away from whatever he watched at the end of the rope, glanced at Drew, then looked back to the ground. His gaze drew back as if he had a cable attached to his eyeballs, winching them back from the ground to Drew. His jaw dropped open just a touch, and Jesse almost laughed to see how his whole posture changed. Standing like that, cocksure and subtly flexing everything, she saw what club girls saw in him.


    All of that remained beside the point, though. Even with the body he¡¯d sculpted as bait, the posturing and posing he¡¯d learned from classes and books, he was nothing next to the vision in front of her now. Tousled, dust covered, the raven highlights in her hair still shone through. Perfect cheekbones framed emerald eyes, flashing as she realized that Jesse and Charlie both stared at her. Drew rose from the chair, clothes hanging oddly. Her top too small, her pants hugged her hips but hung loose at the waist.


    Charlie shook himself. In the silence, he muttered ¡°Broken bones, Chuck, broken bones,¡± just as Drew said, ¡°what are you guys staring at?¡± Her voice had become a perfect mezzo-soprano, with just a hint of sultry rasp. That voice made Jesse twitch and think of bedroom games, and she was straight as an arrow. Charlie closed his eyes and whimpered.


    ¡°Guys? I¡¯m serious. Did I get messed up again? Am I all gross now?¡± A plaintive note crept into her voice, and Jesse could barely keep herself from rushing over to comfort her.


    When Jesse finally found her voice, it sounded harsh and braying compared to Drew¡¯s. ¡°No. Nothing like that. It¡¯s just¡­ Look, it¡¯s nothing important right now. Steve got hit by some shrapnel, fell off the building, we dropped him, and¡­¡±


    Charlie¡¯s voice cut her off. When she turned, he faced the side of the roof again, looking over the edge to where the rope dangled. ¡°No, you didn¡¯t. He¡¯s down there.¡±


    Jesse yanked the rope up and down. ¡°No, he¡¯s not. There¡¯s like, no weight on this thing.¡±


    The rope went slack in her hands, and, his voice dry as dust, Charlie said, ¡°and now he lost his grip. I think he was only about five feet up. Can you two go get the fire hose broken out?¡±


    ¡°Why?¡± Jesse had to get used to that voice coming out of Drew. It was Drew, only¡­ better.


    Charlie¡¯s voice wavered, and he collapsed onto the side of one of the deck chairs, forearms resting on his thighs, head cradled in his hands. ¡°¡¯Cause I¡¯m about to pass out, and I think that fire¡¯s gonna start back up again when I do.¡±


    ¡°Oh. My. God. What¡¯s going on?¡± Drew had finally seen Charlie¡¯s frozen fire. Jesse grabbed her perfect hands with their perfect nails and pulled her to her feet.


    ¡°It¡¯s about to start burning again. Can you feel the heat?¡±


    ¡°Yeah.¡±


    ¡°Let¡¯s get it doused then. I wish Steve were here.¡±


    Drew muttered something and then jogged for the fire hose. Jesse found herself sprinting to catch up. Drew had always been athletic, but now Drew had longer legs, too. Jesse started to get a little envious. By the time she reached the fire hose, Drew had the end out and unrolled it as fast as the spool would let it out. Jesse grabbed up the nozzle and ran to a position where she could see most of the flames. They started to waver, a heat haze showing above them.


    Drew called out from the spool, ¡°Brace yourself, I¡¯m turning the water on!¡±


    Jesse turned to tell Drew to wait, but the admonition died in her throat. There only had the two of them, and Drew had to stand where she did to turn the water on. Jesse would have to hold the hose by herself until Drew reached her. She set her feet and Drew cranked the handle wide open. The hose writhed like a live thing as water filled it. The moment Drew had the spigot open as far as it could go, she turned and sprinted toward Jesse.


    The hose whipped around to cut her off at the knees. Another loop came in from behind. Jesse started to cry warning, then swallowed it when Drew dove forward, slid through the air like a fish in water, bounced through a perfect handspring, and landed a few feet from Jesse. Sheer shocked surprise filled her eyes.


    ¡°How did I just do that?¡±


    Burgeoning envy tinged Jesse¡¯s response. ¡°I don¡¯t know. How did you just do that?¡±


    Drew looked at her, shocked by Jesse¡¯s tone. When she spoke, it took Jesse a moment to realize that the shock wasn¡¯t from Jesse¡¯s tone. ¡°How are you doing that?¡±


    Jesse frowned at Drew. ¡°What do you mean?¡± Following Drew¡¯s pointing fingers, she looked down at her hands, where she held the nozzle. It gushed water as fast as it could come through. She hadn¡¯t noticed the pressure when it came on. She still couldn¡¯t sense more than a simple stiffness from it. She took a hand away to turn the handle on the nozzle, and the water stopped. She turned it again, and the water gushed forth, a stream reaching out to douse the frozen flames around the helicopter.


    ¡°I have no idea, but I¡¯m suddenly less upset that my best friend is a supermodel.¡± With an almost childish glee, she sprayed the water over the remaining reanimating flames, cackling as she did. They burned again, but the hose was designed to put out building fires. It doused, quenched, and washed away the relatively small aviation fuel fire before it fully returned to life.


    The fire out, she turned the handle and looked at Drew. She tried not to be smug when she spoke, but it was hard. Looking at Drew again, she realized that each of them had gotten something the other would have more fun with. Shrugging philosophically, she nodded to the spool and spigot. ¡°I think you can shut the hose off now.¡±


    ¡°What do you mean your best friend is a supermodel? Did you get a new best friend while I was face down on the pavement?¡±


    ¡°Drew¡­¡± for a moment, Jesse stood speechless, completely unable to get her mind around Drew¡¯s stubborn self-deception. Then again, she suspected her friend might have some self-image issues. Those would take a beating, she suspected. She finally figured out what to say, and her lips curved in an impish grin when she did so. ¡°Go look in a mirror.¡±

 Chapter Eleven - Angie

    Angela leapt down the emergency stairs one flight at a time. A tiny voice inside of her screamed that she would break a leg, but the sheer exhilaration of her tiny moments of freefall eclipsed that tiny voice utterly. By the time she reached the bottom floor, she forgot why she¡¯d run down the steps. Her head spun gently from her race down the stairs, and she giggled with the sheer joy of being alive.


    A big gray plate made up part of the wall, bigger than her. It had a bar across it and a little red and white poster with red markings above it. Reaching up on tiptoe, she traced each symbol. As her finger ran across the stark white lines of the first one, she remembered something. With childlike delight she called out her discovery to the empty stairwell.


    ¡°E!¡±


    She knew what the poster was, now. It was a sign! The thrill of discovery filled her as she traced the letters, calling out the names of each as she did so.


    ¡°Ex. Eye. Tee!¡± Letters made something. Letters made words! Quickly she sounded out the word, tickled that she could figure out the mystery of the symbols.


    ¡°Ex. It. EXIT! Go Team Angie!¡± Signs told you things. This one told her to exit, but she didn¡¯t see a doorway, just a metal plate with a bar. Signs wouldn¡¯t lie, though, so she looked closer. She figured out the mystery of the symbols, she would figure out the mystery of the plate! She remembered something from a story, about a plate in the wall that you pushed. She always thought plates to push on would be hand sized, but maybe this opened a giant door?


    She pushed on the center of the big metal plate. It moved! It didn¡¯t move far, though, just enough to make a funny sound and for a little daylight to leak in around the edges. Something tickled at the back of her mind, a frustrated adult voice shouting at her. She didn¡¯t like shouting. Maybe if she hit the plate harder? She took a step back and then slammed both hands into the middle of the plate, shoving as hard as she could. A nasty squealing sound came from the bar, and she saw light all around the edges of the door.


    The answer came to her in a flash of intuition. Bars held doors shut! This one wasn¡¯t looking so good anyhow, hanging all loose from the big metal plate. She grabbed it with both hands and pulled upwards as hard as she could. It made another huge squeal and came off in her hands. The metal plate swung open. It was a door! A bell started ringing to celebrate her success!


    ¡°Hooray! Go Team Angie! Go, go, go!¡± She solved the mystery of the metal plate; she could do anything! With a start, she remembered the mystery of the sign, and the solution. Her voice full of excitement, she called out the instruction from the sign.


    ¡°Exit!¡±


    She followed the instructions on the sign, and she was outside! There was a parking lot here, though. She stayed under the awning outside the door. She knew she wasn¡¯t supposed to play in a parking lot. Bad things happened in parking lots when you played in them. Something bad had happened recently, she knew. Something had filled her with dust, and she had stopped being such a sad poopy head, and Jesse told her to run down and help Steve.


    This book''s true home is on another platform. Check it out there for the real experience.


    ¡°Steve!¡±


    She¡¯d forgotten her quest! She had to save Steve! Looking around, she didn¡¯t see Steve. Just in case he was hiding, she called out.


    ¡°Steve! Steve! I¡¯m here to help you!¡±


    A few moments later, something big fell to the ground beside her, just beyond the awning.


    ¡°There you are, Steve! How were you hiding in the sky?¡±


    Steve had a cut, and he¡¯d bled all over his shirt. She knew something was wrong; the adult voice in her head told her so. She looked around. Steve lay right there, half on the sidewalk and half off. That was it! He wasn¡¯t supposed to play in the parking lot either! She pulled him back onto the sidewalk and laid him out flat.


    He looked really uncomfy with his head right on the cement, so she pulled her shirt off, balled it into a pillow, and slid it under his head. When she did, his shirt went squish with all the blood on it. She knew blood was supposed to be icky, but she¡¯d never been ickified by it. She¡¯d learned all she could about it. She couldn¡¯t remember it all right now, but the one thing she did remember was that it was supposed to be on the inside.


    She looked at his face. Cuts on the face bled a lot. He didn¡¯t have any, even though his hair was soaked with blood. She looked at the spot on his chest where he¡¯d ripped his shirt, but he had no cuts there either. She pulled his shirt off. She ripped it a little, but it was already pretty ripped up, so she didn¡¯t think he¡¯d mind. She tried really carefully not to squish too much blood out; it was supposed to be inside, so he might want it later. She looked all over his arms and chest and back, but he had no cuts anywhere there, either.


    All this blood had to come from somewhere! There had to be a hole in him. She tried to get his pants off, but his belt buckled them too tight to slip off. Frustrated, she pulled at the buckle, and it snapped. She looked around. She¡¯d gotten lucky, no one around to see her. No one had seen her break Steve¡¯s belt! Without looking, she rolled the belt up and chucked it behind a bush. She¡¯d seen a show once where someone ditched evidence, and that¡¯s how they did it.


    Evidence! How to dispose of it! She¡¯d learned so much today! A warm fuzzy feeling filled her as she thought of how proud Jesse would be. Jesse was a teacher, and teachers were proud when you learned things.


    She still hadn¡¯t found the cut, and there was way too much blood for a nosebleed. She yanked at his pants again, but they didn¡¯t come off. He was starting to groan a little bit. He was waking up! She had to find the cut and¡­ She had to find the cut before he woke up! She grabbed his jeans in both hands and pulled them with all her might. A huge ripping sound filled the air, and she held two hunks of denim, each dripping more blood.


    Careful not to squish any more blood out of the denim, she balled it up and put it on top of his shirt. The voice in her head kept getting louder. Somehow, she knew she had only a few moments more to solve this mystery. Quickly she looked down to where Steve lay on the ground. The cut had to be on his legs!


    When she looked at his legs, she realized Steve had been a very naughty boy. Boys weren¡¯t supposed to walk around without skivvies, and good girls weren¡¯t supposed to see boys without their skivvies. She put one hand over that part so she wouldn¡¯t look at it, and then scanned the rest of his legs. It was no use! There were no cuts on his legs!


    Steve groaned, shifted, and shoved himself up on his elbows. His eyes didn¡¯t focus all the way when he looked down at her, but he was awake. He¡¯d woken up! She¡¯d failed to solve the mystery of the cut. Sad now, she sank down to her knees and started to sniffle. She tried so hard, and still she¡¯d failed at the quest Jesse gave her. She tried to hold it in, but the voice in her head got louder every second, and it was angry with her. Quietly, she started to cry.


    Steve¡¯s voice was groggy and crude, but fabulously deep. ¡°When Charlie spikes the punch, he spikes the punch, don¡¯t he?¡±

 Chapter Twelve - Demolition

    Katrina slid her hand under Damien¡¯s shirt, and the world chose that moment to go insane. Something smashed through the theater screen, leaving fire and smoke in its wake. The screams from the film mixed with screams from the crowd as whatever it was careened through the back wall of the theater as well.


    Damien threw himself on top of her, wrenching her hand back painfully. His weight bore both of them to the sticky, sugar scented floor of the theater. The moment they hit the ground the theater collapsed inward. She was struck with a sudden unquenchable need to see what was about to happen to her. Damien tried to cover her face, to protect her head, but she had to see, had to get free.


    The first thing she saw was a support beam from the roof tearing free, falling toward them. The sight ripped a scream from her throat, a scream that rang through the rumble of the collapsing theater and echoed within the confined space. She couldn¡¯t help it, her panic overwhelmed her, and the scream kept pouring out, long after she thought she¡¯d run out of breath. The beam fell, struck a ripple in the air above her, and bounced. Shocked, she stopped screaming and sucked in a breath. The moment she did, the bar ground into motion again, the sounds of complicated collapse echoing through the building.


    She screamed again. The bar hit another ripple in the air, bare inches above Damien¡¯s back. The world narrowed to her echoing scream and tons of torn steel waiting to crush her. Despite the overwhelming cacophony of the building''s demise, despite the sound of her own scream, deep inside her head she heard Damien¡¯s soft New England accent, sharpened by his deep concern.


    ¡°What¡¯s wrong? Are you hurt?¡±


    She couldn¡¯t stop screaming, or the beam would crush them. She knew that made no sense, but she¡¯d seen the collapse stop twice now. She shook his shoulder and pointed at the bar above them. He tried to stand and bounced off the ripple in the air, collapsing onto her, driving the breath out of her. The huge steel beam crumpled again, grinding down through the dissipating ripple. Damien crawled to his hands and knees, only to have the beam slam into his back. He strained, pushed, gasped, and she heard his voice deep inside her head once more.


    ¡°Ow.¡±


    She had no idea how he¡¯d done that. She stared into his eyes, seeing nothing but concern for her. Her panic faded, replaced by a love she never thought would overwhelm her quite this way. She hoped he could hear her voice, sense her thoughts, feel her unconditional love for him over the rumbling death falling on them.


    ¡°No matter what, I¡¯m here with you. If this is how it ends, I am content to be with you.¡±


    She snuggled into his chest, contentment filling her. She felt him relax as his arms went around her. He relaxed into her. She felt his comfort, his strength, his need to protect her and make her feel safe. She heard a sound like a mountain shrugging, followed closely by a wall of noise that dwarfed everything that had gone before.


    Brilliant white light and the warmth of Damien¡¯s arms became her world.


    ***


    One moment Jack dozed in the radiation therapy room. The pain hurt bad, but the quiet room coupled with his ever present fatigue to help him sleep. The next moment a ten-inch cannonball bounced around the inside of the room, trailing a streamer of dust behind it. Jack wasn¡¯t strong enough to even cover his mouth to avoid breathing it in.


    He thought he was a goner when the thing ricocheted from the ceiling at the far end of the room and headed toward his face. Instincts from a life he¡¯d tried to forget for a decade surged to the fore, but his arms were wasted and palsied. He closed his eyes. Rest would be good.


    He opened his eyes when the cannon ball smacked into his palms like God¡¯s own medicine ball. He slid backward off the therapy bed, rolling as he hit the floor. A horrible crunch sounded when he hit, and he froze while he waited for the pain of the break to hit him. He kept waiting, the heat of the ball warming his hands, replacing the tingling warmth of radiation.


    An errant thought about the first time he¡¯d been exposed to radiation made him grin. Standing watch in subzero temperatures at a listening station in Alaska one of the old hands told him a trick; stand in front of the dish. It was always warmer there. Of course, he realized now that he and the other soldiers had slowly microwaved themselves. He still didn¡¯t know if it was better to be slowly cooked or slowly frozen.


    As he considered that event from the long distant past, he realized that he felt no pain from the break. That was bad. If he couldn¡¯t feel his limbs, his nerves had degenerated the way his muscles had done. He climbed to his feet, accompanied by crackling and crunching. For the first time in a long time, everything seemed to be working. Adrenaline; one hell of a drug.


    The floor shifted, and he looked down. The floor around his feet had shattered, its tiles deformed and torn, the concrete below fractured like someone had taken an impact hammer to it. He looked at the ball in his hand; it was damaged from its trip around the room, with a big chunk taken off one side, but it was too big and rounded to have caused some of the finger-sized holes in the concrete.


    Jack looked at his hands with dawning comprehension and horror. His fingernails had grey dust under the nails, like he¡¯d been planting radishes in cement. His hands were otherwise unharmed. He looked at the back of his left hand, where the doctors always attached his intravenous line. The line was gone, the cut bleeding sluggishly, the blood clotting the way it had when he was twenty.


    He was healing. He was strong. He jumped for joy, pumping his fist, long habit dampening the sound of his shout of joy. When he landed, the reinforced floor of the radiation room shifted under his feet. He was healing, he was strong, and he was very, very heavy.


    He heard someone in the other room. Moving carefully, testing each step before he put weight on it, he carried the still smoldering cannon ball into the antechamber, into a future he suddenly felt he would live to see.


    ***


    Love what you''re reading? Discover and support the author on the platform they originally published on.


    Drew looked down through the hole the meteorite had punched in the roof. For a moment what she saw confused her. A woman lay on the bed below, utterly oblivious to the water drenching her, completely unconcerned by someone looking down from above. At first Drew thought she¡¯d died, hit by the falling projectile. Then her chest moved. She drew a breath, exhaled, and went still once more. Drew looked around and quickly realized she might not be able to find the room from the floor below. Shrugging, she wriggled through the hole headfirst, grabbed at the last support beam before she fell on the poor woman below, and flipped herself to one side of the bed. She absorbed the landing with her knees, coming to rest in a crouch beside the bed.


    Lying next to her on the floor was an odd, curved section of mattress. A quick glance showed her it was situated directly beneath the catatonic woman¡¯s dangling hand. A scan of the room showed a jagged hole through one wall, sparks still flaring from a severed electrical wire. She saw no obvious threats in the room but heard shouts of alarm coming from the hallway outside. Cautiously she stood, glanced at the woman in the bed and glanced at her chart.


    The woman¡¯s face reminded her of someone. She wasn¡¯t sure who. A check of the charts showed her name as Jane Doe. The name Jane tickled Drew¡¯s memory as well, which was even weirder than her face being familiar. Setting the chart back, she nodded in the direction of the staring woman.


    ¡°Be back in a bit, Jane.¡±


    She moved into the hallway with her head held high, her shoulders thrown back. If she wanted to calm people down, she had to project confidence. Two orderlies ran toward her as fast as their legs would carry them. She stepped in their way.


    ¡°Stop!¡±


    Both men¡¯s gazes snapped to Drew, and both of them nearly took a header stumbling to a stop. When they managed to get themselves stationary and upright, they just stared at her. One of them opened his mouth, but before he could say anything she cut him off.


    ¡°What¡¯s going on here?¡±


    Her voice shocked one of the orderlies into instant obedience. ¡°Radiation problem, ma¡¯am.¡±


    That was serious. She looked at the one who was speaking, and his eyes lit up with the attention. Completely weird. ¡°What kind of leak?¡±


    The orderly scrambled to clarify his statement. ¡°No leak, ma¡¯am. The radioactive materials are gone.¡±


    That wasn¡¯t just serious; it was a potential nightmare of terrorism and bomb scares. Something in her gaze made the orderly wince. She tried to calm him with a smile. Heck, I¡¯m supposed to try to be nicer, right?


    His reaction was unexpected, to say the least. The orderly blushed, stammered, and did everything but explain further. She turned to the other orderly, frowning. ¡°Stolen?¡±


    The orderly quaked. She¡¯d never seen someone shiver from fear before. Weird. The fact that it seemed like she¡¯d caused it with a frown? Just bizarre. She stopped frowning and he started talking a mile a minute.


    ¡°I¡¯m not sure. The container was still there, so if they took it, they carried it out in their bare hands. They might have brought a container, though. If they did, someone would have noticed. We had a lot of the stuff. Not just the radiation therapy stuff, but everything is gone.¡± He ran down, mouth still moving as if he were looking for something else to say.


    Careful to keep her expression neutral, Drew thought about what he said. ¡°What do you mean, everything?¡±


    The orderly began babbling again. ¡°Everything even a little radioactive is just gone: the radio tracing enema fluid, the radio tracing potables¡­¡±


    The other orderly cut in, ¡°There¡¯s a difference?¡±


    Drew frowned again, and both orderlies fell silent. ¡°First of all, ew. Second, was anyone using any of the radioactive material when you noticed it missing?¡±


    The orderlies stared at one another for a moment. The talkative one shrugged, ¡°Not me or anyone I took it to.¡±


    The other orderly¡¯s face lit up with inspiration. ¡°Hey, old Jack is getting rad therapy today. He¡¯s not real mobile, but he doesn¡¯t miss a thing. If somebody stole it from the rad therapy chamber, he¡¯d have noticed.¡±


    Drew scowled, and both men looked away. ¡°If he noticed something, and they had weapons, he¡¯s a dead man. Show me.¡±


    The orderlies scrambled to lead her to the radiation therapy room. In an antechamber outside silvery-blue rad suits hung from a rack. One of the men checked the Geiger counter in the corner of the antechamber. Without pausing to speak, he ran for the suits and scrambled into one. The other orderly didn¡¯t even check. He ran directly for the suits and started gearing up.


    Drew stalked over to the Geiger counter and peered down at the dial. She cudgeled her brain and tried to remember how the thing worked. She¡¯d been trained on one during her hazmat course but couldn¡¯t remember too many details. High was bad, low was good. Like most gauges, if the needle swung too much, it meant something was funky. It swung about wildly right now. She picked it up and walked to the door. At the door, it flatlined. She walked back toward the radiation room. It picked up but wobbled something awful.


    One of the orderlies walked over to her with a suit. She stepped back to the doorway and pointed at the Geiger counter. He looked down, a puzzled expression lifting his eyebrows. She tapped on the Plexiglas of his face shield and spoke loudly and clearly, so there would be no misunderstanding.


    ¡°Go into the radiation therapy room. See if Mr. Maliss is still in there. If he has been injured, one of you see if you can give some aid, the other come back to me. If there is anyone else in the room, get back behind me, fast. If he¡¯s gone, see if you can find the source of the radiation. Got all that?¡±


    The suited orderly just nodded and took the Geiger counter. Her hands free, Drew reached simultaneously for the gun on her right hip and the badge strung around her neck. Neither was in its accustomed place, and she cursed vehemently. At least she was wearing¡­ She cursed again when she realized she wasn¡¯t wearing her POLICE emblazoned hooded sweatshirt. That was back in the break room, hiding in Jesse¡¯s bag. She reached into her back pocket for her wallet; if she flashed the interior of that at someone they flinched sometimes, not even looking for a badge. Her back pocket was smooth, flat fabric covering the curve of her butt. As the lead orderly opened the radiation therapy room door, she screamed her frustration to the uncaring, Murphy cursed world.


    The man standing just inside the door didn¡¯t flinch at her scream, but he did drop into a practiced combat crouch. In the sudden silence in the room as both orderlies froze and the combat vet went uncannily still, she listened for the ticking of the Geiger counter. It had gone utterly silent, not even the normal background clicks. She spoke into the silence, dealing with the biggest threat first.


    ¡°You! In the radiation therapy room! Lie down on the floor, put your hands on your head, and let the patient come out to me.¡±


    The patient¡¯s voice was gravelly, like he¡¯d spent far too long smoking and shouting. Despite that, his words were clear.


    ¡°Sorry, ma¡¯am, I¡¯m afraid I can¡¯t do both.¡±


    Drew dropped into a crouch, turned sideways, and slid toward the man in the door. He raised his hands, palms outward, but Drew had been taken in one too many times by fake surrenders.


    ¡°I said lie on the ground!¡±


    The orderlies tried to get her attention, but she dared not lose focus. By the way he moved, this guy was combat trained. If she looked away, he could grab one of them as a hostage, or even kill one of them if he were so inclined. He shrugged, smiled, and dropped to the floor in a single smooth, practiced move. Without taking her eyes off him, Drew shouted at the orderlies.


    ¡°You two! Get out into the hallway. Check the counter to see if it¡¯s still working!¡±


    The two orderlies scrambled, one pulling his hood off the moment he made it to the hallway. The Geiger counter clicked slowly, faintly, the way it would with normal background radiation. The orderly cleared his throat. Drew still didn¡¯t look away from the guy on the floor. If he went down that fast, he could get up faster.


    ¡°Yeah, what is it?¡±


    ¡°Ma¡¯am, I don¡¯t know how, but that¡¯s Jack Maliss.¡±

 Chapter Thirteen - Bad Day

    Steve was having a bad day. First, he got roped into a no-booze party by Charlie. Then he got knocked off the roof by a helicopter blade. Finally, he woke up in the back parking lot naked, with a topless Angela holding his junk and crying.


    OK, that last wouldn¡¯t be too bad if he could just remember how he got here and why the fire alarm was going off. A header off the roof would leave him with some marks. It was more likely to leave him with some broken bones, maybe even a broken skull or spine. Instead of any of that, he felt better than he had in years. He looked down to where Angela wavered second to second between tears and rage. He wasn¡¯t one of the sickos who liked crying chicks, but he could work with it. Rage, on the other hand, wasn¡¯t what he wanted her feeling right now. Regretting what all the smoke he¡¯d sucked down over the years had done to his voice, he tried to speak soothingly to her.


    ¡°Angie. It¡¯s all right. I¡¯m fine.¡±


    He stopped, startled at the sound of his own voice. It wasn¡¯t the desiccated rasp he¡¯d gotten used to hearing. Still a little gravelly, but deep, rich, and full. It didn¡¯t even hurt him to talk. He had no idea what happened, but if this was the result, he had to try it more often.


    ¡°Angie, is someone hurt?¡±


    She spoke with a quiet, high-pitched falsetto like a little girl¡¯s.


    ¡°You are. You¡¯ve got a bad cut, but I can¡¯t find it. I looked everywhere.¡±


    Weird chick. Her own answer made her angry. Her hand clenched into a fist, and he howled in pain, curling around himself. She let go and jumped back, a girly squeal erupting from her. He¡¯d never heard her squeal before. He didn¡¯t like it. He had to get dressed; nothing would happen here in the parking lot anyhow.


    ¡°Where are my clothes?¡±


    Angela didn¡¯t say anything, but when he uncurled to look at her, she had turned away and pointed at a sodden pile about three feet away. When he picked up his shirt, he smelled blood and feces on it. When he shook it out so he could put it on, it flew apart, leaving him holding a sleeve in one hand, part of a shoulder in the other. The rest had torn to shreds. He set the bits aside and picked up his pants. They weren¡¯t pants any more. The whole middle part had been torn up. If he¡¯d been wearing a belt, he might have been able to rig something, but he rarely wore belts to parties. They got in the way.


    He really hated not remembering how he lost his pants. Lost pants were always good for a story at least. He snorted, disgusted at the situation, and sorted through the scraps of fabric that remained of his shirt and pants. After a little sifting, he had one intact pant leg and a long thin section of shirt that would do what he needed. First, he wrung as much blood as he could out of both of them. Then he tied a slipknot in one end of the shirt fabric, worked it around himself like a belt, and then pulled the pant leg through in an impromptu loincloth. Once it was through, he cinched the belt down tight and jumped up and down a few times. It wasn¡¯t pretty, but now he could see about dealing with the fire.


    ¡°That¡¯s¡­¡±


    Angela¡¯s childlike falsetto shifted suddenly to her normal voice, and all the shyness dropped away from her.


    ¡°That¡¯s the most disgusting thing I¡¯ve ever seen you do, in a history of disgusting things. Not to mention it being a biohazard. Haven¡¯t you had hazmat training?¡±


    He looked down, hands on hips, to where she crouched. ¡°If it¡¯s my blood, that¡¯s not a problem. If it¡¯s not my blood, it¡¯s already all over me. You want to help, get me some hand sanitizer. Some other clothes would be nice too.¡±


    The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.


    Angela rose to her feet, a frown etching its way across her features. ¡°An X-Ray is what you need. I need to make sure there¡¯s no shrapnel.¡±


    ¡°What are you talking about, woman?¡±


    ¡°Steve, I am not in the mood for your caveman act right now. Pretend to be a mature, modern adult for a few minutes, ok?¡±


    ¡°Whatever.¡±


    ¡°How much do you remember?¡±


    Not in the mood for twenty questions, Steve walked along the sidewalk, the rest of his dripping clothes in one hand. Behind him he heard Angela following. If he didn¡¯t answer, she would pester him.


    ¡°Look, I¡¯ve got to see to that alarm. I remember Charlie screaming ¡®incoming¡¯, I remember shoving Drew out of the way, and I remember getting knocked off the building by that helicopter blade. I kinda remember dangling halfway down the building for a bit. I lost my grip, fell, and woke up naked with you giving me the only fun part of a sports physical.¡±


    Angela¡¯s spoke from just behind him. ¡°Steve, stop.¡±


    He had no time. If the fire had already set off an alarm, it had spread fast and hard. He had to be sure the sprinklers and halon were hitting it, or the whole building would be an inferno.


    ¡°No time, Angie.¡±


    ¡°Steve, I set off the fire alarm by accident coming to get you. I don¡¯t know if there¡¯s a fire. Also, there¡¯s something you need to see.¡±


    Something in the tone of her voice told him she was telling the truth. Really, she wasn¡¯t very good at lying anyhow. Her lips always moved when she did it. He turned and looked at her, and she just stared at him. She adjusted the remaining buttons on her blouse. After a few moments he spoke, putting all the impatience he felt into his voice.


    ¡°If I remember right about the helicopter exploding, I need to get that under control. What is it you want to show me?¡±


    In answer, she pointed up to the side of the building. When he followed her pointing finger with his gaze, she spoke, her voice pedantic and filled with exaggerated patience.


    ¡°See the helicopter blade? See how it¡¯s red and dripping? That was in your chest. Out your back too, if I¡¯m any judge. I have no idea how you¡¯re up and walking without even a scar, but even if the through and through puncture was an optical illusion, you¡¯ve lost enough blood to soak your jeans and shirt. Think, Steve. How could that happen?¡±


    Disgusted with himself at not seeing it, he shook his head and lowered his gaze to the ground. ¡°I can¡¯t believe it. Charlie must have set this up. He¡¯s the only one with the planning and the cojones. What did you dose me with?¡±


    ¡°What are you talking about?¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re right, Angela. This must be a prank. Now I¡¯m pissed; that shirt cost a hundred twenty bucks. It¡¯s silk. Not that I¡¯d expect you guys to know the difference. Ok, maybe Charlie, but he¡¯s not as strapped as¡­ I¡­ am?¡±


    The whole time he¡¯d been talking, Angela had moved closer to him. When she got close enough for him to get a good look at her face, the look of disbelieving shock made him wind down his rant. They stood there like that, silent, for a few moments before she began talking.


    ¡°Steve, for all I know the building is on fire. I just tore a fire door apart with my bare hands. I saw Charlie stop a fire. Not put it out, not make it go away, but stop the flames in midair, like pausing a DVD. Weird stuff is happening, Steve. Most of us volunteer, but you¡¯re the only person trained to deal with disasters.¡±


    She looked up at him, anger warring with desperation in her eyes. He snorted his own disbelief right back at her, but it seemed weak.


    ¡°C¡¯mon, Angie. You¡¯re a trauma surgeon.¡±


    Her response was immediate and definite. ¡°No, Steve. I do shifts in the ER, because we don¡¯t have a proper clinic. Even if I were a trauma surgeon, it wouldn¡¯t matter. Trauma surgeons just deal with the aftermath of a disaster. We¡¯re not the ones wading into the inferno.¡±


    He shifted his shoulders, uncomfortable with the attention. If asked, he knew he did an important job. He tried to do it well. None of that changed the simple facts that he took the job because it let him work out as ¡®work related training¡¯ and he kept it because telling chicks he was a firefighter set them on fire. Five alarm, ¡®please hose me down¡¯ kinda fire most times. Still, he slept like a baby at night because he told himself he deserved the carnal thanks he got. When he spoke, the words dragged themselves from him, but they were true, nonetheless.


    ¡°Yeah. Ok. If there¡¯s a fire, I¡¯ve got to deal with it. You guys will back me up?¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t we always?¡±


    ¡°Hey, I remember that time with Shiela¡­¡±


    Angela was laughing when she pushed him toward the front doors of the hospital. ¡°Oh, just get in there. When we tell Shiela you stopped a fire in a loincloth, she¡¯ll beg you for a reenactment.¡±


    ¡°Ok, but if there is a fire, I¡¯m gonna need a hose. I didn¡¯t get anything to drink tonight."

 Chapter Fourteen - Burning

    Walker stared in awe at the passing celestial visitor. Most of the world couldn¡¯t see what he saw just now. Most of the world wouldn¡¯t believe it if they could. He wished he had a video camera, but all the work he had done so far was related to patching a section of the space station¡¯s hull until it was reasonably airtight. Scrounging for electronics would come later. If there was a later.


    He checked his suit again. Power had gotten low, but power wasn¡¯t a problem. The space station¡¯s solar panels had come through functional, if badly holed. With most of the electronics shut down, they had plenty of power to provide for the few survivors¡¯ suits. Fuel was better than he thought it would be. He¡¯d gotten more efficient at moving about EVA. Then again, he now had hours of continuous suit experience to draw on. Finally, he checked his oxygen. Of that they had a limited supply available. Only one scrubber survived the bombardment. The micrometeorites had holed the green room, and the plants wound up vacuum frozen. Some might still survive, but in the meanwhile they could only start producing oxygen for the survivors if he patched up an airtight section.


    That was what he¡¯d come out to do, but it wasn¡¯t what he was doing. He couldn¡¯t take his eyes off the interstellar visitor that even now bombarded the Earth with millions of tiny streaks of light. He had no doubt about the deliberation behind the attacks. The tiny fragments hadn¡¯t fallen from any other part of the thing. Even taking into account that only the heated portion had dropped rocks, ships didn¡¯t drop rocks unless their crew wanted them to drop rocks.


    Asteroids didn¡¯t have huge metallic superstructures leaning out from gaping holes in their rocky hulls. Asteroids didn¡¯t keep their obvious artificial parts facing away from the only inhabited planet in the system. Asteroids didn¡¯t accelerate the moment they began their attack run.


    And asteroids didn¡¯t drop parasite craft at the beginning and end of their attack run.


    ***


    Safe, if not comfortable, in the back of the water taxi, Grace took in one of the few good sky views in Hong Kong. Every other part of the city had lights nearby obscuring the stars. Here on the bay, there was still quite a lot of light pollution, but she could still see the stars.


    Something flickered on the eastern horizon. It tickled her memory. She leaned over to the taxi driver, who stared at the same thing she¡¯d seen. ¡°What¡¯s that, in the sky?¡±


    He looked back at her and laughed, like she was joking with him. When he recognized the honest incomprehension on her face, he shook his head faintly in disbelief. ¡°The asteroid.¡±


    Given a reference, her memory faithfully played back the newscast about the meteor. It was something she¡¯d tell her children about if she ever had any. Brilliant light tracked across the sky at a slow but measurable pace. Given the distances and the size of the thing, it must be moving at an incredible rate. She pulled out her cell phone and began recording.


    ¡°What¡¯s that?¡±


    Her cabbie¡¯s voice broke her out of her contemplation of the celestial visitor. Her gaze followed his pointing finger, and she saw something in the sky over the city. Ice clutched at her heart. A rain of fire descended on Hong Kong. When it struck, smoke and fire engulfed the city instantly. The cabbie''s deadpan voice shocked her out of her fugue once more.


    ¡°Not good.¡±


    Her driver¡¯s understatement pulled a hysterical laugh from her. ¡°You could say that. Hong Kong is burning!¡±


    ¡°Not that. I planned on going to high ground before the wave hit. Now the high ground¡¯s on fire.¡±


    ***


    Angela ground her teeth in frustration while she waited for Steve to get changed. The building wasn¡¯t on fire, they were certain of that. The sprinklers hadn¡¯t gone off. Half a dozen rooms on the top floor showed high particulate levels, but the only fire alarm that had gone off was the one Angela set off going out the emergency door.


    Thinking about the entire episode in the stairwell made her jaw ache. She grit her teeth, grinding them together like the discomfort could somehow erase the sheer stupidity she¡¯d felt. The moment she got a mouthful of that dust, her ability to rationally process information evaporated. Her judgment had become childlike. Her skills, her hard-won medical and scientific knowledge, disappeared, veiled behind a fog of dust as blue and unyielding as steel.


    Some part of her had been awake, aware, and angry, but that part had been completely incapable of controlling her actions. The childlike confidence and simplicity of emotion had left with the physical high, but the anger at her loss of control stayed with her. Irrational anger, she knew. Being angry at an asteroid was irrational and stupid.


    This story has been unlawfully obtained without the author''s consent. Report any appearances on Amazon.


    She had to see what was going on. She sat down at the PC that displayed and controlled the fire prevention system in the hospital. It was connected to the internet, but there the PC had a stunning array of software to prevent her from getting to anything worthwhile. She could get to the site for updating the PC, a couple antivirus sites, and a few reference sites. She pulled up an online encyclopedia, but it had no news. Frustrated, she began power surfing, bringing up article after article on how to identify blocking devices and how to defeat them.


    ¡°What¡¯s up?¡±


    Steve¡¯s question startled her. She had just managed to tap into an uncensored news feed. She looked up, her annoyance leaking into her voice.


    ¡°Took you long enough.¡±


    ¡°Yeah, I get that a lot. Who died and left you princess of Cranky Land?¡±


    She spun the chair to face him, coming face to abs with a well filled muscle shirt.


    ¡°Jeez, Steve. Personal space.¡±


    He stepped back just far enough to stare down at her.


    ¡°I was reading over your shoulder, Angie. I¡¯m serious, Angela, you need to turn the rag meter down from eleven. I was, what, five minutes getting changed? Most of that was ¡®cause I was looking for something a little less girly than this.¡±


    He took another pace back, so she could see his outfit. Despite herself, she broke into a snorting chuckle. The muscle shirt was obviously one of Jessie¡¯s that she¡¯d cut to half-length to wear over another shirt. It was about three sizes too small and didn¡¯t cover his abs. The bike shorts fit tight, but not too tight for him to move. Fortunately, Steve went to the gym more often than Angie pulled shifts at the hospital. Unfortunately, he would need her walking with him in order to keep people from thinking he was some random Guido who had wandered in from down the shore.


    Still, Drew wouldn¡¯t have to take him in for indecent exposure. Maybe.


    The news feed finished buffering and started playing. A woman¡¯s voice, familiar yet not quite recognizable, sounded from the computer¡¯s speakers, as the visual displayed a scene like something from a war zone.


    ¡°This is Katrina Wells, reporting live from the scene of the multiplex collapse here in Newark, New Jersey. As you can see, the meteorite which hit the building did such a large amount of damage that the building itself collapsed. While some of that damage was caused by the fire which started shortly after the collapse of one theater, witnesses say the falling object ricocheted through the building and destroyed several structural members before the fire even started.¡±


    The camera pulled back to show Katrina, the local human-interest reporter. She wore a battered dress, covered in dust, and imperfectly cleaned. It didn¡¯t matter. Something had changed; in the middle of the disaster, she had come into her own.


    ¡°The tragedy of the injured victims is shocking. The source of the damage is frightening. However, what is more amazing than any of that tonight is the reason those victims are injured, not dead. In the middle of the crisis, a young area man stepped into the wreckage just minutes ahead of the fire, pulling trapped victims from the building and carrying them to safety.¡±


    Now the camera revolved around the reporter, bringing a man in a nice but battered shirt and slacks into frame. Over his head he wore a ski mask, but nothing furtive marked his posture.


    ¡°The young man wishes to hide his identity, but witnesses report he lifted concrete blocks larger than cars in order to rescue trapped victims of the collapse. Young man, have you always been able to do this?¡±


    The man stepped into the microphone, almost like he¡¯d been on camera before. Whoever he was, Angela realized he was no stranger to looking good on camera. He had a deep voice, perhaps artificially so, and a faint accent that wasn¡¯t from the New York area.


    ¡°No, Katrina. I was in the middle of the collapse, thinking I was about to die when a big chunk of rubble fell on me. Next thing I know, I¡¯m holding this big chunk of rubble and there¡¯s a bright blue glow around everything.¡±


    Katrina didn¡¯t miss a beat; Angela almost thought the interview was scripted. That wasn¡¯t impossible, but to come up with a script and coach a novice through it on such short notice was an impressive feat in and of itself.


    ¡°What made you start digging through the rubble?¡±


    Even through the ski mask, the disapproving frown in response to her question was clear.


    ¡°What else could I do? I knew people were trapped in there, some of them kids. I couldn¡¯t put the fire out, but I could get the people clear of the building.¡±


    ¡°Weren¡¯t you scared of something collapsing on you, or of being trapped by the fire yourself?¡±


    Whoever this guy was, he communicated well using nothing but body language. His emotions came through as well as if his face were uncovered.


    ¡°Yeah, yeah, I was, Katrina. But¡­ Sometimes you¡¯ve just got to do what you¡¯ve got to do.¡±


    ¡°What are you going to do now?¡±


    ¡°What do you mean, Katrina?¡±


    ¡°Well, was this an isolated incident? Can you still lift cars? If you can, what do you intend to do with this newfound talent?¡±


    In answer to her question, the masked figure took a few steps to the side. The camera pivoted around Katrina, tracking him smoothly. In the distance, light pollution lit the night sky, but the news van blocked the source of the light. The man crouched down, grabbed the rear bumper of the van, and stood. A blue glow surrounded him, made up of thousands of tiny tendrils of light stretching out to encompass the van. He lifted it smoothly off the ground and held it there, unsupported by anything but his hands.


    ¡°I guess I¡¯m going to do what I can to help people out.¡±


    ¡°And we¡¯ll need that help desperately. As you can see,¡± the camera pivoted again, this time bringing the source of the sky glow into frame. The ruddy glow of a thousand fires wreathed one of the world¡¯s most famous skylines, ¡°after the intense meteorite shower that hit it tonight, New York City is burning.¡±

 Chapter Fifteen - Rest

    One moment Grace clutched the heaving seat of the water taxi as the cabbie tried to fight his way up the enormous tsunami. The next moment, the wave broke, flipping the tiny boat end for end, slamming it down, crushing it into matchsticks in an instant. She clung to the seat cushion, hoping it would float, but the force of the turbulent water tore it from her grasp.


    As the furious water whipped her around, she tumbled end over end until she had no idea which way was up or down, which way led back to land and which way would send her out to sea. Mud, blood, and smoke from the burning skyline of Hong Kong colored the froth of the wave. The waves spat her out, throwing her into the sky for a moment, and she vomited sea water and gulped in smoke laden air. Then she crashed back into the receding wave. She struggled against the undertow, a kitten struggling against a steamroller, a futile fight with only one possible end.


    She cried out, heedless of the need to hold her breath, knowing that the battering would likely kill her long before she could suffocate. She cried her fear, she cried her pain, she cried the isolation that had remained her constant torturous companion for so long. She would die alone in the darkened depths, smashed like a bug.


    No. You won¡¯t.


    The voice that spoke inside her head sounded familiar, hauntingly so. It echoed like it came from the far end of a long, thin tunnel. She tried to whip her head around, slowed by the weight of her sodden, waist-length hair. She saw no one, but she could only see a few meters in any case. Here at the end of her life she hallucinated, and she would still die alone.


    I said no. You won¡¯t. Rest.


    The voice¡¯s command hit her mind like the tsunami hit her body; far too strong to resist. Her eyelids drooped shut, the blood warm water heating and stiffening around her as she drifted. Her consciousness fled, and she felt nothing after that.


    ***


    Walker did one final circuit of the space station. Three of the shuttles had survived, although most lost more crew members than Walker¡¯s. At the final count, four shuttles, thirty-six crew members, and twelve station crew members had been lost. The bodies of the crew of the lost shuttles would likely never be retrieved; he¡¯d seen one burning on reentry, the others had been crushed by the leading edge of the asteroid ship.


    Walker seethed with impotent fury. The asteroid, its attack run completed, receded toward the sun. The parasite craft had disappeared, one dropping toward the Atlantic, the other toward the Indian Ocean. All that remained for Walker was to pick up the pieces. As the senior surviving officer, at least among the crew who were still up and moving, he had command. Wilson, Rosario and seven more were under near constant sedation. Pretty soon the sedatives would run out, before that happened they needed to get them down to the surface.


    He finished his circuit. He¡¯d found no leaks in the pressurized section of the station. Tomorrow they would begin cannibalizing one or more of the shuttles in an effort to get one of them ready for the trip to the surface. For today, he¡¯d finished his work. A quick jot of thrust toward the station, and he drifted slowly toward the only functioning air lock.


    His mind drifted by the time he reached the lock. He focused for a moment, long enough to start the lock cycle, and then let his mind wander again. It had been three and a half days since he last slept. He had some blank periods in there, even with the drugs he¡¯d taken to keep himself awake. He hadn¡¯t taken the suit off, hadn¡¯t even entered the pressurized portions of the station for that entire time, and every breath he took stank of his own stale sweat. He couldn¡¯t get a shower in the damaged station, but even a wipe down would be heavenly. Getting the suit off would be wonderful in and of itself.


    The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.


    The lock cycled open, and he pulled himself inside. Long habit made sure none of his lines dangled into the doorway before he hit the controls to cycle the lock shut. While he waited, he plugged his suit into the station intercom. Johnson¡¯s voice had never sounded so welcome.


    ¡°Commander Walker, did you see any leaks?¡±


    ¡°This is Commander Walker. I did not see any leaks. We¡¯re safe, at least until that thing comes back.¡±


    Surprise colored Johnson¡¯s reply, ¡°Until? Don¡¯t you mean unless?¡±


    ¡°I mean until. You saw the thing, right?¡±


    Johnson was uncharacteristically hesitant. ¡°No. No I didn¡¯t, commander. I believe you, of course, but I didn¡¯t see it.¡±


    Walker muttered, thinking aloud as much as he was speaking.


    ¡°Mental disconnect. Must be why you¡¯re not seeing it. When you make a solo bombing run, do you turn and head for home, or do you come around for another pass to make sure you hit your target?¡±


    The past few days had hammered most of the snark out of Johnson, but every now and then he showed it he still had it, lurking under the surface.


    ¡°I was never a pilot, sir. I¡¯m a tech. I think I know what you mean, though. You don¡¯t hook up a machine and assume it works without turning it on. You make sure the job is finished.¡±


    Johnson¡¯s choice of words sent a shiver of anticipation down Walker¡¯s spine. They had picked up news broadcasts on the jury-rigged radio receivers they¡¯d cobbled together. Every broadcast so far assumed this was a natural disaster.  The asteroid ship would come back to finish the job. When it did so, humanity would still be reeling from the bombardment, easy prey for whatever intergalactic vultures had targeted it. He couldn¡¯t, wouldn¡¯t let that happen.


    The lock cycled open, and Walker stagger swam out into the station. When he made it fully inside the lock, he rotated himself and pressed the controls to shut the inner door. Once it had shut, he let himself hang there for a time, utterly exhausted.


    ¡°You need help?¡±


    The female voice outside his helmet startled him awake. Ursula, the tech who had been manning the radio controls when the station got hit, would likely never walk normally on her own two legs again. Her knees and shins had been shattered by the same micro meteors that destroyed the station radio. In zero gravity that made moving around inconvenient, but not as debilitating as it would be when they returned to the surface.


    ¡°Commander Walker, do you need help?¡±


    She tapped on his helmet, making him blink. Satisfied at his reaction, she waited for his reply. After a few seconds, he realized that his indecision was evidence enough.


    ¡°Yes, Lieutenant Grzyba, I believe I do.¡±


    Quickly and efficiently, the injured Slavic woman stripped him down. When she rolled him over to get to his back, she gasped. Maybe he¡¯d run out of oxygen while he worked outside, and that was why he¡¯d gotten so befuddled. Ursula still hadn¡¯t continued.


    ¡°Ursula? Is something wrong?¡±


    ¡°Yes¡­ Yes, Commander, something is wrong. You¡­ I¡­ Sir, let me complete the removal of your suit, and I think you¡¯ll see.¡±


    ¡°Go ahead then. I¡¯m too tired to stop you.¡±


    She continued, but a hesitant, almost confused scrabbling at his suit had replaced her former rapid competence. After what seemed like forever but could only have been perhaps half an hour, she pulled the last of the suit from him. Rolling him back to face her, she tapped him on the cheek, and he awoke.


    She held something in her hands. He couldn¡¯t quite tell what she held at first and stared in stupefied confusion while his mind worked through the shape of it. Most of it was white and silver, the colors of an American EVA suit. It even had a stars and bars flag on what might be one shoulder. If that was the shoulder, and the part with the controls was the front¡­


    He stared in dawning horror at the gaping, red rimmed hole in the back of his suit.

 Chapter Sixteen - Blood

    Angela leaned against a door, trying to remember why she stood in the emergency room. She remembered nothing but blur of bodies, triage, and emergency surgery. It started an hour or so after the rain of fire and still hadn''t let up. She stared blearily around the room, trying to figure out where all the patients had gone. The hiss of the automatic doors pulled her gaze around toward the exterior doors; another wave of injuries coming in. The paramedic''s shoulder badges told her this group came from New York City. More burns and breaks. The heart attacks, bleeders, and other hard-to-stabilize injuries already filled all the hospitals closer to the city.


    Gathering herself, she pushed off the door, moving toward the first stretcher. Time seemed to slow as her feet went out from under her on the slick, dust-covered tile. Halfway to the ground strong hands grabbed at her, spinning her around so she landed on her butt instead of her nose. The pain shocked her awake, but only allowed her a momentary flash of alertness. She stared up at Steve, wondering why he had gripped her forearm so tightly. His mouth moved, but his words came from the end of a long, narrow tunnel.


    "Angie! Are you hurt? Did you hit your head?"


    Whatever had changed Steve''s voice had stuck. The sound washed over her, smoky sweet and tingling. It finally battered her into some semblance of sense. She shook her head. The room spun. This might be worse than her state of stupidity earlier.


    "''¡¯M fine," she muttered.


    "You don''t look fine. You look like death. You need a doctor, doctor."


    She needed eight hours of sleep, a good meal, and a shower. She might snatch a cat nap, coffee, and a candy bar once she dealt with this wave of injuries. The shower would have to wait. She had to clean her hands before she started working though.


    "Sink."


    Steve looked at her, shook his head, and yanked her up over his shoulder. Fireman''s carry. Made sense, him being a fireman and all. The world went gray and fuzzy.


    She came to laying on the sofa in the break room. The smell of warm grease and citrus tickled her nose, and she pushed herself around enough to see the fast-food bag sitting on the counter, a plastic cup of orange juice next to it. She wasn''t sure how long she''d been out, but she knew she''d needed sleep, badly. Trying to do triage as close to passing out as she was would have been criminally irresponsible, and she hadn''t even realized.


    Making a mental note to thank Steve, no matter how much it galled her, she reached for the cup of juice. Halfway there, her hand shook like an invalid. Coppery fear washed through her mouth and settled in her gut; she wasn''t a surgeon, but she still couldn''t afford to lose her hands. If the dust had done something to them, she needed to find a way to fix it. Neurological disorders, allergies, chemical reactions, and anything else that might cause the shakes started scrolling through her head, sorting themselves by likelihood.


    Her stomach, teased to wakefulness by the smell of food, wound itself into a knot, growling.


    Or I could just be starving.


    Without another thought, she tore into the food. Halfway through the bag, with two hash browns and a breakfast sandwich inside her, she started noticing her surroundings. A thin gray layer of dust covered everything in sight. She even noticed it in her food now that she ate slowly enough to actually taste anything. Coppery grit overwhelmed even the grease of cheap sausage. She spat out a half-chewed bite, then stared in horror at the bloody mess in her hand.


    Adrenaline buoying her, she shoved herself toward the break room''s sink. A handful of water to rinse her mouth came out even bloodier than the sandwich. Her heart raced, and she swore she felt her pupils dilating as panic gripped at her. She pushed herself to the nearest mirror. In its silvered glass she saw bloody tear tracks running down her face. She tried to wipe them away, but they¡¯d dried; she would need soap and water. She realized she hadn''t slept that long as she stared into her own bloodshot eyes.


    What the hell?


    Fine blood vessels traced a roadmap through the whites of her eyes. A roadmap of blue, glowing lines.


    A blue gray curtain of dust, hard and unyielding as steel, slammed down between her and the world.


    ***


    Steve prowled through the emergency room, on the lookout for any more shenanigans. So far the worst case had been Angela, falling down after working herself nearly to death. Some of the staff took Angie not being at her best as an excuse to slack. He had no idea why they listened to him, but at this point he didn''t care. Every hospital closer to New York had already hit capacity, and if they had cases coming fifty miles just to find a bed, things had to be pretty bad up there. It wasn¡¯t Steve¡¯s day job, but Drew wasn''t the only one who could keep things orderly.


    He grinned at the thought of throwing down against some looters with Drew by his side. The new improved Drew, at least. She might kick his butt from here to eternity, but it would be worth it for a chance.


    A candy striper glanced up from her cart, took one look at him, and promptly ran into the next bed along the aisle.


    "Watch where you''re going," he growled. She grabbed her cart and darted off with a squeak. Steve caught himself after taking a few steps after her. He stared at her retreating form, frozen in place until she rounded the corner and passed out of sight. A deep breath to steady himself proved a mistake as the scent of perfume, desire, and sweat momentarily overwhelmed the pervasive chemical odor of the hospital.


    He made it around the corner, down the hall, and had one hand up reaching for the candy striper before he realized what he¡¯d done and caught himself. She turned from checking to make sure the supplies on her cart were in place and leapt straight back onto the cart. Before she could fall, Steve reached out and gripped her forearm. She had smooth skin with the faintly papery feel of too much antiseptic alcohol gel. A quick sniff told him the stuff had permeated her hands and arms.


    Stolen content alert: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.


    The girl stared at him sniffing her arm. Steve grinned up at her before she could call the cops on him. "Hey, sorry about that. I thought I heard you trip. Guess I was just early."


    Her lips parted in a timorous smile. Despite her fear, she wanted him. He could smell it. He shook his head and turned away.


    "Glad I could help you, but I''ve got to go talk to Doctor Merilyn."


    And see if she knows what the hell is wrong with me.


    ***


    Drew stepped away from her car, thumbed the security system, and relaxed when it beeped reassuringly. Her old Dodge sedan had seen better days, most of them when it was a police interceptor, but since the rain of fire she''d been using it for work, since she still hadn¡¯t officially come off suspension. The records had gone up in flames on the night of the rain of fire, but she and the captain both knew she shouldn''t be working.


    They also both knew he couldn''t keep a lid on things without her, and that was that. For the better part of the last two weeks the entire department, those who hadn''t been injured in the rain of fire, had worked like madmen to keep people from taking advantage and going on a looting spree. Drew felt certain the usual suspects would get barbaric the moment the department let up, but the captain overruled her this afternoon and sent her home. With her belayed suspension hanging over her head, she didn''t dare argue.


    She hadn''t been home in two weeks, and she''d worn out both sets of spare clothes she kept at the station already. Her own sweat wafting up from her blouse stank. For no apparent reason the duffel on her shoulder reeked like old pennies and cinnamon. She needed to get showered, changed, and then head down to the laundromat before hell broke loose again.


    Halfway to her building, a young man stepped out from behind a van, one hand hidden behind his back, ominous to her jaded eyes.


    "Hey, chica, you got any..." He trailed off as he got a good look at her face. His whole attitude changed. Drew reminded herself to get a good look in a mirror soon. The station''s rest room mirrors were so old she could barely see herself, and she didn''t carry a mirror in her purse. She also wasn''t carrying a gun since her department issue revolver remained locked up at the station.


    "Hey, mamacita. Why don''t you come with me, we go have some fun, ah-ight?" His hand drifted from concealment, the silhouette of a gun obvious to her trained eyes.


    She stifled a sigh and forced a smile. "Sure. Can you carry my bag for me?" She swung the duffel down from her shoulder.


    The thug puffed his chest out. "I don''t do laundry, chica."


    Drew yanked the laundry bag around, and the heavy, smelly weight caught the young man in the arm, knocking him sideways. Before he could recover, she stepped up to him. Without thinking about how, she grabbed, yanked, twisted, and looked down to where he lay clutching his hand and moaning.


    "Yeah, right now I ought to drag you back to the station and lock you up for assaulting a police officer, but I need a shower something fierce." She put one toe against his butt and shoved, rolling him down the sidewalk a few feet further from her door. "I''ll have to take this," she waggled his gun at him, "gun that I found lying on the street to the station. Right?"


    The thug took the hint and scrambled off. He muttered imprecations in Spanish, but Drew couldn''t be bothered to listen. She wanted a shower and some sleep. She stumbled up the steps to her apartment on autopilot, barely making sure the building doors locked behind her. When she finally stood safe in the dingy hole that passed for her living room, she stared stupidly at the messy remains of the bathroom for a full five minutes before she remembered how it got destroyed.


    At least the shower still works.


    She dropped the duffel, slipped out of her shoes, and stripped as she took the three steps to the bathroom door. By the time she made it to the bathroom, she was hopping on one foot, pulling her slacks off entirely. She tossed them onto the living room floor behind her, her final one-legged hop carrying her past the destroyed sink.


    Where her foot landed in a patch of soapy residue from her battle with her bathroom.


    She twisted, bounced her palms off the floor, and landed in a crouch, one foot on the edge of the tub, one hand braced against the wall.


    This is freaky. Really, really, freaky.


    Moving carefully, she stepped down into the tub and turned the shower on full blast. Hot water sluiced away days of grime, and the smell of copper and rust filled the room along with the steam. For a while she just leaned there under the pounding hot water, letting it wash away her tension with the dirt. When the banging pipes in the wall told her the hot water was close to done, she looked down into the tub for her soap.


    Crimson water filled the tub calf deep from the slow drain. Shouting in alarm, she scrabbled through a self-check, trying to find the source of the bleeding. After a few minutes of slowly subsiding panic, she finally realized the source of the blood in the water.


    The world ends, and my monthly visitor takes that as a signal to bring reinforcements.


    She leaned over against the sink, peering into the medicine cabinet. She¡¯d run out of tampons, too. Then again, with the color of the water, she couldn''t be bleeding much more, unless Aunt Flo planned on killing her dead from blood loss. With a sigh she shut off the water, leaned over to grab a towel, and tiptoed out of the bathroom to avoid the remains of her bathroom mirror.


    I must have been really messed up if I didn''t clean before I left.


    Toweling herself dry, she wandered over to the phone and called her gynecologist. After an eternity of ringing, a machine picked up and informed her the doctor would be out of the state for the duration of the ''meteor crisis'', and anyone with an urgent medical condition should visit the emergency room.


    "Who knew my plumbing doc was a prepper?" With a shrug, she hit her speed dial for Angela, tucked the phone under her shoulder, and went to her bedroom to get dressed. All her work clothes needed to be washed; she''d planned on going to the dry cleaners the day after the asteroid. She wouldn¡¯t be wearing skirts until she hit a drug store; a check of her thigh showed she¡¯d stopped bleeding, but she didn''t want to leave anything to chance the way her luck had run lately.


    Her bra didn''t fit very well, but she wouldn¡¯t take her shirt off outside, so she wore it anyway. In the back of her closet, she found an old pair of black denim jeans, leftovers from her senior year of high school. She tugged them up, a rueful grin twisting her mouth as they slid cleanly over her hips.


    At least something good came out of this disaster. I finally lost that weight I gained in college.


    A plain white tee shirt and a pair of sneakers finished her outfit. When Drew finished dressing, she frowned at the phone. Unnoticed while she was dressing, someone answered, but hadn''t said anything. Instead, what sounded like a kid with her mouth full sang along to old cartoons.


    "Hey! Angela! Pick up your phone!"


    When no one answered, she hung up and headed for her car. Along with everything else, it looked like she would have to find Angela''s stolen cell phone. Hopefully it was at the hospital, because that''s where she headed after a quick stop at the drug store.


    At least I don''t have to call out of work if I''m sick. There are benefits to being officially suspended.

 Chapter Seventeen - Directions

    Deep within her warm, dark cocoon, Grace dreamed of music. The achingly sweet refrains she pulled from her cello. The fierce beat of a marching band. The quiet melody of a stream. The insistent pulse of a heartbeat. The false cacophony of a city, thousands of sounds blending into a melodious whole. The painfully loud and deep ululations of planets whipping around their stars. The crunchy pounding of the universe itself, collapsing into chaos before exploding into order over and over and over again.


    Music warmed her, soothed her, kept her safe.


    Apologies, little one, but you need to sleep now.


    A volcano spoke in her mind, a mountain filled with fire. His voice pressed her down into the echoing depths, and she dreamt no more.


    ***


    The grandfather clock''s tick hammered through the silence of the old house. Out of habit, Charlie glanced up to check the time. Since the rain of fire, the clock had become pointless. Time thumped past as clearly as his own heartbeat, as loud as his own breath. Clearer, even; every now and then he lost track of his breath or heartbeat. He held his time, and the slow swing of the pendulum froze in place at the top of its arc.


    Problems always had answers. The rain of fire and all its side effects were no different. Charlie had the answer, but he couldn''t remember it. He was sure he¡¯d read it in one of his books, if only he could find the right one, if only he recognized it when he did.


    The first day he''d wasted looking in places that flashed into his memory. Creation stories, books about beginnings, stories of origins, he''d rifled through them all, to no avail. Frantic, he''d poured good time after bad, days two and three thrown away chasing down endings as assiduously as he''d sought beginnings.


    Day four he had a false epiphany; the answer must be in one of his foreign language books. Long ago, as part of his therapy, he''d read translations, but he didn''t collect the translations. Faced with the task of finding the translations again, he opted for the simpler answer. The internet provided downloads of educational software, and by mid-day he could read Japanese, French, Korean, Chinese, and German. Late in the day, after reading and rereading everything, he even learned Italian, just to read the dialogue bubbles in one of the books instead of the footnote translation, but that only taught him that the original author spoke lousy Italian. The author couldn''t even blame the bad Italian on poor reproduction; Charlie''s book collection only contained originals.


    Charlie collected originals. That simple idea suffused everything he''d done since therapy, and it had served him well. Steve never understood how Charlie chose his partners when they hit the clubs, but he only looked at a woman¡¯s attractiveness. He could take a skinny, short, blonde, well-endowed Caucasian woman home every night of the week and call himself well satisfied. So, Charlie played wingman, only pushing Steve to the side when novelty raised her ever rarer head.


    Of course, originals only made up part of Charlie''s vocation. He completed collections. He occasionally restored items that weren''t too damaged. His calling, found so long ago in therapy, tied all his disparate ventures together. Charlie brought order out of chaos. When that thought hit him at the beginning of day five, he had the beginnings of true epiphany.


    Since then, he''d catalogued his collection, organized it all by date, and read through it from oldest to newest. It had taken more than a week, but he read the very last one now. A retelling of a classic heroic tale, he''d started collecting it mostly for the unique art style of the pictures than the story itself, but as he''d learned in therapy, if you believe something exists, look for it carefully. If you don''t find it, it didn¡¯t exist in the first place. Since he knew the answer hid in his collection, it must be in the last few pages of the last book on his list.


    The grandfather clock''s tock rolled through the house, counterpoint to the tick from eons ago. Charlie glanced up at the clock out of habit. He waited for the pendulum to complete its swing and held his time once more. Silence reigned in the old house full of books, and Charlie read on toward epiphany.


    ***


    Something had changed.


    Since the silent day the world shook, she''d tried to figure out the difference. She''d felt the ceiling collapse, assumed death would follow soon. A ball of light surrounded her hand, pushing darkness aside, making her safe, but something had changed.


    Silence was the key. If the world had sound again, she would know how to unlock the chains that bound her. Something had changed, so other things could as well, so she strained, endlessly, to open her eyes and end the silence.


    Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.


    ***


    Jesse slipped her car into the narrow compact spot, killed the engine, and leaned her forehead against the steering wheel. As a volunteer, she didn''t have to be here today, but her friends counted on her. The ambulance wouldn''t drive itself. People desperately needed to get to the hospital, and the hospital didn''t have enough paid drivers to keep all the ambulances running on the weekend.


    A tired sigh forced its way past her lips. She and Charlie were the only ones in the group who didn''t deal with human wreckage all day long, and Drew, Steve and Angela counted on the two of them to keep things in perspective. Charlie disappeared before the meteor even left Earth''s orbit. When they had time, Jesse and the other three would have to go to his house and dig him out of his hidey hole. At a guess, she thought he¡¯d probably gone to ground in the bunker in his basement, but for now Jesse had her hands full keeping the other three sane.


    She hadn¡¯t done a very good job. She couldn¡¯t say she¡¯d stayed completely sane herself. She''d hit the gym hoping to test the limits of her newfound strength, but the machines told her she hadn¡¯t any more strength than before. That left her no explanation for the events on the roof. Worse, last weekend a tire had blown on the ambulance, and when she tried to put the spare on, the jack was broken. A section of jersey wall should have been too much to slide, let alone lift, but she''d grabbed it in one hand, hefted the corner of the ambulance with the other, and slid it in as an improvised stand.


    It made no sense. Jesse couldn''t deal with the world if it made no sense. Maybe it would make more sense after she had a good night''s sleep. Tonight looked good for sleep, if she could get away from the hospital a little early. Of course, it would be nice to go out on a Friday night, too. All of them needed it, really. Maybe she could arrange something with Charlie...


    The deep rumble of a truck pulling in next to her shook her out of a light doze. She looked around blearily, wondering why she''d fallen asleep in her car. After a few moments, she remembered where she¡¯d parked, and why. She needed a sugar rush, so she grabbed a handful of hard candies from her glove compartment, popped one in her mouth, tossed the rest in her purse, and opened her car door.


    Before she got it more than an inch open, it banged against the huge pickup truck squeezed into the spot next to her. Her hand shaking with fury, she pulled the door shut slowly and carefully. She couldn''t afford repairs if she broke something. With equal care she slid open her sunroof and slipped out of the car that way.


    The pickup, brand new and way too shiny to be a working vehicle, squatted in the handicapped space like a toad. No handicapped plates, no sticker, not even a mirror tag. She glanced around, but the owner was nowhere to be seen; he''d bolted inside already. Jesse made a note of the license plate number, turned to go inside, and stopped as an old sedan rolled up to the door of the hospital. The elderly couple inside looked around but saw no other spots open. The driver got out, made his way around the car, and helped his wife get herself out of the car and braced on her walker.


    "I''ll be in as soon as I can find a spot." He turned and, one hand leaning on the car, made his way back to the driver''s side door.


    Through it all, Jesse stood frozen. She couldn''t make herself walk away. With all the huge problems going on, some impatient idiot guy had to go and make one more. Enough was enough. Before the old man could drive away, she stepped over to him and flashed a smile.


    "Sir? I''m one of the drivers here. I''d be glad to park your car for you."


    The old man flashed her a wary look, but one glance at the crowded parking lot melted his fear into resignation. "I appreciate that, miss." He leaned into the car, pulled out the keys, and handed them to her. "I''m Hank Jackson, that''s my wife Mildred over there. We''ll be just inside, waiting to see if anyone can help us. If you could let me know where you find a spot, I''ll go get it after we''re done."


    She reached past him, punched the lock button, and closed the door. "Let me help you inside, and I''ll come back and find a spot when you''re settled."


    A few minutes later, with the Jacksons settled filling out forms, Jesse wandered back outside. She patted the Jackson''s sedan on one fender in passing. "I''ll be right back for you."


    A few steps and she stood behind the massive SUV in the handicapped spot. She grinned, got a firm grip on the shiny, unused tow hitch, and lifted. The squeal of springs uncoiling as the weight went from the rear wheels accompanied her grunt of effort. After a few steps, she realized the front wheels were locked in place rather than rolling freely, and she leaned under, got one hand under the frame, and hefted.


    When she had the truck balanced on her shoulder she looked around, mischief filling her. "So where should we put you?"


    A few minutes later, she found the Jacksons still filling out forms. Mildred took one look at her and let out a cry. "Dear, what happened to you?"


    "I''m fine, Mrs. Jackson. Your car is in the handicapped spot just outside the door."


    She handed Hank his keys. He frowned at her. "I''m sure I checked that spot. There was a truck parked there."


    "Oh, he wasn''t here long. He just needed directions. He didn''t have time to hang around."


    ***


    As Drew waited at the traffic light outside the hospital, she scanned the parking lots on the corners. It was an old habit from when she drove a patrol car. It amazed her how people who would freak out if a cop car drove into the lot would keep on doing whatever illegal shit they were doing with that same car passing by on the street.


    A crowd on the corner opposite the hospital pointed at the roof and stared. She followed their line of vision until she found what had attracted their attention. Weird, but not criminal, so she turned into the lot and tried to ignore the wadded-up paper towels tucked into her jeans.


    Years ago, she''d asked her sergeant about the legality of construction workers dangling their toolboxes from their crane hooks. He''d let her know on no uncertain terms that whether it was or not, the guys working construction had expensive tools, and had a right to keep them from being vandalized.


    She supposed if it applied to tools, it applied to trucks, too. Besides, she was on suspension. Not her job at the moment anyway.

 Chapter Eighteen - Break Room

    Rumbling construction equipment woke Jack from a sound sleep. He debated the pros and cons of going to the window to investigate for a bit before he remembered. A wondering smile crept across his face, and he rolled slowly out of bed and walked carefully to the window. He tried to wipe the idiot grin off his face, but it wouldn''t leave. His legs didn''t hurt or wobble. The curtain opened with a twitch of his hand, a hand that didn''t ache or slip.


    The SUV dangling a few dozen feet from his window was a bit of a surprise, but in a world where burning balls from outer space healed dying mercenaries, aerial automobiles weren''t even worth mentioning. He spun and sauntered over to the head. They''d removed the remains of the catheter the first day, and the bedpan sat dry and lonely on the shelf. Jack stripped off his pajamas, brushed his teeth, and scrubbed himself down with a washcloth. The whole time he chuckled softly, unable to contain his glee at being able to do everything for himself.


    The one blemish in his otherwise perfect morning, other than it being afternoon, was the tub. A wide crack showed where he''d tried to use it the second day after the rain of fire. Young Charlie would be up to fix it one of these days. Jack needed to let Doc know he could help out if Charlie needed a hand. Thoughts of how to reinforce the tub when they replaced the cracked shell danced through his head as he stepped up to the toilet to relieve himself. Despite the urgent messages his bladder sent his brain, nothing came out.


    I guess this hasn''t changed.


    Just when he was about to give it up and head down to the cafeteria, something tore loose in his nether regions. Pain from his groin shot straight up his spine. A grunt forced its way out before he could rein it in, and his gaze snapped from the mirror to his crotch. The pain had disappeared, even memory of it a fading ghost, but a stream of bright red flowed into the toilet.


    Looks like it''s time to go see the doc.


    ***


    Steve stalked through the hospital, trying to find his way to the break room he''d where left Angela sleeping. Every spot in the building not filled with the injured or sick sheltered a huddle of refugees, homeless after the devastation wrought by the falling sky. Bathed or not, they filled the air with a miasma of despair. It cut at Steve, tearing away even more of his temper. Antiseptic wafted through the air, fighting a never-ending battle against disease. The fetid odor of decay slunk through the corridors anyhow.


    The emergency room''s automatic doors swung open with a hydraulic swish; Steve closed his eyes and followed the sound, trusting to his nose to keep him from running into anyone, listening for the faint echo from the walls to keep him from running into anything. Before long a gust of air laden with burnt oil and overgrown grass rolled over him.


    He slid his eyes open and stared at the emergency room.


    "How did I just do that?"


    "Do what?"


    Steve stumbled backward into a crash cart before recognizing Jesse''s voice. The cart went over on its side with a clatter, and he wound up draped over it, the sharp edges from the cart shoving painfully against his side.


    "Whoa! Paranoid much?" He glowered up at her, but it had no effect beyond widening her grin. When he lifted a hand, she leaned down, grabbed his forearm, and hefted him to his feet effortlessly. Her grin got even wider, then dissolved completely.


    "Oh... crud." Without another word, she leaned in and grabbed at his backside. Before he could react, a sharp tug pulled him off balance until she backed away, a large needle in her hands. The tip glowed with an unearthly blue light.


    "Where did you get that?"


    "Out of your butt, twinkletoes. I don''t see any blood on it. Just this... I don''t know what the heck this is. Do you have a glow stick in your pocket or something?"


    "No. That should be full of adrenaline. I think..." Steve''s heart pounded once, then hammered away at a frantic pace. Jesse''s face receded down a long, narrow tunnel. He grabbed at her, hoping to keep her close. Her hands closed over his wrists, and his arms stretched to span the gap. He tried to pull free, but her steely grip held him fast. Her lips moved, but the thunder of his heart drowned out every other sound.


    Steve''s heart gave one last hammering beat, then went silent. The world snapped back into focus. His knees gave out, and only Jesse''s hands on his wrists saved him from toppling to the ground. She stared into his eyes as if looking for something behind them.


    "...stay with me! Steve! Keep your eyes open! You''ve got to stay with me, Steve!"


    "I''m okay. I''m just a little dizzy." The smell of old pennies wafted to him from the floor, and he bent over to pick up the discharged adrenaline syringe. The tip glowed blue and stank of copper. He held it up for Jesse.


    "Sniff this."


    She quirked an eyebrow at him, but leaned over and did as he asked. After a few seconds she closed her eyes and inhaled deeply, then shrugged.


    Help support creative writers by finding and reading their stories on the original site.


    "Smells like... plastic? Maybe a little like rubbing alcohol?''


    "You don''t smell the copper?" Jesse just frowned, sniffed deeper, and shook her head. "What about the... the iron in the air. It''s everywhere down here." He was losing it, and he knew it, but he couldn''t stop. "Help me, Jesse."


    "I''ve got to get you to Angie."


    Before the avalanche of scent overwhelmed him again, he forced two more words past his lips, "break room."


    ***


    Jesse stumbled backward as Steve''s full weight dropped into her arms. Worse, he wasn''t dead weight; he had curled in on himself, as if trying to bury his head in his belly. She scooped him up like a child. The moment his feet left the floor, his weight all but disappeared. His chest vibrated; a low rumble pressed against her.


    The downstairs break room was on the opposite side of the emergency room, so she worked her way there, trying not to step on anyone''s feet or bump into any injured people. The injuries coming in now were mostly minor, but there were a lot of them, as people struggled to rebuild what had been lost. Worse, from her perspective, none of the other injuries caught the eye the way a petite brunette carrying a fireman in her arms did.


    When she got to the break room, she spun around and backed through the curtain blocking it off from the main part of the emergency room. Other than the television, currently showing yet another of Katrina Wells'' videos of her mystery hero in action, the room stood empty and quiet. She lay Steve down on the tiny couch, glad he''d curled up enough to fit, just hoping he could answer her questions.


    "Steve, can you hear me?"


    A groan was his only response. She thumbed open one eyelid, and he twisted away from her, a deep growl shaking the air in the room.


    "Whoa, Steve! It''s me, Jesse. Angie''s not in the break room. Any other ideas?"


    "Nap."


    "No! You can''t go to sleep. Not until we sort out what''s happening to you. Understand? Do you hear me, Steve?" She forced his head around, thumbed his eyelids open again. He glared at her balefully, trying to twist his head out of her grasp, but she''d worked with one too many animals in pain to let that happen. After a minute of struggling, he started to whimper, words interspersed with his pain.


    "Not me. Angie sleeping. Upstairs. Moron. Migraine. Bad."


    A young woman wearing a volunteer''s striped smock chose that minute to stick her head into the room. "I''m sorry, but this area is off limits to patients. I''m going to have to ask you to return to the emergency room."


    "Just a sec." Jesse fumbled until she found her ID badge, shoved deep in a cargo pocket when she worked to hook the Jeep of the Jerk to the crane. "I''m volunteer staff. So''s he. Can you bring us a hot compress?"


    Indecision warred on the young lady''s face as her desire to help warred with the rules she''d been told about who could have what. Twice she started to turn, then turned back to Jesse, where she stopped with her mouth hanging open, caught on the edge of speaking by Jesse''s glare.


    "Look, I''m not even asking for aspirin. Just a washcloth with hot water. The flipping janitor can get me one of those if you can''t do it."


    With that, the young woman blushed redder than the stripes on her smock, muttered out a quick ''okay'', and jogged off toward the nurse''s station. Jesse flicked off the television, pulled the curtain, and curled herself over Steve''s head in an effort to block the lights and sound. After a minute or so, his whimpering died down, his breathing slowing from a pant to something approaching normal.


    "Okay, Steve, I''m trying to help, but I can''t let you go to sleep." Half to herself, she muttered, "where the heck is the candy striper with the compress?" Steve''s breathing sounded right on the edge of snoring. She leaned over and hissed in his ear. "Steve! If you don''t start talking to me, I''m going to shout in your ear. Got it?"


    His head twisted around slowly until his face pointed more or less at hers. His eyes cracked open, just slits, but even so his gaze dropped down past her mouth, settling about six inches lower than it ought to.


    "View''s nice. Shame the volunteer staff all suck ass."


    "Yeah, just keep pushing it, mister." Despite herself, a weight came off Jesse¡¯s shoulders. If Steve was well enough to leer at her and fling insults, he was well enough to make it to Angie. Now she just had to find her.


    "You left the rat at home."


    She raised an eyebrow at him. "Are you sure? Maybe he''s about to spring out from where you''re staring." Right now, she''d do anything to keep Steve awake and talking, but when he was well she would kill him.


    "Can''t smell him. Just you. Papaya. Curry. Ginger. Sweat."


    Trying to be gentle, she put a finger under his chin and pushed his face back up until their gazes met. "I haven''t had curry for two days. Unlike you guys, I''ve taken time to bathe."


    "Yeah. Herbal soap. Flowers. Old woman flowers. Smells nice."


    "Thanks."


    "Doesn''t suit you."


    The candy-striper rescued Steve from his imminent suffocation by arriving with a steaming, dripping cloth in a plastic bowl. Jesse grabbed it by two corners, flipped it a few times to roll it up, and slapped it across his face at eye level. She held it there while he swore at her and tried to twist away. When she stopped to take a breath, she asked calmly, "Head still hurt?"


    "Of course, it... wait, yeah, that''s kinda better. Now my face hurts, though."


    "Yeah, it''s killing me to look at it. You ready to go look for Angela?"


    "Uh, get me some cotton balls."


    After waiting for the candy-striper to bring back a handful of little cotton puffs, helping Steve wad them up and stuff his ears and nose, and digging through her pockets for a hair clip to secure the wet towel, Jesse practically bounced with impatience.


    "Okay, are you feeling better?"


    "Meh. Can''t see or hear or smell. I''m all Helen Keller today."


    "Yeah, that''s the Steve we know and loathe. I''ll lead you by the hand. Where is Angie?"


    Steve pushed himself onto his feet. He didn¡¯t whine or wobble any more, but without sight or hearing he fumbled for her hand. "I left her sleeping in the upstairs break room, the one with the lock on the door."


    "Did you lock her in?"


    "Yeah."


    Jesse frowned at him before realizing he couldn''t see her. "Moron. Now we''ve got to hope we can wake her up by pounding on the door."


    "Nope. Grabbed her key card before I left. Figured I''d check on her in a few hours. Headed that way when my head went nuts. Hey! Stop pawing at me! I mean, wait ''till we get to the break room, at least."


    Jesse just shook her head and went back to towing Steve through the hospital. "Yeah, no. Your pockets are empty, Steve. Either you dropped it when you went psycho... more psycho than usual... or somebody swiped it. I guess we''re down to pounding on the door."


    "I can find it. It smells like her." Steve froze, nearly falling over when Jesse tugged on him. "Did I just say that?"


    "Yeah. Let''s go find Angie."

 Chapter Nineteen - Heroes

    Katrina watched as Damien ran a final check on his video equipment. Her heart raced in counterpoint to the bursts of gunfire in the distance. Her phone jangled in her ear. She tapped the case secured to her hip.


    "Dammit, Eduardo, I told you I''d call you when I had the video ready! You''re going to get me killed ringing my phone one of these days!"


    "You''re supposed to turn it off." Damien''s voice was harsh, but she saw the ghost of an affectionate smile on his lips.


    She rolled her eyes at him, pulled the phone from its case, and set it to vibrate with exaggerated care.


    "Where''s your mask?"


    She shook her head, smiling at his rigid adherence to the rules. Even rules they''d worked out between the two of them less than two weeks ago.


    He sighed, straightened, and walked over to the van. His camera trailed obediently behind him, hovering in midair. When he got within arm''s reach of the doors, they swung open. The messy contents of the interior rose into the air and floated apart. Her mask, a big, horned thing she''d cobbled together from a Mardi Gras mask, scraps of leather from an old jacket, and some Bluetooth gear from the cell phone store.


    He wandered back, attention on his camera again. She slid her eyes closed, and the mask slipped on, the straps connecting themselves without her having to touch them. The ear buds crackled to life, and she whispered, "Sound check, Katrina Wells, Damien Watkins, Siren, Centurion."


    "Sound is good. Shriek and Guardian Angel are ready to roll."


    Her frown should have seared him to the bone, but he just grinned at her. "You know I hate that name."


    "You know you should use it. It''s what they call you."


    "Hey, I''m the one reporting here."


    His equipment checks done, Damien laid his hands on her shoulders, staring deep into her eyes. "If you keep using a name they don''t call you, someone will ask why."


    "The only ones who know they call me that are behind bars."


    "Yeah, but they''re not all stupid."


    He was right, but she couldn''t help her pout. She didn''t want to be known as some kind of screaming harpy, she wanted to be a sultry, seductive heroine. She opened her mouth to argue again, but gunfire and deep, masculine screams cut her off. Damien shook his head once, impatiently.


    "We don''t have time for this now. Watch my back."


    "You don''t mind if I watch a little further down, do you?"


    That earned her an eyeroll and a blush, but he slipped out of his coverall. The gleaming breastplate beneath it glinted even in the smoke-filled gloom of burning New York. The coverall floated into the van, passed a kilt made of thick metal plates coming out. The van sprang upward on its springs as the last plate lifted from the van''s floor. The armored kilt wrapped itself around his waist, covering him from waist to knee in quarter-inch-thick metal.


    Damien rolled his shoulders, settling the armor in place, then slipped a helmet over his head. Like the rest, it looked vaguely Greek, but thicker than any classical armor ever worn. Teeth glinted in the shadows of the helmet. He loved this stuff. God help her, she loved him for it.


    "Let''s go be heroes."


    ***


    Angie stripped the paper and tinfoil wrappers away, tossed them at the pile where the waste basket used to be, and gobbled greedily. The angry poopy head voice in the back of her head went silent, smothered under chocolate and sugar and almonds.


    Royal Road is the home of this novel. Visit there to read the original and support the author.


    Almonds were gross. She wanted to spit them out, but she was a good girl, and good girls didn''t spit. The cranky voice started muttering again, and she grabbed another bar from the box. The angry voice made her feel bad. Chocolate and sugar and almonds were the magic that made the angry voice go away.


    The cartoon on the television stopped, replaced by some old guy. He seemed really excited about something; pictures of a man in a helmet and a woman in a devil mask showed up beside him. He was boring so she reached one chocolate covered hand out and changed the channel. That channel had another boring old guy too. The angry voice recognized him and started complaining, so Angie shoved the whole chocolate bar into her mouth to shut it up. Each bar made the angry voice angrier, but it also made it quiet for a little bit, and Angie was so tired of people yelling at her.


    She flicked the television remote again, poking the button really hard to make it work. Her fingers were sticky, covered in a thin film of chocolate. She licked at them to get it off, but her tongue was still covered in chocolate and nuts, which only made it worse. Tears leaked out of her eyes, and she threw the sticky gadget into the pile of trash covering the basket.


    The boring old guys weren''t on the television anymore! There weren''t any cartoons, though, just two adults dressed up in costumes. She had red tights, a tight red shirt, and a mask with horns. He wore old fashioned armor. He ran down the middle of a street, and gunshots pinged from his chest.


    A superhero show! Those were okay, too. The special effects in this one weren''t very good, and instead of anyone making jokes, a lady talked through the whole thing.


    "This is Katrina Wells, live from Herald Square in New York City, where the remaining members of a New York City ESU team are pinned down by gang members. My source tells me the gang members tried to loot Macy¡¯s, but were initially repelled by the store''s security team, who barricaded the doors and called for police."


    The armored man ran toward a group of bad guys with guns and bandanas. They shot at him, but the bullets bounced off his armor and shield. The angry voice sounded in Angela''s head, so she grabbed another candy bar from the box and shut her up so she could watch the super hero beat up the bad guys.


    When he got to about ten feet from them, the armored hero grabbed the bumper of a car, pulled, and the whole car lifted off the ground. He swung it into the bad guys like a huge bat, and they flew backwards, rolling a bit before they lay still.


    The camera swung around to show a big blue police truck. It sparkled, and the whole thing rattled and smoked with each spark. A police man in a police helmet stuck his head out and fired his gun, but a moment later he fell backward into the truck again.


    Angela reached for the remote. This wasn''t a kids show; kids shows never had blood, even fake blood. This was a grown-up show, because the good guys only died in grown-up shows. The sticky remote didn''t work, and the angry voice got louder. She scrabbled at the bottom of the box, but the box had no more bars. Tears flowed down her face, washing away a little of the chocolate. She needed more to make the angry voice go away, but she had no more left.


    "I wish I had more magic chocolate," she pouted. A second later, a huge cardboard box settled to the floor in front of her. The chocolate bar logo covered one side of the box. She ripped the top off, revealing carton after carton of chocolate bars.


    They all had almonds, but she could spit those out. She tore into the first carton, ripped away paper and tinfoil, and stuffed a whole chocolate bar into her mouth. It was good, just what she''d been craving, and it buried the angry voice under sugar and chocolate and nuts.


    "I wish I had a new remote," she muttered, her mouth full of yummy chocolate and yucky nuts she couldn''t spit out, because good girls didn''t spit. A comforting weight settled into her palm. Without looking, she thumbed the controls. Instead of changing the channel, the remote increased the volume.


    A bad man said a naughty word, then shouted, "It''s Shriek! Get the blue, man, get the blue!"


    One of his friends said an even naughtier word, lifted his gun, and yelled back, "no time! Just shoot her!"


    Before he could shoot, the devil mask woman, Shriek, screamed. The bad guy flew backward, just like he''d been shot, tumbling end over end, his gun skittering down the street on its own. When he lay still, she yelled again, only this time there were weird, warbling words in her shout.


    "Put your guns down and surrender!"


    "As you''ve just heard, The Siren has called for the gang members'' surrender. It looks like this is just about over." All around the police van, bad guys stepped out with their hands raised up over their heads. A few still struggled to put their guns down, but they had straps across their backs that wouldn''t let them. These were really stupid bad guys. Adult shows were so weird.


    Angie''s thumb pressed another button, but again the channel didn''t change. A bad guy charged out from behind a car. He carried a huge rock in his hands, and before he''d taken two steps he broke a piece off and threw it at Shriek. When she fell down, the bad guys looked around, confused, and some of them started shooting again.


    Angie barely registered any of that. Instead, she stared at the man with the rock. His eyes glowed blue.


    Crying, she ran over and shoved the television. With a crash of shattering glass, it fell into the door. She dove into the box of candy bars, trying to drown the angry voice in chocolate and almonds and sweet grey dust.

 Chapter Twenty - Transitional Rooms

    Drew''s phone vibrated against her hip just as the elevator doors slid open. She checked the screen, but the caller ID read ''blocked''. She stepped in and punched the button for the fourth floor without looking. The doors slid shut, the elevator started to rise with the same lurch she''d felt every time she''d come to the hospital since the rain of fire. Charlie had stuck around just long enough to get the elevators working again, although only the patient elevators ran smoothly.


    She didn¡¯t know the number on her screen, but her work phone sat squarely in the middle of a bank of government ''no call list'' numbers, so it had to be a drastically wrong number or someone looking for her. She stared at the phone, trying to recall if she''d ever seen the area code or number before. Drew hated dealing with wrong numbers.


    The elevator lurched, and she stepped toward the doors without looking, expecting them to slide open with the same recalcitrant yet reliable motion they had since Charlie last fixed them. Instead, before she ever reached them, her foot came down on nothing. For a split second she floated, weightless, as the elevator plunged down its shaft.


    The elevator screeched to a halt, cables squealing. Drew landed in a crouch, one hand on the floor for balance, the other still holding her phone. Heart pounding from delayed reaction, she waited to be sure the elevator wouldn''t drop again soon. A moment later it started up once more, gravity plucking at her as the car rose. She rose gingerly, half expecting the elevator to drop again at any moment. Without thinking about it she tucked in her shirt, straightened her jacket, and tucked her phone into the pocket sewn into its lining.


    The moment she did, it rang again, this time vibrating against her breast.


    The hell did I do that? My phone goes in my pants pocket.


    She pulled out her phone, glanced at the ID-blocked number, and lifted it to her ear while thumbing the ''connect'' button. "Good Afternoon, JJ. Drew here. What''d you need?"


    Who the hell is JJ?


    "Am I speaking to Detective Drew Williams?"


    "Yeah, this is Drew. I gotta ask; who are you, JJ?"


    "This is Special Agent Jamil Johnson with the FBI. We need to talk. Do you have some time?"


    Goose bumps raced up Drew''s arms at the thought of a Special Agent seeking her out. She mentally reviewed her case load before her suspension, but nothing stood out as something the FBI would be interested in. The elevator reached her floor, and the doors slid open with a quiet ''ding''.


    "Detective Williams, are you there?"


    "Yeah, I''m here. I''m headed to see my doctor right now," a little white lie; Angela wasn''t technically her doctor. JJ didn''t need to know that. "But I could answer a question or two if they''re quick."


    "What are you seeing your doctor about?"


    Drew stopped dead, held her phone out at arms'' length and stared at it. Who did this guy think he was, anyhow? After a moment of thought, she pulled the phone back to her ear with an evil grin. "I''m going to see my gynecologist."


    The answering pause from Johnson gratified her. "Oh... kay. No strange symptoms lately, nothing really weird going on?"


    Her blood went cold. Somehow this guy knew about the things that happened during the rain of fire. He also wasn''t coming right out and saying anything. Suspicion pushed her hand down to her gun. Of course, she wasn''t wearing her gun, and he was on the phone, not in front of her. She turned the last corner before the break room the candy stripers had told her Angela was napping in, and a slow smile spread across her face. When all you had was a hammer, pretend things are nails.


    "Oh, yeah, my period''s gone completely crazy. It''s like friggin'' Niagara Falls down there. Extra heavy duty just isn''t cutting it this time..."


    She chuckled to herself at the panic in Johnson''s voice. "Okay, I get it. Sorry about that, I just hoped..."


    Time to drive the point home. "I''m getting all kinds of funny looks, too, like people can smell it or something. I''ve been going all out with the deodorant, but there''s still a kind of funky smell, y''know? It''s like, sort of like a muskrat mixed with..."


    Unauthorized use: this story is on Amazon without permission from the author. Report any sightings.


    She bit her lip to keep from laughing when he interrupted her again. "Yeah, okay, I get it!" Johnson cleared his throat, paused a moment, and continued. "I thought I could kill a few birds with one stone. Detective Williams, the FBI is desperately shorthanded right now and I was looking to local PD to fill in the gaps for us on a few investigations. I''m guessing you''re not feeling up to it, though."


    That was a completely different matter. Working with the Feds annoyed her to no end, but it would look great on her resume. It might even balance out the whole ''knocked another officer unconscious'' thing.


    "Special Agent Johnson, I am always up to help out my friends in Washington. Can you email me the details?"


    "Some of the details are still classified, and you don''t have a secure email account, so I''ll need to hand them over in person."


    How do you know what email accounts I have? Wait, no. Career. Think of the career boost!


    "I understand." The door to the staff lounge shook as something heavy smashed into the other side of it. A cry of agony threaded through the breaking glass and twisting metal. "Oh, hell. Look, go ahead and email me a time and a place you''d like to meet. My schedule is pretty clear. I gotta go."


    ***


    Walker stared at the thick door in front of him. Its illusory solidity mocked him. He reached out and rested one hand on the wheel that would disengage the latches, but no matter how hard he tried he couldn''t make himself turn it. Time slipped by with nothing to measure it but the sound of his own breath loud in his ears.


    Not as loud as it should be. No alloy and glass encased his head. No reinforced fabric covered his body. He wore a basic olive drab tee shirt, a set of urban camouflage pants, and a small pin with the colors of the United States of America''s flag. None of it would protect him from the ravages of space. No tank of oxygen adorned his back; those all sat inside, being laboriously refilled using an air compressor and chemicals from emergency rebreathers. Johnson had turned out to have a knack for tinkering, of all things, and even now worked on more gear to keep the skeleton crew alive until rescue arrived.


    If it ever arrived.


    "Captain Walker, this is Lieutenant Grzba. Do you read?"


    The sound didn''t come from the speaker on the wall, and he wasn''t wearing a radio. It sounded so much like she was speaking directly into his ear, he expected to feel her breath on his neck. But she was in the jury rigged comm center, and he stood in the only functioning airlock.


    "Captain Walker, I repeat, do you read?"


    "Lieutenant Grzba, this is Captain Walker. I read you loud and clear."


    "Is there a problem with the airlock, Captain?" The concern in her voice was very real. More personnel than intact suits survived. If the airlock broke down, someone very well might wind up trapped on the station.


    "No problem, Lieutenant. Just..." Unaccustomed fear shot through him at the thought of what he planned to do. He must be insane to even think about it, but here on the ragged edge of survival, the crew needed every edge they could get.


    Gzrba whispered into his ear, "John. You don''t have to do this."


    His face heated, shame pushing aside fear. "Yes, Natalia. I do. Thanks for trying to give me options, but we need to know."


    "Captain, this is Johnson. Just thought of something." Johnson''s radio protocol went all wrong when he tinkered, but it usually meant he was on the trail of a good idea, so Walker didn''t bother him about it.


    "Go ahead."


    "When you open that door, the air inside is going to rush out."


    Despite himself, a smile twisted one side of Walker''s mouth up. "I seem to recall something about that in training. No air in space, it''s what makes the view so incredible."


    "Yeah, yeah. Cover your ears for a second, please?"


    Bemused, Walker took his hands from the hatch and placed them over his ears. Vibration massaged his bare feet for a few moments. Everything in the tiny room suddenly snapped into crisp focus. When it stopped, silence reigned in the airlock.


    "Okay, Captain. You''re good to go."


    Knife edged shadows lurked in the corners. A quick snap of his fingers produced no sound, only a slight sting where his middle finger slapped into the heel of his palm. A thread of anger wormed its way through the fear trying to drown him. He clutched at it, desperate to stay in control of himself.


    "Johnson, did you just evacuate the air from the airlock?"


    "Affirmative, Captain." Johnson muttered; his distraction clear as he worked on whatever new life saver occupied him at the moment.


    "How exactly did you know I would survive?"


    "Sherlock Holmes, sir."


    Walker blinked. Johnson hadn''t shown any signs of dementia prior to this. If he did lose it, they had no one else with his knack for cobbling together working survival gear from bits of junk.


    "Sherlock Holmes?"


    "Yeah. Eliminate the impossible and what remains must be the truth." Metal on metal rang through the radio, followed by quiet cursing. "Sorry, sir. Pinched my finger getting this Jesus clip in place. Didn''t mean to surprise you with the air thing. Thought the delay was you trying to figure out a way to get outside without being blown clear of the hull."


    Gratitude shoved Walker''s anger aside. Johnson was too bright to believe his own words, but he''d covered for his commander''s cowardice without ever bringing it up. Closing his eyes, he sent a fervent prayer of thanks to whatever deity had sent the tech up on his shuttle. He spoke once more, knowing both Gzrba and Johnson would record his words for posterity.


    "This is John Walker. I am now attempting my first unsuited spacewalk."


    "Enjoy the view, Captain."

 Chapter Twenty-One - Card Reader

    Steve stumbled along in darkness, following Jesse''s scent more than her hand. He heard her dodge left past a squeaking cart. He followed, caroming off the wall before he righted himself.


    "Hang in there, Steve. We''re to the elevator. It should be here soon."


    "I hear it. Needs maintenance." Even with the cotton in his ears, every little sound rapped his skull with a drumstick. His own words each echoed endlessly, until he couldn''t think straight. The plugs in his nose stank of his own sweat. He pawed at them until Jesse swatted his hands away.


    "Stop that, moron. I need to get you up to Angie so she can look at you, and I don''t want to go carrying you again."


    The elevator dinged. The doors scraped open, stopped halfway with a crunch and squeal.


    "Dammit. I thought Charlie fixed this. Lean on the wall for a second, I need to let go of your hand."


    "Hurry back. I''ll cry every second without you." Sometimes a good line was worth a little pain.


    Metal screamed, driving Steve to his knees. It went on and on, forcing an answering howl from him. He pounded the floor, hoping to kill the pain in his head with the pain in his hands. It didn''t work. He punched the hard tiles again and again. Crackles vibrated up his arms as his knuckles shattered under the pounding. The screeching metal stopped, but his torment continued until Jesse grabbed his arms. He strained fruitlessly against her grip as the pain in his hands and head slowly receded.


    "Holy carp. Holy carp on flaming toast!"


    "What''s wrong now? Did I hit the rat by accident?"


    "Do you still have a head?"


    "Unfortunately, yeah."


    "Then you didn''t hit Cory."


    He heaved a sigh. Everything about her except that damned rodent smelled so good. "Then what''s wrong now?"


    "Your hands..."


    "Yeah. They''ve gone numb. Angela''s gonna have to splint me up, isn''t she?"


    "No..."


    "Then what is it?"


    "Angela told me about it, but I guess I didn''t really believe. Your hands..." She petered off again.


    He couldn''t help himself; he lost it entirely. "What! What about my hands! Tell me!"


    In answer, she yanked the cloth from his eyes, wrapped a hand around the back of his head, and forced it down until he stared at the floor. Cracks in the marbled tile spiderwebbed out from where his fists rested against the floor. Faintly glowing window cleaner covered the floor, slowly seeping away through the cracks. Jesse grabbed his wrist and lifted his hand up in front of his face. Window cleaner covered it, but no matter how hard he looked, he couldn''t see a single cut, a single distorted bone, or even any bruising.


    "First, you just healed multiple open fractures in less time than it takes most people to stop screaming about them. That''s really freaky, but it''s not why I''m freaked out."


    Asking over and over was getting tedious, but her grip was like high grade stainless. This was why he didn''t do any of that bondage stuff. "So, what does have you freaked out?"


    "I can''t tell you. You won''t believe it."


    "Try me."


    Still, she hesitated. "Do you trust me?"


    He shrugged. "Sure. Why not."


    She reached over to a nearby equipment shelf, flipped his hand over, and before he could scream or pull away, slashed his palm with a scalpel. Pain shot up his arm, and he tried to yank his hand away, but Jesse held him down, forcing him to look at the deep cut on his hand. Even as he watched, the ends sealed themselves, knitting together like time lapse photography, but that didn''t compare to the blood gushing from the wound.


    The glowing, blue, blood.


    ***


    Jack stopped at the top of the sixth flight of stairs to catch his breath. As far as anyone could tell, the ball healed his cancer, but running up steps told him it hadn''t really cured his age. At the age he looked now, somewhere between twenty-five and thirty, he could run up twenty flights before he started to feel it. He looked down at the faint dents and scuff marks in the stairwell tile with a rueful smile.


    If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it.


    "No use complaining. I still feel better than I have since I hit forty."


    He pushed open the door and stepped carefully into the hallway, his ears open for the telltale creak telling him the floor couldn''t take his weight. He''d learned that trick moving around shelled buildings with a full combat load, refined it moving construction equipment through half-finished houses, but he''d never expected to use it wearing nothing more than jeans and a tee shirt, carrying nothing more than a sunny disposition and a post it note with the doc''s room number penciled on it.


    After a moment spent checking to confirm the room numbers followed the same pattern as his own floor, Jack strode down the hallway. Up around the next turn someone was arguing, either with themselves or on a cell phone. Whoever she was, her voice grabbed at the back of his neck and the base of his spine and propelled him forward, pickup lines queuing up in his head.


    Before he rounded the corner a muted crash echoed down the hall.


    "...pretty clear. I gotta go!"


    The floor seemed solid, but he couldn''t chance falling through. Instead, he shifted to a shuffling run he''d learned back in his early twenties. Back then it let him move quickly through caltrops, now it let him run without his feet ever hitting the floor very hard. He rounded the corner at a shuffling run, and a series of images burned themselves into his brain.


    The hot lady cop from the radiation room, her shoulder bouncing off a heavy hospital door. Even falling on her butt from the impact she drew his gaze like a magnet.


    A petite Asian girl charged up the hallway behind the lady cop. Despite the intervening years and the certain knowledge of the prejudice of his own reaction, his balls drew up and his mouth went dry. If he''d had a weapon, he''d have brought it up to his shoulder.


    A young Italian guy following the Asian girl. He had a washcloth draped over his head, cotton sticking from his ears and nose, and none of those things compared to the double handful of glowing blue goo he cradled in his hands.


    "Need a hand?"


    The hot cop glanced over at him, and his pants got tight again. "Sergeant Maliss. Any chance you have some experience working entries?"


    "I might. If there are hostiles in the room, you ought to wait for SWAT."


    His warning fell on deaf ears. Young people could never wait. "I''m not sure if there are hostiles or not, but Doctor Merilyn is in there. I think she''s hurt."


    That made a world of difference. "Okay, then. I can..."


    The little Asian girl won some points in her favor just then. With a muttered, ''give me a little space'', she shouldered the cop aside, set one foot back from the door, the opposite shoulder against the door just above the handle, and pushed. The cop was too busy watching the door, ready to charge in, but Jack saw the girl''s shoe stretch, then rip. Her foot popped out, and melted sideways until it covered nearly a whole floor tile. She heaved, a cry exploding from her, and the door frame popped inward with a crash of glass and rattle of plastic.


    The lady cop poked her head through the resulting crack and called out, "Angela! Are you okay in there? Angela!"


    From inside the room, came a faint, mumbled, ''Go ''way!''


    The cop extricated herself, then looked down at the little Asian girl. Before she could say anything, the Italian guy arrived. "Oh, man, Jesse. Charlie is so gonna kick your ass into next week. D''you know how much of a pain those card reader locks are to install?"


    "Oh, fudge your card reader locks, Steve," piped Jesse, "Angela''s in there, didn''t you hear?"


    "Yeah, whatever. She''s too mean to be hurt."


    At that, the girl trapped in the room muttered, "you all hate me," followed by muted sobbing.


    Before things got out of hand between Steve and Jesse, Jack stepped up to the door. A half decade as a drill sergeant helped his words squash their argument. "As I was gonna say," he flicked the metal adorning one side of the door, "if you can find me a screwdriver, I can get the hinges off in about sixty seconds." He wrapped one hand around each of the door frame''s uprights and pulled, twisting it to the side as he did. "Kinda moot now, though."


    "Man, Charlie doesn''t even know you and he''s gonna read you the riot act."


    Jack ignored him and stepped carefully into the room. The old work boots he''d come to the hospital in didn''t have much tread left, but the steel sole still protected him from the glass littering the floor. Moving in his caltrop clearing shuffle again, he slid over to the huddled figure crouched in the contorted remains of a cheap couch.


    "Doc? Doc Merilyn, is that you?"


    She looked up, recognition entering her sorrow filled eyes. A child''s voice whispered from her lips, "Jack! I tried to make a fort to hide in, but the pillows don''t come off this stupid sofa. I..." A grimace twisted her face, pure fury staring into his eyes, and then the little girl returned. "Please, don''t be sad. I didn''t save any magic chocolate for anyone else. The angry voice is going to yell at you."


    Jack had seen men crack before. At least Doc Merilyn didn''t have a rifle. A quick glance at her hands showed she didn''t have any syringes or scalpels, either. He reached out and held one hand a hair''s breadth from her head. "Doc? Everything''s going to be okay, Doc. Nobody''s angry at you."


    With that, she started keening, a quiet, high-pitched moan that slowly warbled its way into sobs. Doc Merilyn leaned against his hand and wept, her whole body shaking every few seconds when she moaned.


    The lady cop spoke from behind him. "Is she hurt?"


    Without moving, he whispered, "Not sure. Looks like PTSD though. Seen that before, too often."


    "Ah, man. Just when we need her most Angela goes and takes a vacation to lala land."


    Jack had tried to leave his old life behind, but some parts of it still clung. Some of them, like the chivalry that had driven him into the service, then driven him out, he never really wanted to let go of. "Son, if you don''t shut the hell up, I''m gonna shove your foot straight up your ass."


    In one sentence, Jesse earned his trust despite her eyes. "Don''t do that, mister. You''ll cause brain damage."


    He couldn''t help it; a laugh forced its way out. Beneath him, snorts of angry laughter interspersed themselves among the sobs. A few seconds later both were overwhelmed by the deep groan of physical pain. Slowly Doc formed words from her moaning. "Oh, god. I think I''m gonna be sick. Somebody get me a bedpan."

 Chapter Twenty-Two - Scream

    Centurion cradled Siren''s still form in his arms and wept. With a thousand tiny fingers of his mind he held her wounds closed, but it hadn''t been enough. He''d reached in and forced her heart to beat, pushed air into her lungs, but her face remained still and slack beneath her sheltering mask. He pulled her to him and rocked back and forth, unable to contain his grief.


    Rubble crunched, but he didn''t care if someone snuck up and stuck a knife in him. Knives and bullets couldn''t hurt him any more than he already had been. Tears dripped on her cold, blue lips, and he kissed them away. The man behind him came so close Centurion could feel him, all the way down to the badge pinned to his left breast pocket. The police officer reached out a hand and touched Centurion''s shoulder, the gesture oddly hesitant.


    "Sir, I''m going to have to ask you to come down to the station and answer some questions."


    The same fury that had taken him when Siren fell washed over him again. Hands unsteady, he looked for a smooth place to lay Siren''s body down. Every spot in sight bore the signs of the recent struggle.


    He knew that as a lie. It hadn''t been a struggle after she fell. It had been an execution, even for the gangbanger hopped up on Blue. Centurion could still feel his unseen hands gripping the ''banger''s head and body. He''d twisted the man, not the quick twist a farmer used to break a chicken''s neck, but the slow, compressing twist a housewife used to squeeze the last bits of water from a rag. The rest of the scum ran when they saw that, or they tried to. He hadn''t let them go. He''d reached out his unseen hands and gripped each firmly by the scruff of the neck.


    They''d resisted, of course. A ring of bullets marked the spot he''d made his stand. They''d had a lot of guns, but what were bullets to a man with impenetrable unseen hands in a sphere around him. Hands strong enough to rip the facing from the bank, dexterous enough to rip that facing into even chunks, mad enough to fling one chunk at each of his attackers, killing them the same way their leader had killed Siren.


    "Sir, I said I need you to come with me."


    Fury filled him. "Get your hands off of me!" Centurion roared. The officer staggered backward, gasping, unseen hands lifting him by the neck. He tried to choke out something, but Centurion''s incoherent scream of rage cut him off. Still screaming, he flung the officer away. He landed, rolled, and scrambled for cover unsteadily.


    Centurion''s scream went on long after the breath had gone from his lungs. It built on itself, echoing from the skyscrapers around him, glass vibrating until it shattered, each fragment reshattering again and again until only a fine dust remained to drift to the ground. The police in the street fell to their knees, hands clutching uselessly at their ears. Static filled Centurion''s eyes, his own unending scream drowned out by rushing wind.


    His scream rushed outward at the speed of thought, echoes covering the entire globe and the skies above.


    ***


    Walker looked down on the glittering blue and white globe below, reveling in its beauty. He''d been working on the communications array since dawn, and he needed a break. The thought brought a smile to his face. He could walk unprotected in vacuum, survive the ravages of the sun''s radiation unshielded by suit or ozone, but he still got tired after a few hours of doing basic maintenance. It seemed nonsensical, but at the same time very right.


    He''d been granted a gift, perhaps the greatest gift he could have imagined, but he was still, at heart, human. Still bound by his oaths to serve, still connected to those inside the station he stood on.


    "Will you be coming in for lunch?" A faint crackle marred Grzba''s words. Johnson had a conniption every time he thought about Walker hearing and sending radio signals without a transceiver, but he''d also been the one to figure it out. No sound carried in vacuum, but Walker could respond to the radio, so he must be a living transceiver. Again, practicality built out of insane building blocks.


    "I''m not sure yet. I''m really tempted to bring it out here. The view''s awesome."


    "Show off." The smile in her voice took the sting from her words. They''d grown surprisingly close since the disaster. Maybe he could convince her to emigrate.


    "I just wish you could see it the way I do. I wish..."


    A raw, agonized scream rent the aether. It drove Walker to his knees, forced him down until his hands touched the hull. Distant screams echoed through his link to the station, but he could only hunker down and try to keep from being swept away. His knees slid a few inches, and he wrapped his ankles around a protruding antenna. He clung to the edge of an open panel, the raw metal cutting into his skin, blood making his hands slippery. No matter how he clung, the wave of raw agony tugged at his wings, pulling him away from the surface of the station. He''d been in space too long, gotten used to the freedom of flight without wind. Desperately hoping he remembered the errata from a flight school lesson he''d never used, he twisted to angle his wings so the lift generated by the solar wind cancelled out the gusting of the flood of pain. Both currents fought against him, lifting him from the hull then slamming him back down, but he forced his wings into the remembered configuration.


    They slipped into the pocket, and all became still. Both forces still pushed at his wings, but each cancelled the other out. He''d found serenity in balance, despite the raging torrent of heartfelt rage and grief pouring from the planet below. Holding his wings in place, he took a deep, cleansing breath.


    Walker blinked as bracing vacuum rushed into his lungs. It didn''t hurt, but the sensation would not be denied and would not let him remain in the half-aware haze he''d drifted in since the scream washed over the station. He flickered his wings just a touch to be sure they were still...


    Walker froze, one thought filling his head.


    Wings?


    ***


    Angela looks strung out.


    Drew perched on the counter in the break room. Most of the chairs were just gone; Angela sat in the last whole folding chair, her hair sweaty, her face pale. If Drew didn''t know Angela so well, she''d assume her friend was a recovering addict. Instead she just sat there, worrying, as Jesse gave Angela''s vital signs a once over.


    Unauthorized tale usage: if you spot this story on Amazon, report the violation.


    "I''m fine, Jesse."


    "Your heart rate and blood pressure are normal. The only thing wrong with you is your hands. You''re shaking."


    Angela closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and held out one hand. Drew stared at it. It didn''t twitch, not one iota. "I''m not sick. I''m furious."


    "You should have told us it''s that time of the month." Steve could be an unbearable ass. If she hadn''t seen him run into disasters more than once to get people out, Drew would have demolished him a long time ago. Angela just swung her rock steady hand over to point at him, clenched her fist, and stuck her middle finger in the air.


    "I''m not really into that, but if you''re projecting, I''m willing to give it a shot."


    Sergeant Maliss shifted, the floor creaking slightly under his weight. Steve didn''t look around, but Drew could tell how his shoulders tensed at the sound. "Son, I warned you about that before. I suggest you apologize to the lady. Now."


    "I''m sorry, Angela. I shouldn''t have said anything about you riding the cotton pony."


    The Sergeant started to move, but paused when Jesse, sitting out of Steve''s field of view, waved him back. She leaned over beside him and whispered, "Steve?"


    "Yeah?"


    "You can keep that up, and I''ll break your fingers one by one and send you back to the emergency room, or you can pretend to be an adult and we''ll let you sit quietly and listen in on the grownup''s conversation." All of that in a singsong so sickly sweet it made Drew want to retch.


    Of course, it had the expected effect on Steve. He looked Drew straight in the eye and said, "let me guess, you broads are all synched up and you''re going to pick on me next?"


    The Sergeant started toward Steve, but stopped a moment later, turning to stare at Drew as the laughter she''d been straining herself to hold inside burst forth. She laughed until she fell over, clutching at her sides. Since the Rain of Fire it seemed like everything had changed. Everyone treated her like some kind of freak, and she still didn''t understand why. The dust had fiddled with her figure a little and turned her hair black, but nothing that should have everyone walking on eggshells. It felt wonderful to have at least one person treating her like the same old Drew.


    Even if it was Steve at his most... Steve-ish.


    She stood back up and looked around at the others. Jesse smiled, Angela looked thoughtful, and Jack looked confused. She opened her mouth to explain, but Jesse cut her off.


    "Steve is who he is, Sergeant. You all need to see this though, and I did warn him."


    Steve''s hands crunched. He writhed, trying to get free, but the hand Jesse clamped around his forearm never moved, except to turn his hand up so everyone in the room could see the damage she''d done. Bones gleamed white where they''d poked through his skin, but where she expected to see crimson, instead the lacerations filled with a pale, glowing blue. Even more disturbing, the fingers slowly twisted themselves back into place, the skin sealing seamlessly over the bones. After a few moments, only the blood remained to show he''d been injured.


    That and his swearing, but foul language was part of the whole Steve experience.


    Jack said, "I''ve seen a lot of weird sh... stuff in my life, but I have never seen anything quite like that."


    "I suspect I''d find the same thing if I could get a blood sample from you, Mr. Maliss." Angela''s simple statement forced every eye in the room around to look at her. "I''m guessing with the exception of Steve, each of us has suffered some severe blood loss in the past forty eight hours."


    "Why do I gotta be an exception?"


    "You lost all yours the first day, Steve."


    Even Steve had no response to that. Drew said "yeah", Jesse nodded sheepishly, and Jack mumbled, "I needed to talk with you about that, Doc. Y''see, I..."


    A moment later, a figure clothed in what looked like jumbo sized trash bags, a belt, and a gas mask appeared in the middle of the room. Before Drew could react, Charlie''s voice sounded through the vents in the mask.


    "Guys! I''ve figured it out! It''s so simple! We''re supposed to..."


    A scream filled the room, so loud it bypassed ears and hammered straight into Drew''s brain. She clutched at her head, barely able to stay on her feet as the screamer''s agony woke answering pain in her. The building shook beneath her, and time seemed to slow. Charlie lay on the ground, a fetal ball of plastic. Jesse clutched at Steve, her features slowly melting from her face as she oozed out of her chair. Steve tried his best to hold her together, the only signs he might be in pain narrowed eyes and clenched jaw. Sergeant Maliss crouched, ready to spring in any direction, his eyes haunted.


    Angela crouched in her sofa fort, fingers in her ears. Her lips moved, but Drew couldn''t quite make out what she said. The moment she stopped talking, the room around Angela started to warp. For a sliver of a moment, the twisted wreckage of the sofa seemed almost straight compared to the space around Angela. A few inches around her stretched into infinity.


    The next instant the warping stopped. The scream continued, but now Angela sat, a look of wonder on her face as she felt the glossy red open-faced helmet covering her head. She said something else, and a flat of chocolate bars appeared in a much smaller, faster twist of reality.


    After that, Drew decided the world could do without her for a few minutes, and passed out.


    ***


    A distant scream pushed Grace toward wakefulness. Without thought, she stored the sound as a perfect example of despair. Before she could wake fully, two thoughts invaded her mind.


    One, a scrap of lyrics echoing down an infinite tunnel that led right around the corner, So long since I heard an Angel scream. Perhaps this is the end of my dream.


    The other, the mountain around her speaking to itself, Humans. Always so loud, with so little purpose. Sleep, little one, we''ve not arrived yet.


    Grace had no choice. She slept.


    ***


    She strained endlessly to open her eyes and end the silence. She could not know whether it took days or seconds. She needed to see the sounds, not know the time. Air, water, and food came without asking, but sound eluded her. She strained to open her eyes.


    A scream rent the very fabric of light in front of her. Laced through with darkness, the cry of rage and pain ripped her from her bed, light lifting her by her hands and feet until she hovered upright in the center of the room. She saw...


    She saw the room around her...


    She saw the hospital beyond her closed door, every room and hall...


    She saw the parking lot, the highway, and the ripples of agony tearing the sky...


    She listened to those ripples, followed them back to their source with her infinite gaze...


    Twelve souls black as night flowed across the ground. They seeped inexorably into the wounds of a warrior made of light, slowly shading the brilliant blue glow of his life. He didn''t seem to notice as they sucked him dry; he could only pour his light into the fading glow of the maiden he cradled before him.


    She could not let this injustice stand. Knowing the cost, she whispered in the maiden''s ear from the infinite closeness of her hospital bed.


    "You can''t go. Get up."


    The maiden stirred, spoke. The scream ended, and silence returned.


    The floor smelled of sweat and blood and copper when she landed, so strong it almost threw her from her single minded pursuit entirely. She''d gained another piece of the puzzle, and she refused to lose it. Ignoring the smell of broken bones and bruises, she strained once more.


    She strained to open her eyes and end the silence.


    ***


    The world was nothing but endless pain, and Centurion screamed in agony. The buildings around him bowed inward, steel corroded by the ongoing erosion of his pain. The pain and the scream consumed everything...


    "Okay, okay, I''m awake. Stop yelling at me."


    Centurion choked on his own breath, shocked into silence by Siren''s words.


    Katrina smiled up at Damien. He pulled her close and held her like nothing else in the world mattered. At that moment, nothing else did.

 Chapter Twenty-Three - Attraction

    "What in the ever loving hell was that?"


    Jesse felt Steve''s question as much as hearing it. Her melted body draped over his chest, pooled on either side of him. He gently cradled handfuls of her; by the sensation they parts she would normally smack him for touching. At the moment any contact, any sensation, proved she still lived rather than being in some nightmarish hell.


    "A scream." She spoke without thinking, but her voice sounded the same as it ever did. A little breathier than usual, but nothing to complain about for a girl who''d just melted into a puddle of ooze.


    Steve, bless him, took in her condition without blinking. "Duh. I meant who was screaming, and why did we all go nuts?"


    Something in Steve''s tone got through to the old Army Sergeant. He blinked, then pulled himself up out of his ready stance. He scowled at Steve, but speculation in his eyes told her he''d begun to see why they let the firefighter hang around. "Not sure. Whoever he is, he''s upset, though. At a guess I''d say someone just lost a buddy."


    "Not a girlfriend or wife?"


    He turned his gaze to Jesse and blinked. "That''s... that''s disconcerting, ma''am."


    "Call me Jesse. You have no idea how weird it is from inside." She ought to at least push herself upright, but the scream had knocked the wind out of her, and moment by moment she felt worse, not better, as she rested.


    "Do you know how to stop it?"


    "I''m... I don''t know. I''m trying, but it''s so exhausting." She tried again, but she only managed to shift herself around against Steve''s palms.


    "Did someone get the name of that bus?" Drew muttered, pushing herself upright with one smooth motion. In that instant, Jesse hated her friend. Every male head in the room swiveled to track Drew''s motion as she swept the hair from her face and shook her head, releasing a cloud of sheetrock dust. After that she noticed everyone staring at her and frantically patted herself down.


    "Oh geez. Did I mess up my clothes? Am I cut? Why are you staring like that?" She finished her search, glancing at her hands surreptitiously after running her hands over her thighs, inside and out. "Okay, what the heck''s going on, guys. Did you all decide to freak me out while I was unconscious?"


    The Sergeant recovered first. "No, ma''am. Just a little distracted."


    "What the hell is going on with everyone lately, anyhow?"


    Charlie''s voice echoed from the gas-masked figure on the floor, "how do we know that''s really Drew? Maybe it''s a spy sent to replace her, or a really lousy doppelganger, or some kind of alien robot from the future."


    Drew tossed her hands up in the air, letting out a frustrated growl. Steve''s hands twitched where they supported bits of Jesse, much to her annoyance. "I''m me! Why would someone try to imitate me?"


    "That''s exactly what an alien robot from the future would say, and how would I know why you want to gain our trust and betray us, hmm?"


    She slumped, her whole posture becoming one of languid grace. "Charlie, are you off your meds?"


    Charlie gradually shifted away from her, never turning his face away. "Insulting me doesn''t prove you''re really Drew."


    "Charlie, you saw me the day of the Rain of Fire. I don''t know what happened, but you saw it happen."


    "I wasn''t looking directly at you."


    She rolled her eyes, even that small motion an incitement to lust. "What do I have to do to prove I''m me?"


    Charlie stopped, tensing as if ready to spring at Drew. "Tell me something only Drew would know, that she would never tell anyone else."


    She glared at him, and just for a moment Jesse wondered if Charlie might be right. Then she heaved a sigh, lowered her gaze to the ground in front of her feet, and started muttering. "I''m gonna make you pay for this, Charlie Morgan. That time two years ago at the Halloween party, when I got a little drunk celebrating my last promotion. You told everyone I tripped and fell and ralphed on you. That''s why you said you poured soda on yourself, to wash it off before it stained. You were washing off lipstick from where I knocked you down and tried to neck with you."


    Charlie hunched in on himself, trash bags rustling. "Uh. Yeah. You''re Drew. I gotta go." He disappeared.


    "What the hell? I wasn''t really going to hurt him, he knows..."


    Angela interrupted with a childish singsong, "he thinks you''re pretty, he wants to date you, and make some babies."


    "Cut it out, Ange."


    Angela''s face contorted into a mask of rage. "I... can''t..." A moment later she smiled and started singing again. "Drew and Charlie, sitting in a tree. K, I, S, S, I, N, G. First comes love, then comes marriage, then come babies in a baby carriage."


    "Seriously, Ange. Stop teasing me. It''s really starting to piss me off."


    Sergeant Jack interrupted. "Girl, I don''t think she''s teasing."


    "What do you mean?"


    "I don''t hold with the ''she asked for it'' defense. Think guys who use it ought to be strung up. But damn if you''re not a walking incitement to riot. I''m three times your age if I''m a day or I''d be looking to see if I had a chance."


    Drew glanced down at her clothes one more time. "What are you talking about, Sergeant Maliss? I''m wearing jeans and a blouse and a sport jacket. Hell, it''s not even one of those fake women''s ones, I bought it on clearance at a men''s suit store."


    "Call me Jack, ma''am. Been a long time since I was in the service. Anyway, it''s not... I mean... Aw, hell, this is why I never got married, can''t explain this kinda thing right."


    Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on the original website.


    Angela interrupted again, anger staining her non-falsetto voice. "You haven''t looked in a mirror since the event, have you?"


    Drew looked away, combed her hair again with her fingers. "No. Haven''t really had time to fix the one in my bathroom." She glanced down at her blouse again, tugged at the buttons to straighten them. Jesse could tell they weren''t under any strain, but the moment Drew stopped tugging at it the cloth naturally fell so it looked like the shirt might pop open at any moment. "I mean, okay, my bras don''t really fit any more, but I''ve been too busy to pick up new ones."


    "I don''t think it would matter if you did." Angela closed her eyes, took several deep breaths. With each one her muscles relaxed a little. "Since the evening on the roof, we''ve each been displaying a number of unusual abilities. They seem to become more extreme during periods of extreme stress. Mr. Maliss..."


    "All of you, just call me Jack."


    She smiled at him. It looked forced, but he smiled back. "Jack weighs just under a metric ton, I can''t pierce his skin with a hypodermic, and he can fly."


    "Doc, I think you might have eaten some bad chocolate."


    Steve sounded like he had to force words out past someone strangling him. "Holy shit, guys. Look at his feet."


    Jesse flopped her head around so she could see. Jack''s feet hovered a good half inch above the floor. The Sergeant looked down and blinked, looking nonplussed for the first time since Jesse had met him. "Well now. I have no idea how I¡¯m doing that."


    Jesse couldn''t help herself, "Yeah, if you figure it out let me know. I''m worried I''m going to run down the drain if I pass out."


    "As I was saying. Charlie appears to manipulate the normal flow of time. Steve heals wounds quicker than I''d believe if I hadn''t seen it with my own eyes, and based on the ear and nose plugs he''s still wearing, his senses have become painfully acute. Jesse''s doing... whatever melting thing she''s doing, and she''s become incredibly strong. My own strength seems to coincide with bouts of complete idiocy..."


    "Nah." Jesse couldn''t un-flop her head, but she felt Steve doing something underneath her.


    "What do you mean?"


    He heaved a sigh, and fabric ripped. A moment later Jesse swayed through the air, tumbling into the sack he''d fashioned from the remains of his designer shirt. She still couldn''t move well, but with her weight fully supported she didn''t think she''d run down a drain if she passed out.


    "Aw... thanks, Steve."


    He shrugged, bouncing her hammock. "Don''t mention it. Anyway, you''re not getting stupid, just... na?ve."


    "I fail to see the difference. And," she stopped, taking a few deep breaths, "I hate it. I can''t stand being stupid."


    "You''re not. You don''t... smell dumb. You smell like a little kid." He turned to Drew. "Hey, have you gained some kind of super power to hold your breath?"


    Drew quirked an eyebrow at him, pulled out her phone to check the time, and took a deep breath. After about a minute, during which she never glanced up from her phone and neither guy looked away from her chest, she exhaled. "I think my wind''s better, but I still feel like I need to breathe."


    "Yeah, I know. Just wanted to get the pervy image of hot little kid Angie out of my head. Thanks. That ought to do it."


    "Steve, if Ange is right I can beat the living shit out of you and there won''t be any evidence five minutes later."


    "Uh. Yeah. Sorry."


    She rolled her eyes and shook her head, but before she could say anything Angela interrupted again. "That brings us back to you. You''re not only more athletic, which given your former level of training easily puts you at the level of a professional athlete, possibly Olympic level, you are also... disturbingly attractive."


    "The hell? Being pretty isn''t a superpower."


    "I didn''t say you are pretty. I said you are attractive. Gentlemen, if Drew asked you to take your pants off right now, would you?"


    "I''m half naked already, and if a helicopter blade didn''t kill me, what''s the worst she can do?"


    "I''ll rip them off."


    "Ooh, rough stuff. They''ll grow back."


    Angela cut off the argument before it could get started, "Jack, what about you?"


    He shifted, clearly uncomfortable with the question. Jesse smiled; gentlemen were hard to find. "Well, doc, I don''t know that I''d do that, but I''d certainly be hard pressed to say no if she asked me to go for a little walk with just the two of us."


    "Exactly. I''m straight. So is Jesse. Jesse, Drew wants you, right now. What do you do?"


    Sparkles danced in front of Jesse''s eyes as she strained to push herself back into her regular shape. Her body morphed and twisted, but nothing went the way she wanted. In a few moments, she collapsed back into Steve''s impromptu satchel, panting.


    "Don''t do that to me, gosh darnit!"


    "As noted, Jesse is straight. So am I. If you were to tell me you wanted me right now, I think I could talk myself out of it. If you''d done so ten minutes ago when I was stupid..."


    "Na?ve."


    "Fine, Steve, na?ve. If you''d have told me then, I wouldn''t have clothes on now. It goes beyond just being physically pretty, too." She stood up, walked over to Drew, and said, "Hold still a second."


    Working with a few odds and ends she found on the break room counter, Angela combed out Drew''s hair, straightened her clothes, and touched up her makeup. When she finished, she waved at the others in the room, inviting comment.


    "Ma''am, if you were running for office, you''d have my vote in a second. That''s a little scary."


    "Yeah, Drew. You''re crazy hot, even in that grab bag thrift store outfit."


    "Gee, thanks, Steve."


    Angela shoved both hands into Drew''s hair and shook them vigorously. The hair band she''d used to tie Drew''s hair back fell halfway out, and the rest of her hair stuck out at odd angles.


    "Whoa, action heroine, straight from central casting."


    "Yeah."


    Drew shook her head in disbelief. Angela grabbed the lapels of her coat and, before she could react, tore one of them halfway off.


    "Ange! This was new!"


    "I''ll buy you another one," under her breath she muttered, "one that actually matches your pants." In a more normal tone she continued. "Guys?"


    "Gah. I''m getting chivalry impulses to find who attacked you and beat them up so you''ll do me on the floor."


    Jack turned halfway, hands on hips. "Son, I don''t think you know the meaning of the word ''chivalry''."


    "Hot, though, isn''t she?"


    "Oh, yeah." The words slipped out of Jack''s mouth, and his face went beet red. "Sorry, ma''am."


    "You guys are faking this."


    Angela reached out, covered Drew''s face with one hand, and scrubbed messily back and forth. Jesse sighed in relief, without the makeup Drew''s looks should be...


    Angela took her hand away, and Steve''s growl rumbled through the satchel. "Angie?"


    "Yes, Steve?"


    "If you take one step closer to the sink, I''m gonna have to hurt you."


    "Why?"


    "''Cause if you dump water on her, she''s gonna kill me a lot for jumping on her, and then soldier boy is gonna throw me out the window."


    "Do you get my point yet, Drew?"


    "Yeah, even if I believed you, what kind of use is being hot?"


    Angela stared, mouth open, for a full ten count before she spoke again. Jesse had to give her credit, she didn''t swear. She''d obviously reached the end of her patience, though.


    "Look around, Drew. Steve can''t walk around without earplugs. Jack can''t stand on a floor unless it''s been reinforced. Jesse is being carted around in a sack, and I''m only useful when I''m an idiot."


    "Ing¨¦nue."


    Angela half turned toward Steve, her eyes going wide again. "I didn''t know you knew that word."


    "Yeah, I''m full of surprises."


    Drew threw her hands up in the air. "I still don''t believe you guys. If I were that good looking, someone would have said something by now!"


    "No, Drew, they wouldn''t. No one wants to be the one to get shot down by a goddess." Seeing Drew about to argue, she spun her around to face the shattered mirror next to the sink. "Just look at yourself."


    Drew looked, but only shattered fragments of mirror clung to the frame. After a minute of twisting this way and that, she shook her head.


    "I''m just not seeing it."


    Angela hung her head. "God, I wish I had a full length mirror."


    A high pitched shriek filled the room, car keys running across glass. The air rippled as reality around Angela twisted. A moment later, a mirror appeared in the air beside her, tiny from distance yet growing every second. It rushed forward without moving until it stood leaning against the nearest wall.


    Drew cocked one perfect eyebrow at the doctor. "Yeah, I think someone''s slightly less useless than advertised."


    Reality still wobbled, and it took Jesse a moment to figure out why. "Guys?"


    Steve looked down into her sack. "Yeah, Jesse?"


    "I think I''m about to..."


    Jesse''s world faded to gray.

 Chapter Twenty-Four - Memory

    Angela''s mouth dropped open, and Drew smirked at her.


    Yeah, I''ve got useful powers, like being pretty, and she''s got useless ones, like summoning anything she wants, any time she wants.


    Shaking her head at the irony, Drew left the others staring at Angela. If her friend warped time and space itself so she could take a look at herself, she really ought to oblige her. She sauntered over to the mirror and froze. She stared at the creature before her, unable to do move, to speak, to think coherently.


    I ought to get my bangs trimmed.


    With that single errant thought she lost herself in memory.


    ***


    "You need a new style, Drew."


    Two young women sat in the waiting area of the salon. One, her Kate Jackson hairdo grown shaggy at the ends, shook her head, denying her Asian friend''s charge.


    "This haircut is classic."


    "Hon, that haircut was classic in the eighties. It was retro in the nineties. It needs to go."


    The one the Asian called Drew growled her reply, rolling her eyes to the ceiling. The other one ignored her, continuing to leaf through the style books, looking for her friend''s ''new look''. After an increasingly rapid search, she turned to the hairstylist behind the reception desk.


    "Do you have any magazines or books with Angie Harmon or someone like her modeling?"


    "Why are you asking about Angie Harmon, Jesse?"


    "Because you look a little bit like her."


    Drew stared at Jesse, mouthing incredulous profanity for a few moments. "Jess, the only way I''d look anything like Harmon is if she had breast reduction surgery and they packed the extra on her butt."


    "Drew, you can''t..."


    "And after they were done with inflate-a-butt, they''d need to dye her hair mud-mouse brown..."


    "Yeah, but she''s..."


    Despite Jesse''s attempts to interrupt, her friend spoke right over her. "To top it off, you''d have to hit her across the nose with a baseball bat a few times. Oh, and her voice is fantastic, too."


    The hairstylist hadn''t been listening for the past couple comments. Initially, she''d been as skeptical as Drew about the comparison, but as Drew listed out her reasons, one coming methodically after the other, she began to see the similarity. The way she moved, the way she spoke, both reminded the stylist of the characters Harmon played, and that called out the little similarities in bone structure, although those had been damaged by the aforementioned broken nose.


    "Actually, ma''am, I see what your friend is saying." She walked back to the hair dryers, and started fishing in the magazine racks. "I know I had a couple of them here. Ah, here they are!" She walked the magazines back up to where Jesse waited, flipping through one of them as she did. "Take a look at this one; she''s gotten in shape for some new role, and I think the style she''s wearing would really work with your friend''s, sty..." She glanced at Drew''s outfit for the first time. A threadbare tee shirt, ratty old sweatpants, and a pair of worn canvas sneakers didn''t count as ''style'', or a look. "I meant to say, really work with your friend''s bone structure."


    ***


    Drew blinked, and the vision of the past disappeared. She''d expected to see herself, maybe with a little better curves, but a vision of perfection stared back at her from the mirror. Perfect cheekbones; narrow, unbroken nose; faintly almond shaped eyes; high, arched brows; and a broad, flawless smile all made up a face which reminded her of herself, but... The woman in the mirror drew the eye the way Drew never had in her life. She could totally pull off the vagabond look if she wanted to, but the body and face the dust gave her screamed for evening wear, or suits, or...


    Leather. She needed leather.


    "Drew! If you''re done starin'' at yourself, Angie''s in trouble!"


    Steve''s acerbic comment snapped Drew out of her fugue. He crouched next to Angela. She knelt on the floor, head in her hands, a low keening forcing its way through her clenched lips. A quick glance showed Jesse out cold, but breathing, with Charlie and Sergeant Maliss working together to shift her gently to a gurney they''d wheeled in from the hall. With both Angela and Jesse out of action, they had no one trained in anything more than basic first aid.


    A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.


    "Steve, go get a doctor. I''ll stay with her."


    "Why me?"


    "You won''t have to deal with idiots flirting with you."


    Steve shot her a look, rolled his eyes, and stood. "Figured it out, did you?"


    "Yeah." Something about the flashback teased at her, but she couldn''t figure out what. "Just go."


    "I''m already gone."


    With that he jogged away down the corridor. Drew knelt next to Angela and tried to get a look into her eyes, but she had them clenched shut as tight as her jaw. Sucking air through her teeth, Drew grabbed Angela by the back of the neck and used her other hand to force one of her eyes open. The pupil obscured the iris almost completely.


    That''s bad. I have no idea what it means, but it''s bad.


    "Sergeant, do you have any medical experience?"


    "No, ma''am, and not much more first aid than how to stop someone from bleeding out."


    Before Drew could reply, Angela started to grunt and pant, forcing an ''mmm'' sound over and over, rocking as she did. Glowing blue fluid dripped from her nose, stained her lips. "Mirr..."


    "Mirror?"


    "Uh huh. Mirr''r. I..." Angela''s eyes rolled back in her head for a second, and she fell backward. Drew lunged and caught her before she hit her head. When her friend opened her eyes again, a broad smile stretched across her face.


    "You caught me! Thank you, Drew! I know I can always count on you!"


    "That''s right, Angela. What about the mirror, Angela?"


    Angela smiled. "What mirror, silly? There aren''t any mirrors in here. The one on the wall showed me bad things, and I got angry, so I hit it, so it''s not really a mirror anymore." Her eyes shot wide, and her smile slipped. "I''m not in trouble, am I?"


    "No, you''re not, but what about the mirror you summoned?"


    "Don''t be silly, I can''t summon mirrors!"


    "What about that one?" Drew pointed.


    Angela twisted around until she saw the huge mirror leaning against the wall. The moment she found it, she started stuttering, "Mmm... Mirr..."


    "Oh, shit. It''s okay, Angela! The mirror''s not important! Ignore the mirror!"


    Another line of blue leaked from Angela''s nose, slid down the side of her face to her ear. Her whole body convulsed, and one flailing arm caught Drew''s chin. The force of the blow spun her completely around, and static filled her vision for an uncounted series of heartbeats spent in a panicked scramble for consciousness.


    When Drew could see again, Angela lay sprawled on the floor of the break room, staring guilelessly at the mirror. Soft cooing noises filtered through the ringing in Drew''s ears. She crawled over to her friend, but Angela didn''t respond. "Angela, you still in there?"


    In answer, Angela''s gaze wandered from the mirror to Drew. Her smile widened into a broad grin, and her hand lashed out, almost faster than Drew could see. Drew clenched her teeth to keep from screaming as Angela squeezed her ear in a grip like a vise. Then Angela yanked her down, and wet spit filled Drew''s ear.


    "Guh. That''s really gross. Also, ow."


    "G''oss. Ow." More giggles.


    "Okay, Sergeant, Angela has officially lost it. I''m going to hope she''ll come out of it like she did earlier if we can keep her safe, but that''s going to be difficult."


    "Why''s that, ma''am?"


    "Because I''m squeezing the nerve that ought to force her to let go of my ear as hard as I can, and she''s not even flinching. I don''t think we can stop her if she tries to walk away."


    Of course, her phone took that opportunity to ring. With her off hand she fished it out. One glance at the screen confirmed her worst fear. She hit the button to route to voicemail, but a second later it started ringing again, the same number showing on the screen. With a sigh she shifted the phone to her clear ear and hit the button to connect.


    "Hey, JJ. Did you email me about when you want to meet, already?"


    "Detective Williams, I''m afraid things have escalated far more quickly than I thought possible. I''ll need you to meet me as soon as possible at the First National bank just off route nine. Do you know the one I''m talking about?"


    "I''m a little tied up at the moment."


    "Then get untied!" A heartbeat later, he apologized. "The developing Centurion situation took us all by surprise."


    "You want me to help you deal with that lunatic? I''m flattered, but what makes you think I can?"


    JJ hummed a bit. "No, no... The idea has merit, but I''ve got other assets working on a non-confrontational solution to that situation. I need you to investigate something similar to events you''ve been closely associated with."


    "I''m not following."


    "Like I said, I''ll explain when you get here. Oh, if she''s available bring Jesse Rachelson. Also see if you can convince Sergeant Jack Maliss to come with you as well. He''s currently a patient under the care of Doctor Angela Merilyn."


    Drew pulled the phone away and stared at it for a full ten count before pulling it back to her ear. "Yeah, I know Jack. Any reason you''d need to talk with the two of them? I''m pretty sure neither one is involved with interstate crime."


    "The matter at the bank isn''t an interstate crime that I''m aware of. It''s a bank robbery."


    "Whoa. Why do you think Jesse might be involved in that?"


    "We just need them to answer some questions. Can I count on you, Detective Williams?"


    "I''ll need to get cleaned up and see if I can collect Jesse and Jack. Meet you in... two hours?"


    A thin sigh whispered through the phone line, followed by a pause. "If that''s the best you can do, that''s the best you can do. I''ll have to see if I can work the Centurion situation by telepresence. I''ll see you in two hours, Detective Williams." With no more farewell that that, he hung up.


    "Who was that, and why are you going to collect me?" The Sergeant didn''t loom, but his feet were set ready to bolt if he didn''t like her answer.


    Heck with it. If JJ doesn''t like my results, he doesn''t want me anyway.


    "The FBI."


    Charlie vanished in a cloud of sheetrock dust.

 Chapter Twenty-Five - Exclusive

    Katrina folded her arms beneath her breasts, looking at Damien through lowered lashes.


    "I am not taking my shirt off, and that''s final."


    He quirked an eyebrow at her and wiped down the last plate of his armor, careful not to touch the surface of the metal with his fingers. When the surface gleamed, he carefully placed it atop the rest of his armor. Siren''s suit lay next to his, both tucked away at the bottom of a set of basement steps. The basement itself held the remains of the building; during the Rain of Fire the shock of so many meteorites hitting nearby shook the old building to pieces. Satisfied with his work, if not with Katrina''s stubbornness, he lifted the exterior basement doors, frame and all, from where he''d set them across the alley. They settled into place with a thump.


    Katrina stepped over to the doors and tugged on the handles, making sure Damien''s manhandling hadn''t dislodged any of the rust welding them shut. Despite her repeated insistence she''d been fully healed, she winced when the doors didn''t budge.


    He wrapped his unseen hands gently around her, cradling her and carrying her back to their battered news van. More than once the station offered to replace it, but the engine ran fine, the locks worked, and anything pristine stood out too much in the shattered streets of post-Rain Manhattan.


    "Y''know, I''m gonna get really upset if you keep doing this."


    "Ayep." He opened the van''s back doors, wafted Katrina gently inside.


    "I''ll insist you put me down and never pick me up again."


    Damien unfolded the old Army cot, the various poles sliding smoothly into position. The thing was dead easy to put together when you had as many hands as you needed.


    "I''ll start screaming about how you molest me. I''ll tell you to never touch me again."


    He lay her on the cot, scrunching a blanket up to mold the surface of the cot to her. With a few pairs of his hands he worked his way across her shoulders and down her sides, working the day''s tension from them. Her arms slid out from in front of her, dropping to droop bonelessly over the sides of the cot.


    "Don''t think I can''t see right through you."


    "Nope."


    Katrina had shed Siren''s high heeled boots the moment they''d arrived at the hiding spot, but the low black pumps she''d replaced them with couldn''t be much better. Damien slid them off her, leaning one shoulder against the back door of the van and watching her squirm as he worked his invisible fingers across the soles of her feet.


    "This is all just a ploy to get my shirt off. I know it."


    "Prolly so."


    Damien''s fingers wandered up Katrina''s calves, kneading the knotted muscles there. A soft hiss escaped her when he found the spot where her boot buckles always left faint sore spots. It melted into a faint groan as he worked the knots until they unclenched.


    "Yeah. Working. Buttons?"


    Unseen hands teased the front of her shirt, lifting it away from her skin and gently working the buttons free. She arched her back, freeing her shirt, and it slid up, bunching under her armpits.


    Her cell phone rang. Damien''s unseen hands froze.


    "Ignore it."


    He picked her phone up, glanced at the number. It wasn''t a number he recognized, and the caller Id showed ''blocked''. With a thought he flicked the ''hang up'' button and set the phone on the passenger seat of the van. He turned his attention back to Katrina''s shirt, teasing the buttons at her cuffs loose and tugging them over her hands.


    The phone rang again.


    Damien sighed, his shoulders sagging as he pulled the phone back in front of him. He checked the number, then flipped open the laptop bolted to one of the van''s shelves and started a search.


    "Hang. Up."


    "Nope."


    Katrina''s eyes opened to slits, and she levered herself up onto her elbows. "Why not?" Her voice wobbled between frustration and curiosity.


    "Same number. DC."


    She flopped back onto the cot, a stifled shriek slipping from between her clenched teeth. The roof of the van vibrated until she stopped. She held out one hand.


    Reading on Amazon or a pirate site? This novel is from Royal Road. Support the author by reading it there.


    "Help me up."


    Damien''s invisible hands slipped behind her back to lift her gently to a sitting position. As he did, he reached out with one flesh and blood hand to trace the bruises across her abdomen.


    "They''re just bruises, Damien. I''ll be fine."


    "I hate seeing you hurt."


    "Yeah, well. You gonna stop?"


    "Nope."


    "And I''m not going to let you do it alone, so I''m gonna get dinged up now and then. Hand me the phone and get us moving. I want fast food and my own bed tonight."


    Damien handed her the phone with another pointed look at her exposed bruises. She shook her head, but smiled at him.


    "You can pamper me all night tonight, but for now I''ll be fine."


    Damien flipped on the interior lights, pulled a safety belt around Katrina and buckled it, then closed the back doors. Before he walked around to the driver''s seat, he leaned his head against the doors. No matter what, he couldn''t lose her again. Without looking, he brought his legions of unseen fists crashing down into the cellar door.


    ***


    Katrina stared at the phone, wishing she could just let the call go to voice mail. As she reached to press the ''connect'' button, a rumbling crash sounded from behind the van. Before she could react, the driver''s door swung open and Damien slid into the driver''s seat.


    "Settling."


    "Okay. Let''s go."


    The ringing stopped, and Katrina winced. She hit the buttons to redial, but before the call went through she got a text message.


    ''Ms. Wells. Please answer your phone. Special Agent Johnson.''


    That explains the DC number.


    The phone rang again, and Katrina spent a moment making sure she''d answer rather than dialing Agent Johnson back.


    "Good Afternoon, Agent Johnson. Sorry to keep you waiting. This is Katrina Wells. What can I do for you?"


    "Good Afternoon, Ms. Wells. I''m Special Agent Johnson. I''m with the FBI. I need to ask you a few questions about the vigilantes known as the Centurion and Siren."


    Johnson''s deep bass reminded Katrina of any number of African American leading men. His accent placed him as former military, or maybe an Army brat. Katrina''s gut clenched, but a smile teased across her lips at his use of ''Siren'' instead of ''Shriek''.


    "If you send me an email address I can send you all of the pieces I''ve done on them."


    "Please, Ms. Wells, don''t be disingenuous. I''ve seen all of your news reports. They''re why I''m calling you."


    The pleasure at being recognized disappeared as the implications of Johnson''s words sunk in. Still, Katrina hadn''t survived television this long without being able to think on her feet.


    "Do you have more information for me?"


    "Ms. Wells, so far the FBI is aware of six incidents where Centurion and Siren have intervened during some form of violent crime. Additionally, my analysts tell me Centurion may be the same man you interviewed on the night of the Rain of Fire. If that''s the case, you''ve filmed every one of Centurion''s vigilante actions, and you''re the only one who has interviewed him."


    Katrina shifted gears, trying to throw the Agent off his game. "Is there a point you''re trying to make, Agent Johnson?"


    "I believe you may be in contact Centurion or his partner."


    Her response came before she had a chance to think about it. "I''m afraid, as a member of the press, I can''t reveal my sources."


    "I''m not asking you to, Ms. Wells."


    "I find that hard to believe, Agent Johnson."


    "Ms. Wells, I need to speak with Centurion or his partner. If you are in direct contact with them, I need you to have them contact me. If not, I need to speak with your source, for the same reason. I had been hoping I could find a way to contact Centurion or Siren directly, but this afternoon''s events have forced my hand."


    Katrina''s producer cut the live feed when she fell. Somehow Johnson had seen the whole thing anyway. If Centurion and Siren didn''t disappear, they would wind up being disappeared to somewhere like Guantanamo Bay, or worse.


    "What is this all about?"


    "I''m afraid I can''t tell you that, Ms. Wells."


    "Then I don''t see why I''m going to help you. I am a reporter, after all."


    Jamil sighed audibly and, by the sound coming over the line, covered his mouthpiece with his hand and muttered something uncharitable. "Ma''am, I''m not in much of a mood or position to bargain with you at this point..."


    "But?"


    "Can I speak to you entirely off the record?"


    "That depends on what you tell me."


    "I can''t tell you anything unless I know it won''t go any further until I give you the go-ahead."


    Katrina bit her lip. Johnson had news about something big, and she wanted it, but she couldn''t give in too easily, or he''d never tell her anything.


    "Are you suggesting you want me to be part of a cover up? I can''t guarantee that. In fact, I can guarantee I won''t be. I take my profession very seriously."


    "Miss Wells, are you telling me your professional ethics won''t let you be part of a cover up?"


    "Duh." Pain and fatigue were finally taking their toll, the word slipped out before she could stop it. She continued quickly. "I''m sorry, Agent Johnson, that was rude of me. Yes, that''s exactly what I''m telling you. I may be a reporter, but I''m not paparazzi."


    "You take your career seriously, Ms. Wells."


    "Seriously enough to travel to Manhattan while it''s still burning in order to cover the biggest story of my lifetime."


    Johnson''s pause was just long enough for her to worry he''d hung up, and his next words forced her upright, desperately hoping she hadn''t misheard. "It might not be."


    "Oh?"


    "Miss Wells, I will make a deal with you. If you will agree to hold off on reporting any information you get from me or regarding me until I release that information, I will personally guarantee you exclusive access."


    Static fuzzed Johnson''s last few words. Katrina mashed the mute button.


    "Turn around! I''m losing signal!"


    As the van spun, Damien''s invisible hands holding her steady despite her lack of a backrest, Katrina unmuted her phone.


    "Agent Johnson, are you there?"


    "Yes, Ms. Wells. I''m here, although I''m almost out of time. Do we have an agreement?"


    "One caveat; if I find you''re trying to cover up some illegal act by someone in the government, all bets are off."


    "Ma''am, I take my job as seriously as you do yours. If you ever catch me trying to hide something I''ve done wrong, you have my permission to put it on the ten o clock news."


    "Deal. What do you have for me, Agent Johnson?"


    "First of all, I really don''t have any more time. Second, I do need to talk to Centurion or Siren. Once I have, I''ll be able to find some time to speak with you again."


    "I''ll see what I can do." Holding the phone away from her face, she muttered, "This better be worth it."


    Johnson''s deep bass carried, she heard it even with the phone held away from her ear. "It will be, Ms. Wells. It will be."

 Chapter Twenty-Six - Super Heroes?

    "We need to stop for some water. I''m parched."


    Drew glanced over her shoulder. Jesse lay curled across the back seat, her shoes off, her eyes squeezed shut against the light. A look in the rear view showed her the trailer she''d borrowed from Charlie''s junkyard. The back of Jack''s head rested against the front of the trailer, his feet stretched out toward the tailgate. The trailer wasn''t meant to hold passengers, and couldn''t be comfortable, but he''d nodded, hopped in, and settled down for the ride. His posture hinted at a desire for a hat to pull down to shade his eyes.


    "Can it wait until we get there, Jess? There''s a convenience store just across the street from the bank, and parking this thing is going to be a pain." Jesse didn''t reply, she just curled a little tighter and mewled a bit.


    Ten minutes later they passed the bank. Drew maneuvered the car and trailer through a jug handle to get turned around, then pulled around behind the bank looking for a big enough space to fit the old sedan and Jack''s trailer. Plastic sheeting and two by fours shaped into a crude tent covered the back of the bank, leaving no room for her to park, so she just stopped and turned the car off. The uniformed officer standing by the plastic tent started toward her, but smiled when he saw her climb out of the car.


    "Detective Williams! God, I''m glad you''re here."


    "What''s up, Tony?"


    "You''ve got to see it to believe it. The FBI guy is in there waiting for you." He nodded toward the tarp.


    She nodded and leaned back into the car. "Jess, we''re here. You okay to walk over to the store?"


    Jesse uncurled and twisted upright, up until the light hit her eyes.


    "Argh. I''m gonna get some aspirin while I''m there, too."


    "Yeah, you do that."


    Jesse crouched, pushed the far door open a crack, and oozed out into the car''s shadow. Drew hid a shudder and walked around to the trailer. Jack cracked one eye open a hair and peeked at her.


    "We there, ma''am?"


    "Yep. D''you need a hand up?"


    With one smooth motion Sergeant Maliss pushed himself up and stepped off the end of the trailer. The trailer''s springs creaked, bouncing the whole thing into the air an inch before settling down again. Before moving any further he shrugged and rolled his shoulders. Clanks and crunches filled the air.


    "Any thoughts on getting airborne?" she asked quietly.


    "No idea, ma''am. Shall we go see your Agent Johnson?"


    "He''s not my agent. I think we can wait for Jess. I''ve got to ask; have you ever been in law enforcement, Sergeant?"


    He stared at her through narrowed eyes. "Not as such, ma''am."


    "Not even as an MP?"


    "Nope. Sorry to disappoint you."


    She shrugged. "It''s not a disappointment. You just... give off a cop vibe. Maybe it''s your time in the military."


    Sergeant Maliss returned her shrug, then shifted to look at the plastic covered bank. After a minute or so he nodded. "What do you think we''ll find in there?"


    "I''m not sure, but it''s got Tony shaken up. He''s a solid guy."


    After that they stood, silent, waiting for Jesse. Before she returned, a figure appeared behind the translucent plastic. Tony leaned over and said something, nodding his head as he did. As soon as he stopped talking the person pushed through a gap in the sheeting. He wore an expensive looking, dark suit, the white shirt standing out starkly against his dark skin. Drew couldn''t tell if he shaved his head or was naturally bald, but either way his head gleamed in the afternoon sun.


    "Wait here for Jess, and bring her along when she gets back."


    "Yes, ma''am."


    Drew stepped forward to meet the oncoming Agent, out of long habit sizing him up as she did. The tailoring of his suit couldn''t hide the thickness of his body and limbs, but given the stark planes of his face, the suit hid very little fat. It couldn''t hide his guns perfectly, either, although it did a better job with the one on his ankle than the one in a shoulder holster under his right arm.


    "Special Agent Johnson, I presume?" She stuck out one hand in greeting.


    He shook her hand, his grip the careful one she''d felt from men who knew they could injure someone if they squeezed someone''s hand wrong. His restraint told her as much as his conditioning.


    "Yes, Detective Williams. Thank you for coming." He nodded toward the Sergeant and called out. "Sergeant Maliss. Could you join us, please?"


    "I asked him to wait for Jess. She stepped over to the convenience store for some aspirin."


    If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it.


    Johnson frowned, but didn''t hesitate. "Officer, could you direct Ms. Rachelson inside to join us when she returns?"


    "Sure thing, Agent Johnson."


    Drew stifled a sigh and half-turned to the Sergeant. "Sergeant, could you come with us, please?"


    He smirked, but walked forward. When he closed enough, he shook the Fed''s hand. "Good to meet you, Agent Johnson."


    "We''ve met before. Quantico, eighty two."


    Jack froze. "I didn''t think anyone remembered that."


    Johnson turned and, with a nod, indicated the Sergeant and Drew should follow him. "I might not have, but you haven''t changed much."


    "Changed plenty. Just not where it shows."


    Drew looked to the sergeant. "You never told me you were in the FBI."


    "Wasn''t. Instructed at Quantico for a spell."


    They pushed past layers of plastic, the dry scent of brick dust heavy in the air. When they won free of the final sheeting, it took a moment for Drew''s eyes to adjust. When they did, she froze, staring at the hole blasted out of the side of the bank. Fragments of the image stood out; a few bricks incongruously inside the bank, all but one shattered into fragments. Footprints leading from the gaping interior of the bank to one edge of the small, plastic-walled enclosure. A white sheet covered in red stains draped over a lump to one side of the hole in the wall.


    Drifting in a fugue state, she felt things sliding into place in the back of her mind. She reached out to lay a hand on JJ''s shoulder before speaking. "What the hell happened here?"


    "Someone stole the bank vault. As for details, I was hoping you could help me figure that out. Any cameras close enough to get a good view are gone, but we did get a shot of a lowboy tractor trailer leaving the area. Other than that, I''d rather not prejudice you."


    Drew reached into her back pocket for her gloves. "The hell?" She kept her gloves in her jacket pocket. She pulled on pair of latex gloves and started through the rubble, letting her gaze roam, looking for inconsistencies.


    "The footprints are too deep."


    "Even for Jack, here?"


    Drew''s gut clenched at JJ''s mention of the sergeant, but didn''t let sudden unease disturb her concentration on the crime scene. She let her mouth run to keep JJ busy while she worked, otherwise he''d pester her.


    "No idea. Sergeant Maliss, could step over there next to those imprints in the dirt for comparison?"


    "Are you accusing me of something, Mr. Johnson?"


    "No, Jack. Your whereabouts during the time frame this happened are pretty well documented. I''d be lying if I said I''d crossed anyone off my suspect list at this point though." Drew noted JJ''s continued use of the sergeant''s first name. Maliss scared him, and keeping him on a first name basis helped defuse any potential violence.


    "Please, Sergeant, I''m trying to get an idea how much weight the perp was carrying. Angela weighed you recently, so I can use that for comparison."


    Muttering under his breath, the sergeant did as she asked him, moving carefully to avoid any of the loose bricks. When he stepped into the soft dirt, his feet sank in until he stood ankle deep in dirt. The boot prints beside him descended at least another foot into the ground. She waved him back, then stepped up and looked carefully into both holes.


    "How much did the vault weigh?"


    Johnson answered immediately, "Twenty five thousand pounds, plus the contents."


    Drew did some mental math. "That sounds a little light."


    "It''s a smaller vault, installed when the original rusted out."


    She ran through the numbers again. "Our suspect is of normal human weight. Sergeant Maliss would have sunk deeper. Three inches at least."


    What am I talking about? How do I know this stuff?


    "Excellent. Please, go on."


    Drew bit her lip, trying not to scream in terror at the foreign knowledge lurking in her brain. Desperate to keep JJ from figuring out she had a problem, she moved through the ruins, careful not to disturb any of the debris. "Has the area been documented?"


    "Digital photographs and video. I''ll have them transferred to you."


    She leaned down to pick up a brick laying slightly propped up by something beneath it. A tiny syringe, cracked and crushed near flat, lay beneath. She scooped it up, careful not to leave any of the plastic on the ground. She wrapped her fingers around the shattered barrel before anyone else could notice the faint blue glow.


    "I need an evidence marker." She glanced around, realizing now she hadn''t seen any so far. "Hasn''t forensics been here?"


    "Been and gone, and none of them found what you just did. Pardon, Detective, but do you have any relatives named Donaldson?"


    Drew twisted in place to look at the agent. "Are you trying to tell me there''s something about me you don''t know?"


    He shook his head and took a deep breath before speaking. "I''m sorry. You remind me of someone I used to work with."


    The sergeant grunted, his eyes shooting wide. "Jane Donaldson? She partnered up with you?"


    "She worked for me for a while. Speaking of which, now that we''re all here I can explain the other reason I called you in here. Miss Rachelson, please don''t ever try to sneak up on me again."


    Jesse oozed up from the ground behind JJ, speaking as she did. "I''m sorry, Agent Johnson. I''ve been fighting an awful headache. I don''t know what the heck came over me."


    "Apology accepted, Miss."


    Jack cut in, his voice more ominous for its near silence. "You were about to say something about a reason?"


    "The Bureau was hit hard by the Rain of Fire. We''re keeping it under wraps, but... Up until that night I ran a small division of my own in DC. There''s a reason I''m in the field rather than behind a desk."


    "And you''re telling us this why?" Drew prompted.


    "You''ve all passed background checks. You''re the largest group to have done so."


    Jack took a single step to his right. Drew shifted, making sure if he bolted or went for the agent, she wouldn''t be in the line of fire. She had no idea what she''d do if he did, though.


    "I''m not joining the Bureau. Same reasons as last time."


    "I didn''t think you would, but I had to ask." Jack turned to go, and JJ spoke again. "Please wait, I still need to talk to you."


    Jack shrugged and stopped.


    Drew still hadn''t gotten over JJ''s earlier phrase. "The largest group of what?"


    "The largest group of individuals affected in a significantly positive manner by the Rain of Fire. I''d love to recruit all three of you as Agents, but by the look on Miss Rachelson''s face, she''s not interested in Quantico either. However, my division at the Bureau is specifically tasked with liaison with external assets, and at this point we''re desperate for anything we can lay our hands on, no matter how outr¨¦. You''ve performed as an external asset before, Sergeant. Would you have a problem doing so again?"


    "I don''t do that anymore, Johnson. I''m really not Sergeant Maliss any more either. I''m just plain old Jack Maliss. If the Bureau needs some carpentry done, or maybe some remodeling, I''m your guy, but that''s about all I can do."


    JJ looked at Drew, then at the wide swath of ground disturbed where Jesse crawled up, and finally stared pointedly at the footprints Jack left in the pavement. "Are you sure about that? Are you all really sure the most effective use of your newfound talents is to pound nails, or to drive an ambulance? Your country needs your help. Your fellow Americans... your friends need your help." The agent wound down, his gaze fixed on Drew.


    Jesse figured it out first, and her voice squeaked out of a mouth suddenly as tiny as a cartoon character''s, beneath eyes wide as saucers. "The FBI wants us to work for them as super heroes?"

 Chapter Twenty-Seven - Liability

    Angela lifted the damp rag from her face and stared across the break room at Steve. "What did you say?"


    "You back?" Steve glanced up from the pile of rubble which used to be a door. Before she could reply, he reached in, grabbed a twisted metal stud and pulled. The beam slid partway out, hooked on another beam, and slipped out of his hand.


    "Yeah, but I kinda wish I wasn''t. My head is killing me. What''s with you playing janitor?"


    "Charlie freaked when Drew said she was going to talk to the Feds. He left a note. Troy''s supposed to be here later to get things fixed. ''Til then this mess is a hazard, so..." He nodded at a big, thick sided trash can in the hallway.


    "Yeah. Who were you talking to a second ago?"


    "Oh, yeah. Mercy just buzzed from the ER. There''s another wave of folks coming in."


    Angela couldn''t help herself; a low groan escaped before she bit her lip. She dropped the wet rag on her face again.


    "Yeah, I figured you''d feel that way. I told her you weren''t up to it."


    She pushed herself upright, the washcloth sliding down into her lap. "No. I''ve got to get down there." She opened her eyes. Light speared in, stabbing at the back of her brain. "I wish I had some aspirin."


    The moment the words left her mouth, the air in front of Angela wobbled like poorly set gelatin. Before anything could appear, the chemical formula for acetylsalicylic acid spun past her mind''s eye, followed by a molecular model. Interactions with neurotransmitters and binding sites animated before her. Reality firmed without breaking.


    "That... that was incredibly strange."


    "What?"


    Something strange about Steve''s voice made her look up; the top of his head and his eyes poked over the top of the trash can.


    "What are you doing back there?"


    "Last time you wished for something, you got stupid. Last time you got stupid with just you and me around, you tried to practice your walnut cracking on my junk."


    She smiled at him, trying to see the humor in the situation. "You''ll heal."


    "Yeah, well, healing isn''t what I''m worried about. I still feel everything that''s going on."


    "I still know how stupid I am."


    Steve straightened up from behind the can and leaned on it. "You mean the whole time you''re acting like the next extra special guest star on Romper Room, you''re playing?"


    "No!" Her own shout echoed inside her head, driving her toward a fetal crouch. "No... I can''t control myself. It''s like a five year old has control of my body, and I''m just along for the ride. I try to tell her what to do, but she doesn''t listen."


    "Duh." The cabinets rattled, driving Angela completely into a ball.


    "What the hell are you talking about, Steve?" she whined as Steve crunched something against the counter.


    "You haven''t listened to anyone since you were four years old back in the retard class."


    Fury pushed Angela out of her cocoon. She shoved herself upright, only to find a can of soda and a short handful of crushed painkillers six inches from her face.


    "Yeah, I kinda figured you''d have that reaction."


    "It was a special needs inclusion class, you ass. I got picked as a regular ed kid because the teacher knew me from Sunday school." She wanted the caffeine nearly as much as the painkillers, but at this point wouldn''t take water from Steve if she were dying of thirst. Her hands started to lift on their own, but she forced them back into her lap and glared at him.


    "I always kinda wondered. I thought you might have had ADD, or Aspergers, or one of those other A syndromes. I had... what do they call it now? Oppositional defiant disorder? Whatever. I was a bad kid, and they thought they could get me to behave by throwing me in with good kids." One handed, he spun the soda around and popped the top. Without breaking eye contact, he held both a little closer to her.


    "What the hell are you talking about."


    "I was in your class, moron. Damn, you mean I did all this," he gestured toward himself in a vague manner, "for nothing?"


    Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.


    Angela glanced at the ceiling, memories of names and faces from decades before scrolling across her vision. "There weren''t any Stevens in my class. No Stephens or Steves either. What the hell are you talking about?"


    "That''s ''cause my first name isn''t Steven, it''s Antony. You told me Antony sounded stupid, and Tony was just as bad. You nixxed all my good ideas for careers, too. I mean, you dissed firefighting too, but all you said about it was that I''d get horribly burned and wish I was dead. When I graduated high school, I figured I could go back to using ''Tony Chambers'', grow a ''stache, and go into porn, or stick with ''Steve'' and become a firefighter." Gaze never leaving Steve''s eyes, Angela absentmindedly held out her hands. "God, you listen to a hot chick because she''s supposed to be one of the good ones, and she doesn''t even remember the damn life coaching. You were even more of a bitch than I thought back then."


    Half intending to apologize, she pulled Steve''s hand closer and tipped the crushed pills into her mouth. The awful bite of raw aspirin filled her mouth, and she chugged the soda to clear it. Carbonated sugar water hit acidic powder, and the entire concoction turned to foaming fizz in her mouth and throat. She spent the next few seconds gagging while she staggered to the sink, stuck her head under, and turned on the water. Nothing came out. When she jiggled the tap, the entire thing came off in her hand.


    "The hell?" she gasped. "The soda is warm, and the sink is busted."


    Steve finished around on the top shelf of the cabinet and walked over to the door, a roll of yellow plastic tape in hand. "Yeah. We''re not sure, but we think you busted it when your inner child threw a tantrum."


    "I busted the refrigerator?"


    "No. Jeez, are you sure you didn''t make yourself permanently stupid? You busted the sink."


    Angela shook her head and ground her teeth while she counted silently to ten. "Are you sure you don''t have adult onset Tourette''s? Why the hell is the soda warm?"


    "Because I figured you''d want the samples kept cool."


    "What samples?" Another drink of soda to clear her mouth of the awful, bitter taste of foaming painkiller wound up with fizz filling her throat again.


    Steve rolled his eyes and walked over to the ''fridge. With a theatrical flourish, he swung the door open and waved a hand at a row test tubes and orange lidded sample cups. Her gaze swept over the sample cups and came to rest on the row of glowing blue test tubes, each with a neatly printed name. Without thinking about it, she found herself kneeling before the open door, running a finger down each name.


    Jesse didn''t have a blood sample, just a urine cup with a bit of beige ooze in the bottom. When she lifted it and tipped the container a little, it humped its way to the spot her fingers touched the outside of the container. She set it back on the rack and went back to the blood samples.


    "How... how did you get Jack''s sample?"


    "Yeah, you owe me for that one. I take cash, credit, or unspeakable acts of carnal depravity."


    "Seriously, Steve, I tried for weeks to get a sample, but trying to get a good draw from him is like trying to get a sample from a dash board. The needle just won''t sink in."


    "Yeah, I kinda figured. That one might have some impurities. Spit. Snot. Maybe some skin."


    "What?"


    "The spit and snot is from him. The skin is from my fist. Don''t worry about it, he''s had a broken nose before, and I''m sure he will again. Besides, you should have seen the other guy."


    She glanced up at him. Other than the dust worked into every crease in his skin, he looked fine. "Weren''t you the other guy?"


    "Yeah, but as has been noted, I heal quick. You were drooling and staring at the... staring at something the whole time."


    She narrowed her eyes, imagining the worst. "Staring at what, Steve?"


    "The... the thing. Oh, hell no. I''m not going to be responsible for another session with Mega Moppet when the ER needs you."


    A few seconds thought and Angela had it. "You mean the mirror? The one I..." hesitance not unlike his own filled her, "summoned?"


    Steve winced, trying to sidle away without looking like it. "Yeah. that."


    When the wall of gray dust didn''t slam down, she exhaled. "Yeah. I think that''s done. I''m not sure what happened, but I wish I knew."


    Steve didn''t try to hide it this time; he dove for the remains of the couch fort. She stared at him until he uncurled.


    "What the hell, Steve?"


    "Every time you say ''I wish'', shit goes down. I don''t want you going down on me." He stopped, thinking about what he''d said. "I mean..."


    "Can it, Steve. I wish I had a stick to beat you with." Reality wobbled before her eyes. The mechanics of simple handheld levers filled her mind, along with a pr¨¦cis on the parts of a human body where a simple stick could inflict maximum pain with minimal long term damage. "That is really weird."


    "What''s that?"


    "I didn''t get a stick. I got the idea of a stick, in excruciating detail."


    "Yeah. Weird. That''s not the idea of a mirror."


    Angela looked at the full length mirror leaning against the wall. A bit of pictographic graffiti, maybe Chinese, marred one corner near the bottom. "No... it''s not... and I studied optics as an undergrad. I thought about going into astronomy for a while, actually."


    "Yeah. Well, when you''re done reminiscing about our school days and fondling the samples I sacrificed myself to get you, Mercy''s screaming bloody murder to get a doctor down in the ER."


    "Where''s everyone else? I''m not the only doctor in the hospital."


    Steve pushed himself halfway up, caught the twisted frame of the couch, and pulled himself the rest of the way upright. "Yeah, well. Ward is up working one of the tent clinics in Newark. Sanderson went with him, not that she''s much of a loss. Gardner and West called in sick today. All the specialists who hadn''t gone to their vacation homes before the Rain high tailed it for their survival cabins. Damn preppers."


    "What happened to Wilson?"


    He just stared at her, his eyes going wide. After an uncomfortable silence, he finally spoke. "You really were out of it when I brought you up here. Wilson is in ICU. You sent him there about four hours before you collapsed."


    "Who''s been treating patients while I lay around here?"


    "Mercy and the rest of the nursing staff. You mean you think they really need you here for anything but liability?"


    Angela stood, brushed herself off, and started looking for a clean lab coat. "So why are they yelling so loud for me now?"


    Steve picked up an old style pinstriped lab coat. A quick snap got most of the dust off, and the stains were dry and old. It would do. She held out her arms and he helped her into it. "Hey, liability''s a serious thing. Nobody''s gonna take a fall for you, y''know."

 Chapter Twenty-Eight - Meteorite

    Long before Steve followed Angela through the ER doors, he caught the scent of metal in the air. Walking into the room, the smell overwhelmed him, and he stood there until the door thumped against his foot.


    "There''s something... Someone''s bleeding in here."


    "It''s an ER, Steve."


    "I mean bleeding out. This place smells like an abattoir."


    Angela stopped, glanced over her shoulder at him, and conspicuously sniffed at the air. A frown flickered across her face, quickly replaced by a carefully controlled look friendly professional curiosity.


    "Are you going to be okay?"


    Steve pushed himself from the doorway, keeping upright by sheer force of will.


    "I''ll be fine. You need a minder."


    She rolled her eyes. "Please, Steve. I''ve been working the ER for a while now without a babysitter."


    "That was before you started summoning random crap, turning yourself even stupider, and... before your patients might include someone who can rip the doors off a truck."


    "What are you going to do if someone comes at me with a truck door, Steve?"


    He shrugged. "Get in the way, mostly."


    "Yeah, that''s what I thought."


    She was such a pain in the ass sometimes, especially when she knew she wasn''t going to get her way. "No, moron. I meant I''ll get in their way until someone can sedate them, or call the cops or something."


    She stopped in her tracks again. "Careful, Steve. Keep doing that we''ll all think you''re a hero or something."


    "Yeah, yeah. I''ll go molest some eighteen year olds later to keep your expectations low. Don''t you have work to do?"


    She started for the nurses'' station again. Halfway across the floor she slowed, and Steve stepped up beside her. "Steve, can you tell where the iron smell is coming from?"


    He shook his head. "I told you, it''s everywhere. This place smells like a convention for women on the rag that ran out of deodorant and water."


    "Thanks for the colorful description."


    "Hey, I aim to please."


    They reached the nurses'' station, and Angela leaned on the counter, patiently waiting for one of the nurses to look up. Most of them frantically alternated between reading information off computer screens, scribbling notes on charts, and pulling bits of equipment and bottles of medicine out of a nearly empty supply cooler. Eventually the head nurse, a heavyset woman, looked up from her computer.


    "Doctor Merilyn." Steve watched several choice words race across Mercy''s lips before she finally ground out, "Thank god you''re here."


    "I''m sorry about my absence. I''m having a reaction to the meteorite dust."


    Mercy paused in the act of handing a tablet to Angela. "Are you well enough to see to patients, doctor?"


    Angela twisted her lips into what might charitably be called a smile. "I''ll be fine. I''ve had some fainting spells. That''s why Steve''s here; if I fall over, he''ll keep me from adding to your workload."


    "Does he mind being pressed into service as an orderly?"


    Steve shrugged. "I''ve done it before. I just don''t want to get too far from her. She''ll work until she drops. Literally."


    Mercy stared at him, then at her, before nodding and handing over the tablet. "Over the past few hours, we''ve had eighty people coming into the ER complaining of fatigue. Those are the worst cases. Tell me what you notice about them."


    The screen on the tablet flickered as Angela paged through the reports. At one point she sat there tapping her toe while the screen showed a ''loading'' animation. The whole time Mercy frowned at her. When Angela handed her the tablet, the nurse exploded.


    "I spent the past four hours putting those together, and you barely even looked at them!"


    Angela blinked, shocked at the outburst. "I read them."


    "Don''t try lying to me. I was watching you the whole time. You didn''t even look at most of..."


    "Pick a file."


    Mercy stopped, her mouth hanging open. "What are you talking about?"


    "Pick a patient. Quiz me. Yeah, you were watching me. I read each and every one."


    She stared at the nurse until she relented and tapped the tablet again. After a few screen flicks, she said, "Okay, doctor. Barrios."


    "Susan or Miguel?"


    Now it was Mercy''s turn to blink. "Susan."


    Angela closed her eyes and tilted her head back until her nose pointed at the ceiling. "Susan Barrios. Age fifty. Complaining of lethargy and blood in her urine. Temperature low, but nothing dangerous. Low blood pressure, pushing into dangerous levels. Blood tests indicate red blood count and glucose are within norms, but iron is dangerously low. Anemia due to low iron. Dietary consultation indicates patient has normal iron intake in her diet, she picked up the habit when she was pregnant thirty years ago and never stopped."


    Mercy stared at the screen, her jaw hanging open. Half dazed, she muttered, "Her patient ID number?"


    Angela rolled her eyes again. "One, four, four, six, nine, one."


    "I''m sorry, doctor. I... I''ve never seen anyone read a patient''s records that quickly." Half to herself, Mercy muttered, "and no one reads the ID numbers."


    "I read everything you hand me. I noticed three things; over ninety percent of today''s patients are here for fatigue, all of the patients complaining of loss of energy have low iron, and all of the patients here for injuries were due to accidents caused by metal fatigue."


    Mercy''s eyes shot wide at the last comment, and she started flicking through records, finally lighting on one and going through it in detail.


    "How did you... Never mind. There''s no single case we can''t handle, even the injuries, but this is an epidemic."


    "Have you started giving the patients iron supplements?"


    "We did, but we''ve run out. The pharmacy says the big container they had open went bad, so we''ve been stuck with the smaller individually wrapped packages."


    Angela froze, staring at the ceiling. "Wait... have you," she waved her hands, and Steve motioned for Mercy to wait. After a few moments of muttering too low for even Steve to pick out individual words, she looked straight at Steve. "Do you still have that crowbar you used to keep in the break room?"


    He nodded. "Unless somebody moved it."


    Stolen novel; please report.


    "Still in the same spot?"


    "Yeah."


    "You two wait here."


    With that Angela darted through the ER waiting room, dodging around a few children playing while their parents waited. She disappeared through the break room curtain, emerging a few seconds later with his crowbar cradled under one arm. She darted back just as quickly, her lips moving in an endless mutter the entire time.


    "Okay, you two. Steve, when did you get this?"


    "Um... two years ago?"


    "Right. Do me a favor and pry the nurses'' station free of the floor?"


    "What the..." Mercy started, but Angela lay a hand on her arm. The nurse looked at her, glanced at the file on her tablet, and subsided.


    Steve walked over to the nurses'' station, bent down, and jammed the flat end of the crowbar under the edge of the station. It went in with a curious crunch, like he''d hit a patch of wood infested with dry rot. He shoved down, seating the bar, and pulled up as hard as he could.


    The bar snapped, the hooked end slamming into the bottom of his jaw. Teeth crunched, and blood filled his mouth. Before he could do anything, Angela pulled the bar away, brushing flecks of flaking metal out of the cut on the underside of his chin. He turned away, spat a mouthful of blood on the floor, and then pushed himself to his feet.


    Angela held both parts of the bar in her hands. Fingerprints marred the curved end, and the flat end wasn''t flat any more. "Look at this. Iron, just like all the failed metal parts. Just like hemoglobin." She stared at the ceiling again. "Something''s destroying anything made of iron."


    Mercy interrupted her musing. "No it''s not."


    "What do you mean?"


    "Our syringes. The needles are steel. That''s made of iron. We haven''t had any fail."


    "Have you used any... wait, no, stupid question. You took blood samples, of course you used them. Iron is messed up, but not steel? No, the car frame that put Mr. Saxon in traction must have been steel, they don''t make them out of pot metal."


    "Might have been aluminum."


    "SUV."


    "Make?"


    "GM."


    "Okay, steel then."


    "Thank you, Steven. I appreciate you confirming things I already know."


    "No problem, bitch queen. I love verbal abuse when I''m trying to help."


    Angela shook her head, frowning. "Damn. You''re right. I''m sorry, it''s just... I''m so close. I think I can..." She turned to Mercy. "You haven''t re-used any needles, have you?"


    The nurse shot her a look of absolute, disgusted horror, "What do you think we are, an ER or a crack house? Of course we don''t re-use needles."


    "Weren''t we low before I went under?"


    "Yeah, but we found another case just after you passed out."


    Angela cocked her head, "Are you sure? I scoured everyplace I could think of. Where did you find them?"


    Mercy shrugged at her. "Under one of the seats in the waiting room, actually. The shipping labels were all in Spanish. I asked the patients if anyone had seen who left them, but no one knew. I figured either one of our delivery guys dropped them there or somebody decided to leave us a bit of charity."


    Angela''s jaw dropped open, and she stared at the wall. "You thought they were safe to use why?"


    "We checked, no one had tampered with the safety seals. I still didn''t let anyone use them until we''d run out of everything else, but..." She shrugged again. "Our vendors haven''t shipped us any in weeks. I guess they''re having staffing problems, what with the Rain."


    Angela''s gaze shot back to Mercy, pinning her in place. "No. They''re having material problems. I''ll bet every one of their shipments of steel is as messed up as this." She waved the crowbar around, and Mercy backed away. "The packaging, Mercy. You''re a genius!"


    Mercy blinked, obviously confused by Angela''s rapid fire mood changes. Steve just stared. He''d seen Angela like this before, back in med school. She wasn''t mood swinging, she was reacting to the stuff running through her head, and she usually didn''t share it because her mouth couldn''t keep up with her brain. He''d never seen her flopping around this fast before, though. She took a step toward the waiting room, stumbled, and he moved in to catch her. Before he could, she straightened.


    "The dust! Holy crap, the dust! It''s the only thing that''s changed. The dust is doing something to anything made of iron. It''s given everyone anemia, except a few of us, who..."


    "A few of you who what?" asked Mercy.


    "A few of us who are having a reaction to the dust. It''s... some kind of a syndrome comorbid with the anemia. Do we have enough syringes to get samples from all of the staff?"


    "Normally we would, but... Actually, most of the staff are gone too. We might, but..." Mercy stopped herself in mid-sentence. "You''re right. We need to make sure none of the staff are about to pass out. Is that what happened to you?"


    "Something similar. Get samples from everyone as soon as you can. If anyone displays obvious visual discrepancies in their samples, set them aside and get them to me as soon as you can."


    "What kind of ''visual discrepancies''?"


    "Trust me, you won''t believe me until you see it, and you won''t miss it if you do."


    Mercy shrugged and turned toward the ER waiting room. "I''ll make sure everyone gets back to work, as well. Let me know when you''ve got something more for us, okay?"


    "Sure. Send a candy striper out to scour the local drug stores for individually wrapped iron supplements."


    "Why?"


    "We''re going to need them, and anything not individually wrapped is going to go bad before we use it."


    "Okay."


    "Steve, what happened to that meteorite. The one that hit the hospital?"


    He searched his memory, not for what happened, but for the name of the guy involved. "A fed picked them up. FEMA guy. Named Johnson. Not sure what they did with it."


    She just shook her head once, then tilted it back, closed her eyes, and started muttering. Steve leaned back against the wall and watched as Angela shifted into high gear. Her lips moved, but no words came out. From the ones he lip read every now and then, she wasn''t saying everything she thought, just the highlights. Mercy had forgotten him, and Angela didn''t need him, so he leaned over to the nearest container of wet wipes, pulled out a few, and cleaned off his chin.


    He still had his hands full of damp disposable cloth when four words focused every bit of his attention on Angela.


    "I wish I had," he almost dove for cover before he heard the rest of her sentence, "one of those meteorites, an undamaged one."


    The entire room wobbled. Steve wanted to run, but Angela stood right next to the center of the wobble. "Dammit, moron!"


    He leapt, catching her waist with his shoulder and carrying them both through the doorway into the waiting room. They rolled, and he twisted to come up on top, rising to his feet before Angela stopped moving. A single clap of thunder filled the air, followed by a thump and the crackle of ice.


    Steve jumped back through the swinging door. Steam rose from a medicine ball made of rock sitting in the middle of the floor. Steam so cold it misted his breath. When the mist from his breath hit the rock, it crackled. Lists of accelerants and ignition points, all memorized years ago, raced through Steve''s head. He leapt for the nurses'' station, grabbed the two wheeled chairs, and shoved them toward the waiting room doors. The nurses seated in the chairs squawked, and Angela shouted when the nurses burst through the swinging doors into her face.


    Steve didn''t have time to deal with that. He yanked open the supply cooler and slammed one hand up through the shelves, knocking them all out of place. Bottles flew as he pulled the shelves out of the cooler, tossing them on the floor out of the way. He swept the last few bottles out and dove for the crackling meteorite.


    Fierce flames burst out from the edges of his palms when he picked it up. He didn''t have time for that, either. He raced back to the cooler, shoved the door shut, and spun the controls to the lowest temperature the machine could produce. Bits of skin stuck to the handles, and his hands screamed at him, but he still didn''t have time. Careful not to dislodge the plug, he spun the cooler so the glass door faced the wall, shoved it tight, and leaned against the back of the thing.


    His hands insisted. He gave up looking for something heavy to brace the cooler and huddled around them instead, never letting up on the pressure where he leaned against the mini-fridge. Angela found him that way when she finally made it back to the nurse''s station. By then he was lost in the exquisite agony of years of healing burns all happening over the course of a few minutes.


    "Steve? What the hell''s going on?"


    "You wished for a meteorite. Dumb bitch."


    He had the satisfaction of watching as her eyes went wide. Of course, the next moment she forgot her surprise as intellectual greed overwhelmed her.


    "Where is it?"


    "Cooler. Don''t!"


    She froze, both hands gripping the door. He wasn''t sure she could pull it away from the wall with him leaning on it, but if Mega-Moppet showed up, she could probably throw him across the room trying.


    "Why?"


    "Because it''s coated in accelerant. Lithium or sodium based, I''m guessing. Not too damn sure. Low ignition point. Explodes when exposed to water."


    "So I''ll try not to drool on it."


    "Or water vapor. Moron."


    She stopped again. When she looked at him this time, she focused on his hands. "Or sweat?"


    "Yeah."


    Gently, yet with irresistible insistence, she took his hands, turned them over, and stretched them out. They burned as she worked each joint, brushing away flaking ash as she did. After a minute or so she started talking, all the while looking at his hands.


    "The ones during the rain of fire burned their accelerant off setting themselves on fire, didn''t they?"


    "Don''t know. Didn''t see those. Something about a helicopter blade. Good guess though."


    "That thing would have set the ER on fire, wouldn''t it?"


    "Probably."


    "And now?"


    "Too cold. Ice shouldn''t react with it. Not too much frost in this thing, anyhow."


    She looked around her feet at the mess of crushed bottles, mangled shelves, and wasted medicine. After a while she finally met his gaze.


    "God, Steve. How did you know what to do?"


    "It was on fire. That''s kinda my thing."


    She snorted, holding back laughter by the slimmest of margins. "And the medicine on the floor?"


    He shrugged. "There''s a fire, I''m not playing janitor at the moment. Besides, medicine''s kinda your thing."


    She burst into laughter, stopping Mercy''s incoming wrath the moment the head nurse walked through the doors. When she had control of herself, she punched him square on the shoulder. After the burns, the breaks, and a blade through his chest, her punch wasn''t worth mentioning. Apparently Mega-Moppet wasn''t in the building.


    "Steve, you are a complete and utter ass hat."


    He nodded. "Yep. Guilty as charged."


    She rested the same hand she''d hit him with on his shoulder. "Promise me you''ll never change."

 Chapter Twenty-Nine - Concrete

    Charlie lay on his cot, the blanket neatly tucked beneath him. A slight breeze wafted across the room, chilling him awake. He opened his eyes to slits; his office had no drafts. The door stood open; Troy frozen halfway through sticking his head into the room. Charlie slipped to the floor, checked the locked box holding his costume, and took a deep breath. When a few minutes of meditation brought his heart rate back to normal, he let his time flow again.


    "Hey, Charlie, you in here?"


    Charlie stood, drawing Troy''s gaze. "Yeah. What''s up?"


    "You sleepin'' under the cot again, Charlie?"


    "Nah. I fell off just before you came in. Bad dreams."


    Troy''s smile slipped. He''d been Charlie''s sidekick since they met in kindergarten. Even then they''d looked after each other. "The helicopter again?"


    "Yeah, something like that. What did you need?"


    Troy shrugged. He never pushed, and Charlie appreciated that. "The section of the junk yard you roped off the other day... it had a Toyota Echo with solid quarter panels and some of the drive train left, didn''t it?"


    "Yeah. I stripped it down before I roped that spot off. Everything salable is in sector four with the rest of the unsorted parts. The rest I dumped in the recycle pile. Customer need it?"


    "Yeah. I''ll have the guys sort through that lot and bring me the bits he needs." Troy turned to go, but stopped halfway out the door, arguing silently with himself. Charlie waited patiently. When he turned back into the room, he spoke before Troy had a chance.


    "Special project. To do with the Rain."


    Troy nodded, but a frown flickered across his face. "I figured something like that." He paused again, the frown making another appearance. "Who''s doing the work?"


    Charlie grinned at him. "Who else would I trust with it?"


    "You''ve done all that yourself?"


    He shrugged his reply, then bent to pick up his toolbox. "Now that you mention it, I do need to get back to work. The first bit''s almost done. After that I''ll need to bring you in to handle the crew."


    Troy blinked. "Crew?"


    "Yeah. I''ve got some big plans. We might not be dealing junk for much longer."


    "No? Too bad, I kinda liked it. Saving the planet by recycling, y''know?"


    "You''ll love this, then."


    The frown disappeared completely, chased away by Troy''s usual optimism. "We''re finally building that recycling plant we always talked about?"


    "Not exactly."


    "Then what, man?"


    Charlie lifted one finger to his lips, hefted his toolbox, and left his office, Troy retreating in front of him. Before walking away, he reached into his pocket and pressed a pair of buttons. A reassuring paired clunk echoed down the hallway, drawing Troy''s attention from Charlie long enough for him to get around the nearest corner of the little shack.


    The moment Troy couldn''t see him, he held his time and sprinted into the junkyard.


    ***


    The massive patchwork tarp still covered Charlie''s project. He didn''t expect any of his employees to be a problem. They were solid guys, and he paid them well. Better, for some of them, he didn''t ask questions about their past or their personal lives, so long as it didn''t interfere with their work. They respected his privacy as much as he respected theirs.


    He lifted the edge of the tarp and slipped under. Inside, the oppressive heat wrung sweat from him instantly. Droplets of water hung from the underside of the plastic. The ongoing wheeze of the old dehumidifier still echoed through the space, but it had no deeper buzzing counterpoint, and no growling bass line. The generators had gone down again, taking the fans with them.


    If you spot this story on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.


    "Dammit. The concrete won''t cure right like this," he muttered. For the thousandth time he thought about pulling down the tarp. He wanted his project to be a surprise, but it had to come out right, or he wouldn''t show it to them at all.


    Just before he reached the clear space with the dehumidifier and the fans the smell of rotting meat hit him between the eyes like a hammer. He muttered curses under his breath as he looked around until he found it. An irregular oblong mound bulged from one of the foundation footings he''d poured the day before, a few ruptured bubbles showing the source of the decomposition gases. If the intruders hadn''t messed up the fuel feed on his generators, the stuff would have set before anything floated to the surface.


    "Son of a bitch." He enunciated each word clearly and carefully, letting his sudden rage flow out with them. His time flowed out along with his temper, and he yanked a utility knife out of his toolbox. A few minutes of work later the tarp collapsed, sections falling to cover the most important parts of his project, the rest flopping away to snag against neatly the stacked remains of old cars, heavy appliances, and outdoor furniture.


    That done, he pulled his cell phone from its holster and tagged the first speed dial. A few moments later she answered.


    "Hey Charlie, what''s up?" Drew''s voice tugged at him as much as it always had since the Rain. He took a deep breath, nearly gagged from the smell, and ignored it all in favor of more important things.


    "You''re still with the Fed, aren''t you?"


    Her response came immediately. "Yeah. Did you need me to drop something off or pick something up?"


    He looked around the open space, taking in the lumpy shapes hidden under plastic, the disturbed dirt, and the obstructed sight lines to any roads. After a moment he sighed and turned back to his phone.


    "Bring him along. We''ll need one. Someone left me another gift."


    "Um, I''m not sure he does that kind of thing."


    Bless Drew, even after he practically gave her permission to bring the Fed onto his property, she still tried to shelter him. He didn''t really need it anymore, except when he slept, but he appreciated the gesture. He took another deep breath, this time through his mouth to avoid the smell. He gagged anyway, but both the breath and the retching interfered with the formless panic trying to overwhelm him.


    "Yeah, well. I''m sure he has friends. Besides that, you heard what happened to FBI headquarters; he''s probably the only one in North Jersey at the moment."


    "Just a second." Static pushed his ear away from the phone; Drew had covered the receiver. He still heard a brief, muttered conversation through the phone; Drew''s sultry whisper dipping into a contralto growl, followed by a deep bass answer. After a few rounds of that the static stopped as Drew uncovered her phone.


    "Yeah. He''s not the normal guy, but Nick''s still MIA in NYC. I''ll have to do the grunt work, but JJ can sign his name on the dotted lines."


    Charlie said, "JJ?" just as a deep male voice on the other end of the line protested, "I think I still remember how to investigate a murder, Detective Williams."


    "Yeah. Just keep everyone away from the scene until we get there."


    "Will do."


    He hung up and stared at his phone. He''d have to spring his surprise early. He hadn''t thought to make sure Drew still had Jesse with her, but if she didn''t, he''d find a way to deal. Decision made, he flipped to the second number on his speed dial. The answer came almost immediately.


    "Doctor Merilyn here. Go."


    "Hey, Angela. Are you busy?"


    "Just a lot. I''m the only doctor available to the hospital right now. I''m juggling taking care of the inpatients, diagnosing the critical cases in the ER, and my old job of terminal care, which is thankfully down to just Jane, although I''m a little concerned about where Roger ran off to. I''m also trying to figure out what''s happening to us, because I''d really like to avoid the whole ''becoming a puddle of blue goo'' thing. Oh, yeah, I''m trying to keep from collapsing again, although I''ve got Steve giving me some help there. You?"


    "Waiting on Drew and her pet Fed."


    Angela''s response came without a pause, confirming a suspicion he''d harbored for a while. "Another body dumped in your junkyard?"


    "Yep. You need a break?"


    "Desperately. Don''t have time to..." she cut off, and for a few seconds only breathing and murmurs sounded through the phone. "Too much to do, and too little of me to do it."


    "Right. Put Steve on the phone please?"


    "Hey, Chuck," Steve said after a few moments of static. "Angie tells me they left you another one."


    "Yeah, and it''s right in the middle of something I wanted to show the rest of you."


    "Dude. Sucks to be you."


    "Yeah. How''s Angela holding up?"


    Steve paused, and his next words echoed as if he''d just cupped the receiver in his hands to keep his words private. "She''s strung out. Her nap pulled her back from the edge, but she needs a break."


    "Are there really any emergencies?"


    "Well... normally I''d say ''emergency'' is anything bleeding, burning, falling, sinking, on or under fire, but the nurses have all the burns and bleeders pretty well under control, and nobody''s shooting at us at the moment. There''s nothing bleeding or burning unusually right now. She could take a break."


    "Should she?"


    Steve paused again before answering. "Yeah. She should."


    "Good. Bring her on over to the junkyard. I think I can get her some rest without losing too much time, but I can''t be in two places at once yet, and I really want to show you this before the place becomes a CSI circus."


    "I''m not sure she''ll come out to your place willingly."


    "So, charm her. You''re good at that."


    "Yeah, no. Mega-Moppet might not let go of my manliness next time. I''m just going to take her to lunch."


    "Gotcha. See you soon."


    "Yep. Later."


    With that Steve disconnected. Charlie walked over, pulled a chair down from a wall of patio furniture, and sat down to wait.

 Chapter Thirty - Drive Thru

    Angela ignored Steve''s maniac driving and concentrated on her samples. She had to talk with Charlie about setting up a proper lab at the Hospital. Sure, they could do simple blood counts, and the new machine spat out every conventional figure you could want from a single sample. On the other hand...


    She stared at the sample rack in her lap. Despite Steve''s insistence on this outing, she''d brought them along. She couldn''t examine them while treating patients, and she didn''t have time to waste.


    "Yeah, if you don''t stop playing with those, you''re gonna spill ''em."


    "Just drive, Steve. We had this argument already."


    "No. You had this argument. I let you bring the rack to get you out of the hospital. Now put it back in the cooler before you spill it all over my upholstery." He lifted his hand from the shifter, reaching toward her samples.


    "Touch my rack and you''ll be growing your fingers back."


    "Yeah, like I haven''t heard that before. Two hours later and it''s all ''Oh, Steve, squeeze them, pinch them, slap them!'', and then the bitching and asking for a towel starts. You still on that stupid diet?"


    Angela didn''t have time to spare for a reply. She''d noticed something curious, and she didn''t have time to banter with Steve. She set her mouth on automatic and peered at the tubes.


    "Yeah. Try that with me and I''ll wish for pruning shears."


    Steve downshifted and rounded a corner. She slipped the rack back into the cooler, keeping two of the samples out. She carefully avoided looking at the names, focusing instead on the samples themselves.


    "Why pruning shears?"


    "I''ve seen it. A goat emasculator isn''t big enough."


    She held the two samples next to each other. The one on the left looked different somehow. She stared for a few seconds, then thrust them in front of Steve.


    "Do you see any difference between the two of these?"


    "Are you trying to kill us?" Despite his complaint, Steve wove expertly through traffic, turning into the drive through of a fast-food joint. She pulled the pair of samples out of his face and stared at them again. "Seriously, Steve. I think the luminescence is different, but I can''t tell."


    "Yeah, yeah. Chicken, beef, or fish?"


    "I don''t..." she petered off, staring at the board, as inspiration struck. "Two of those kid¡¯s meals."


    "Aren''t you a little old for cheap plastic toys?"


    Angela smirked at him, "you''re one to talk."


    "Hey!" He shot her an irate look before turning back to creep up after the car ahead of them in line. "My toys are expensive, and hardly ever made of plastic."


    "I dunno, Debbie..."


    "That''s silicone, not plastic. Different stuff entirely. Burns nastier, for one, but it''s harder to get started. You''re getting chicken nuggets. I don''t trust you not to dump half your burger all over my car. Besides, too much beef makes you fat." Before she could reply, he leaned out the window and started hollering at the drive through speaker.


    She shrugged and went back to her examination of the two tubes. One looked brighter than the other, but neither showed very well in the sunlight. Shaking each of them slightly produced twinkles, but nothing more dramatic. If only she had a microscope...


    Steve set a pair of colorful plastic boxes in her lap. "There you go. Two small chicken nuggets, two small fries, two small milks. Don''t complain, you need the protein more than the sugar from the apple juice." He set his own bag carefully in the passenger side foot well of the back seat, then pulled back out into traffic.


    Angela twisted around, snagged his bag, and pulled it up onto her lap.


    "Angie?"


    Stolen content alert: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.


    She pulled his sandwiches out of the bag, dropping them onto the back seat, and dumped her boxes into the bag.


    "Angie, what are you doing?"


    She snagged the toys; a cheap plastic magnifying glass and a cheaper plastic multi-tool, and then tossed the bag into the back seat.


    "Angie, stop!"


    She used the tweezer on the multi tool to punch a hole in each box, shoved one sample into each one, closed the lids, and turned to Steve.


    "I don''t care what you say, I''m not opening the box."


    "What the hell are you talking about? I need you to look into each box and tell me which is brighter."


    "Yeah. That''s what they all..."


    "Hey, we''re not headed back to the hospital."


    Steve downshifted, pulling into the passing lane. "Can''t fool you."


    "Steve, I need to get back to the hospital!"


    "No, you need a shower. You stink."


    Angela knew she couldn''t smell her own body odor, but she took a sniff anyhow. Her hunger, whetted by the scent of the fast food, died instantly. She reeked.


    "Oh, god. Why didn''t anyone tell me?"


    "Because you''ve been the only doctor on staff since you put Wilson in ICU."


    "I... I did what?"


    Steve shook his head and snorted with laughter. When he could control his voice, he explained. "No, Mega-Moppet wasn''t involved. He collapsed, you had the nursing staff put him in the ICU and run some tests. While you were busy Mercy told me; he came within a few hours of having a heart attack. They''ve got him on blood thinners until they can get a cardiac specialist in."


    "I wish you''d stop calling me that."


    "Why? She''s not really you. She''s a five-year-old with twenty-five-year-old boobs and a twenty-five-ton grip." Steve raced around a curve, and she pulled the boxes back into her lap. She''d get him to check them out later. She took a deep breath, set the boxes on the floor next to the cooler, and turned to face Steve.


    "That''s just it, Steve. I''ve been thinking about what you said. About me being... headstrong when I was younger."


    "I didn''t say you were headstrong."


    "Yes, you did."


    "No, I said you were a stubborn bitch. Headstrong makes you sound too classy."


    "Okay. Fine. I was stubborn..."


    "And a bitch." If he didn''t shut up, she swore she''d smack the smirk off his face, Hippocratic Oath or no.


    "Steve!"


    "Fine, fine, misquote me."


    "I''m trying to open up to you, asshole!"


    He glanced her way, one eye wide, the other squinted. He never could do the eyebrow thing right. "You''re getting all touchy feely warm and fuzzy with the guy you called an asshat for saving your life."


    She shook her head. "Yeah. What was I thinking."


    "That you''re trapped in your own body with your pre-superego self."


    She counted to ten, then turned slowly back toward him. He reached up, adjusted the mirror, fixed his hair, and slid around a corner.


    "Slow down!"


    "Nah. If I do, and you get the idea I''m taking you on a romantic picnic, you''ll jump out the door."


    "Steve, if I give you my word I won''t jump out of the car, will you stop driving like a..." she shrieked as the car became briefly airborne. "...goddamned lunatic!"


    "Promise?"


    "I promise!"


    He braked, sliding smoothly to a stop on the side of the road. Before the dust cleared, he flipped a switch on the dash and the sunlight streaming into the car dimmed. "Okay, hand me your boxes."


    "What did you just do?"


    "Smart glass. Charlie hooked me up last year." He leaned across the seat and grabbed the kid''s meal boxes. After looking into each one for a few seconds, he handed them back to her and flipped the switch to clear the windows again. ¡°Drew¡¯s is about twice as bright as yours."


    She looked through the holes herself. One did look brighter, but not bright enough to read the handwritten label. "How did you do that?"


    "Hers smells like her. Yours smells like you."


    "You... you can smell which blood sample is which?"


    "The names are written on the sides, too."


    "Something''s happening to us." She pulled the samples out of the kid''s meal boxes and slid them back into the rack in the cooler.


    "No, really?"


    "This is important, Steve! If we don''t know what it is, it might be dangerous!"


    "Yeah, well. If you burst into flame, let me know. Otherwise, maybe you should ask Charlie about it. He''s been looking into it."


    She tried to remember the last time she''d seen Charlie. Other than a vague memory of a shapeless figure in the break room, she couldn''t recall seeing him since the Rain. "Yeah, well. If you see him, let him know I need to talk to him."


    "Let him know yourself. We''re here."


    Angela looked out the window in time to see the back gates of Charlie''s junkyard slide open. Steve pulled his Viper in between Drew''s beat up old sedan and a government issue Crown Victoria. The moment they stopped, Steve scrambled to gather up their food, wiping down the seats with wet wipes he pulled from the glove compartment.


    "I didn''t know how fastidious you were, Steve."


    "Yeah, chicks dig the smell of leather. Grease? Not so much."


    She just sighed, picked up her sample cooler, and climbed out of the car. Steve followed with the bag of fast food tucked into one arm, a drink carrier in his other hand.


    "Speaking of smells, you still need a shower. You''re ripe."


    "Thanks. Have any of your girlfriends ever told you you''ve got a way with words?"


    Steve just stared at her as they walked into the junkyard. He handed her a milk and a box of nuggets, juggled the bag, carrier, and contents until he had one of his burgers open, and started eating, still silent and staring. When she heard Drew and Charlie in the distance, she couldn''t take it any longer.


    "What did I say?"


    Steve swallowed before he spoke, staring at her all the while. "You think I talk to them?"


    "God, Steve, you are such a misogynist."


    He grinned at her through a mouthful of burger. "Nah, I''m just a dick and love messing with you."


    "So, what''s Charlie want to show... us..."


    They rounded the last corner, and Angela dropped her box of nuggets, staring entranced at the new addition to Charlie''s junkyard.


    "Well, there''s something you don''t see every day."

 Chapter Thirty One - Collateral Karma

    "...so, what I''d really like you three to do is make your unique skills sets available to the Bureau as deputized outside contractors. If the Rain hadn''t cut into our available manpower so badly, I''d add ''for exclusive use in situations requiring those skills'', but the fact is I might have to call you in to handle more mundane cases and emergencies."


    Jesse kept up her exaggerated cartoon expressions; this time drawing down the corners of her lips until they hung past her cheeks. "I wanted to be a superhero."


    "Ms. Rachelson, there are no superheroes, but there are heroes, and right now I''m asking you to step up and be one."


    Before Drew could cut into the byplay, her phone rang. She glanced at it and answered. "Hey Charlie, what''s up?"


    "You''re still with the Fed, aren''t you?" Charlie''s chatter told her more about his mental state than anything he might say. Before the Rain, she''d have known the cause, but now she had to ask.


    "Yeah. Did you need me to drop something off or pick something up?" With Charlie in this kind of state, any specific references might throw him into a spiral. She didn''t have time to go dig him out of his panic room right now.


    "Bring him along. We''ll need one. Someone left me another gift." Drew caught herself before she sighed in relief. It might mess with Charlie, and she really shouldn''t be grateful someone had dumped a body at Charlie''s Junkyard. Again. Of course she had another problem as well.


    "Um, I''m not sure he does that kind of thing."


    "Yeah, well. I''m sure he has friends. Besides that, you heard what happened to FBI headquarters; he''s probably the only one in North Jersey at the moment."


    Charlie''s ability to ferret out real confidential information always shocked Drew. It also kept her from caring about identity theft; if a thief wanted her identity, he would get her identity whether she tried to stop him or not. She wouldn''t live like Charlie on the off chance someone would try to defraud her. He had a point about the FBI''s manpower problems, though.


    "Just a second."


    She pushed the phone into her chest to muffle the noise, still stunned by how much chest she had to push into.


    "Agent Johnson, as it happens, we have a situation requiring an FBI Agent. Can you make yourself available for the afternoon?


    He turned from his conversation with Jesse and Jack, obviously frustrated by her interruption.


    "I have several places to be. What''s the nature of the problem?"


    "Murder. Suspects likely brought the body across state lines. We like to bring the FBI in early, because frankly we don''t have the forensic facilities to do a proper job of it ourselves."


    JJ frowned, glanced down at his smart phone, and started flipping through the pages of something. The more he looked, the deeper his scowl. When he looked up, before he could speak, Jack interrupted him.


    "Good faith, Jamil."


    JJ bared his teeth, but in no way could the expression be called a smile. A moment later, his face went blank, the barest tinges of a self-deprecating grin etching its way across his lips.


    "I wanted this, didn''t I?"


    "I think you did, yeah." Drew pulled his attention back to her.


    "I don''t have time to work the case, but you have my full support and confidence."


    "Mind coming with us to check out the scene? We can talk more about this contracting thing you want these two on when we get there."


    He nodded. "I can do that. I don''t want to interfere with your normal police work... Unless I can get you into the Bureau?"


    She grinned at him, held up one finger, and lifted her phone back to her ear. "Yeah. He''s not the normal guy, but Nick''s still MIA in NYC. I''ll have to do the grunt work, but JJ can sign his name on the dotted lines."


    Charlie said, "JJ?" just as Agent Johnson protested, "I think I still remember how to investigate a murder, Detective Williams."


    She ignored JJ and replied to Charlie. "Yeah. Just keep everyone away from the scene until we get there."


    He said, "will do," and hung up.


    "Okay, Agent Johnson, can we continue this conversation over at Charlie''s?"


    If you spot this narrative on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.


    JJ frowned but nodded. "I''d prefer to keep Mr. Morgan as an emergency contact rather than a primary resource. Not out of any distrust, you understand, but..."


    She smiled at him, and he relaxed visibly. "It''s okay, Agent. Charlie can go overboard with things at times, but he''s trustworthy."


    "I know that, Detective."


    "Really?"


    JJ began walking through the layers of concealing plastic, the others following in his wake. "You don''t think Nick just ignored how many bodies show up in Mr. Morgan''s junk yard, do you? He reported it as suspicious because it was. We looked into it, realized Mr. Morgan loses money every time one of those bodies is dumped, and doesn''t recoup it in any fashion. That''s not the operating mode of a collaborator."


    "Wait, he loses money?"


    He reached his car before he answered. "He shuts down whole sections of his yard when he calls one of these in. He''d probably be rich enough to retire by now if he didn''t. You didn''t know?"


    She shrugged. "I knew, but I didn''t think it cost him that much money."


    "Interesting." JJ opened his door and turned to Jack, "Did you want a ride? I think my shocks can handle it."


    "No thanks, Jamil. I''ll stick with the Detective, if you don''t mind."


    "Suit yourself."


    ***


    Jack dozed in the trailer, just aware enough of his surroundings to notice when they transitioned from paved road to gravel, then from gravel to a dirt lot. The tires crunched to a stop, and he shifted without thinking. Doors opened, closed, and the girls walked around to the back of the trailer. When the detective let the gate down, he swung himself out of the trailer onto the ground.


    He''d never been to Morgan''s Recycling before, but the appearance of the place didn''t surprise him. The junk lying about in huge stacks matched what he remembered from junk yards; the organization of the place didn''t. To their left lurked a pile of neatly stacked wrecked cars, forming one outer wall of the yard. To their right a huge stack of old entertainment centers slowly rotted into uselessness. A quick glance confirmed none of them had glass or metal; some damage showed where Charlie had removed the hardware.


    "After you, ladies."


    Detective Drew grinned at him, and he wished he knew one less way to hide a gun and one more way to adjust himself without drawing notice. Sooner or later, he''d have to do something about having a young man''s drives again, but today wasn''t that day.


    "I see how you survived all those firefights. You tossed the women in as bullet catchers."


    Anyone else would have felt the sharp side of his tongue, but he couldn''t work up a good mad-on for the detective. Instead, he tried to treat her like one of his old squad buddies. "Yeah, well. They''re easier to lead, so there are fewer stray rounds to tag me."


    She laughed, and he found himself hoping she''d help him out with the drive thing.


    No. Bad idea. Remember, squad buddy, not pillow buddy.


    "Oh, man, you and me have got to go drinking someday. We can swap dumb bad guy stories."


    Shaking his head in self-denial, Jack followed the ladies into the twisting, intricate, yet tidy maze of the junkyard. When they passed by a wall of bathroom pieces, his eye lit on something.


    "Ladies, could you wait a second?"


    They stopped and Jesse said, "No problem. We''re about to where Charlie''s system gets confusing, we ought to wait for the Agent anyhow."


    He nodded, walked over to the wall, and took a few moments to confirm what he''d seen. With one hand he lifted the rest of the stack, with the other he tugged a single large item from the bottom. When he returned to the ladies, Johnson had just joined them.


    "Mr. Maliss, is there a reason you''re carrying a bath insert?"


    "Yep. Cracked the one in my room at the hospital. This is the same make, same model even. I''m guessing Charlie pulled it for some reason, but if it''s not too damaged I might be able to use it to fix what I broke."


    That made the agent pause for a moment. "Jack, you''ve changed a lot."


    "What do you mean, Jamil?"


    Johnson glanced surreptitiously at the two women, but Jack told him with a quick, tiny shrug that the two of them could hear anything he had to say. He''d always trusted good cops, and the little Asian girl had too much hero in her to be anything but trustworthy.


    "You were the guy who taught us collateral damage happens, to ignore it and move on."


    Jack stopped, staring at the piles of junk without seeing them while he thought about his answer. The other three waited on him, the only sign of impatience Detective Drew''s fiddling with a rear-view mirror dangling from a wrecked car. He''d found another of his old mistakes, and just like any of his early, poorly poured foundations, he had to make sure he made this right before he moved on. Karma.


    "Sometimes, when you live long enough, you realize something you believed all the way down to the bone... was wrong. I never lied to you, but I''ve seen a lot since then. Learned a lot. Collateral does happen, and you can''t let it stop you when something needs to be done, but you can''t ignore it. You''ve got to go back and make it right."


    Johnson quirked a smile at him. "I remember asking you about that back then. You damn near tore my head off."


    "Yeah, well. I never lied to you guys. I was wrong. You''re alive now ''cause of what I taught you, I''ll bet."


    "Not all of us."


    Jack waved the two ladies into motion, and fell in next to Johnson as they walked, his purloined bath shell balanced firmly on one shoulder.


    "What happened to her, Jamil?"


    A thin baring of teeth which would never pass as a smile split Johnson''s midnight face with an arc of white. "That''s the hell of it. We don''t know. She was deep undercover and then... she just stopped reporting back. We eventually got someone else close enough to confirm she hadn''t turned on us, but that guy got sent to us in pieces a week later."


    "Damn." Almost under his breath he whispered, "You let me know if you find the bastards for sure."


    Jamil glanced at him. "I thought you didn''t do that kind of work anymore."


    "Karma, Jamil. I worry about it. A lot. But... sometimes you get to be the one bringing it down on someone''s head. Other times... you''re the collateral when something really needs to be done."


    "Okay, gentlemen, please be careful around the next corner. By the flappity flapping I hear, we''re near the spot, so if you see anything out of place, call it out to me without moving it. Mostly, though, stay behind me. Jesse?"


    "In your footsteps, Drew. Hands in my pockets."


    They rounded the next corner like that, and immediately piled up behind the detective, who stopped cold at the edge of a clearing in the junk. Johnson''s comment summed up everything Jack felt and seemed to speak for the ladies too.


    "Well. There''s something I did not expect."

 Chapter Thirty Two - Landmark

    Walker stared down at the world he''d left behind. Since the wind rushed through, he''d walked the surface of the station, carefully checking each of the antennae, each solar panel, each station keeping thruster. He''d finally figured out why the station hadn''t received any transmissions from the surface. A redundant backup relay, only included in the design in case both the primary and backup relays failed, had been knocked out of place by a micrometeorite impact.


    The news from the planet below scared the remaining crew of the ISS. With no transmission equipment, they couldn''t contact the planet for help, and most of the folks on the planet thought the meteor had killed the crew. The remaining crew could live for quite a while on the supplies they''d scavenged, but without resupply they''d wind up starving.


    It was time for him to take a trip.


    Despite his and Johnson''s best efforts, the shuttle still couldn''t fly. Too much damage, and too few critical spares doomed the poor bird to becoming a permanent addition to the station, at least until they had to cut her loose or risk destabilizing the station''s orbit. For now, though, she gave the crew a little more space, something vitally important with three of them still trying to recover from injuries.


    A knock on the thick window behind him got his attention. Ursula smiled warmly when he looked around, and he returned it affectionately. They''d grown close since the disaster, just another reason he wanted to stay, just another reason he had to go. She pressed her fingers to her lips, then to the glass. He did the same. With a twinkle in her eye, she pulled her hand away and pointed Earthward, then made a shooing gesture. He breathed heavily on the glass and, with a finger, etched the letters ''brb'' into the ice which formed.


    With that he pushed away from the station and spread his wings.


    He didn''t glance around to look at them. He''d done that once before, and the memory still forced his genitals to shrivel up in response. No astronaut wanted to be drifting in space with his only means of propulsion a pair of wings so insubstantial he couldn''t see them unless a particularly thick eddy of solar wind brushed past. Then again, no astronaut wanted to be outside his ship or station without a space suit, and he''d adjusted to that well enough.


    Sculling forward, he watched the world passing by beneath him. He still hadn''t decided on a landing point. To pass the time while he watched, he ran through a quick check of equipment. A short-range radio scavenged from Atlantis lay strapped to his right thigh. Johnson''s cell phone, useless in space except for playing video games, made a comforting weight in the cargo pocket on his left. His parachute covered most of his back. He tried not to think about how badly his last propulsion unit had been mangled without him realizing it. He could get water and food on the ground, so he''d stripped the rations out of the emergency pack against his lower back, only keeping a few survival tools, the emergency tent, and the raft.


    That brought him back to his decision. In space, sculling against the radiation from the sun, Walker could move fairly quickly, but he wasn''t sure he could overcome gravity without a little extra help. If he could, he wanted a strong source of directed light to use like a bird of prey used an updraft. He''d considered the Luxor Sky Beam, but on his first try he wanted daylight, and they only had the Beam on at night. Besides that, if he needed to go for a water landing, the options around Las Vegas weren''t very good.


    That left Paris or New York, at least in the western hemisphere. Every other city had fewer lights or more obstruction. He wanted to land in the States, but orbital mechanics drew him toward the Paris landing, just in case he had to ditch and set down in the Atlantic. Of course, Paris wasn''t all that close to the shoreline, either, but it did have a river. Neither one lit up nearly as much in the day as at night, and neither one had strong, static lights pointed at the sky, but city designers didn''t often plan on assisting winged astronauts in making laser assisted landings.


    Four beams of light speared into the sky from just south of New York. Without knowing what they were, he couldn''t know how long they would last, but they drew him, nonetheless. They seared through the sky, a beacon lighting his way back home. He might never have a chance like this in daytime again. Decision made, Walker spread his wings and descended on four columns of pure, blue light.


    ***


    Grace slept, cocooned in warmth, safely ensconced in a fiery mountain. Since the scream nearly woke her, the mountain fretted, each passing moment a greater concern. From an immeasurable distance, infinitely small yet right next to her ear, the voice of eternity spoke.


    It begins.


    The mountain shuddered in fear, muttering to himself as he jostled Grace about.


    Right. Close enough. Need a landmark. Something still standing. Too many fragments.


    A pause, and then, What the hell is that?


    The voice of eternity sang once more.


    A light against the darkness. A battle cry beginning a war. A sword raised in defiance. A LANDMARK in time and space.


    Grace wondered if a mountain could blush.


    Reading on this site? This novel is published elsewhere. Support the author by seeking out the original.


    Oh. Right.


    The mountain shook, and Grace flew outwards, landing in the surf with a tremendous splash. As the water around her cooled, subliming in the afternoon sun, the mountain brushed her mind again.


    Walk sleeping until you find a doctor, and please, do not let me be wrong about you.


    Grace slept, but her mind faithfully recorded eternity''s answer.


    You should wish you were.


    ***


    Damien lay back against the roof of the van, tucking two unseen hands behind his head as a pillow. When Katrina snuggled against his side, he wrapped his real arms around her, wondering at her warmth. Her lips still held a faint blue cast, echoed in the bruises under her eyes.


    She noticed him staring. "I''m fine. Really."


    He knew he''d lose that argument. Time to change the subject. "What are we gonna do?"


    "I''m thinking we lay here, watch the planes land, and pretend we''re sixteen and getting away with something."


    "Yeah, no. I meant about what happened."


    "What about it?"


    He sighed, and she twisted around, leaned her elbows on his chest, and stared into his eyes. "Look, those guys were trying to kill you. You know that. They nearly killed me."


    "They did kill you."


    She grimaced, cute despite the expression, and continued. "I wish you''d stop saying that. Anyhow, they were going to kill you. You defended yourself. Case closed."


    "I''m not sure a jury will see it that way."


    She nodded, but her next words cut into him with the ease of a surgeon''s scalpel. "That''s not really what''s bothering you, is it?"


    "Nope."


    She rolled her eyes. "Out with it. You know I won''t give up now I know there''s something to know."


    That drew a crooked smile from him despite his melancholy. An airplane passed over at that moment, headed for the runway a short distance away. Since the Rain, the police didn''t have time to check up on every van parked near an airport. That would eventually cause a problem, but for the moment the noise of the jet gave him time to gather his thoughts.


    "I could have held them. They couldn''t get away. Killing them... was like killing a kid. Even if a kid is coming at you with a gun, you don''t kill them."


    "Sometimes you do." Her soft answer reminded him of a story they''d covered, one where a child had been shot after shooting five other kids. He still couldn''t decide whether the armed security guard had been right or wrong, and now he felt the weight of that same decision settling on his shoulders.


    "That''s just it, love. I didn''t decide. You fell, and I stopped thinking of anything except revenge. I put them down like rabid dogs. I killed the one who killed you as painfully as I had the patience for. I... I became what I beheld, and I had no sorrow for it, only for losing you."


    She shuddered against him, and he steeled himself for her rejection. She buried her face in his chest, so he barely heard her words. "I would have done the same."


    He reached down with one unseen hand and pulled her chin up until she faced him. "You couldn''t, love. It''s a burden I have to carry, and I wouldn''t share it with you if I could. It¡¯s... I couldn''t do that to someone I love."


    Her gentle, sorrowful smile twisted as his words sparked her temper. "Oh, you think not?" Before he could reply, she whispered, her voice reaching into his hindbrain and forcing him to obey. "Hold still."


    She swung one leg over him, kneeling with one leg on either side of him, and reached up to pull her hair free of its confining clip. She shook her head in a passing breeze, beauty captured against the sun low in the sky. He longed to reach for her, but he could not force his limbs to move. She leaned down, pressing herself against him, squirming as she did.


    "Hold your breath," she whispered in his ear.


    His ragged panting stopped, and he stared at her as she pushed herself back upright, tangled her hands in her own hair, and arched her back. "You haven''t thought about this, D, but I have. Since the moment I realized I could make someone do this. Maybe you''re a better person than I am. Maybe I want to be the person you think I should be. Maybe... I don''t know."


    A wicked smile twisted her lips when she looked down on him. He couldn''t tell if the sparkles in her eyes were her madness or his, but his vision faded with every passing second. "You think I couldn''t kill if someone took you away from me? You think I wouldn''t kill? You grew up in a fishing town in Maine, D. I was born in a town that makes Hell''s Kitchen look like a nursery school. The only difference between you and me is that I would take my time with them."


    Her lips twisted down into a frown. "Touch me, D. You haven''t since I woke up, not really. You''re treating me like a porcelain doll, and I want to be touched, to feel like I''m alive."


    Resisting a command he didn''t want to follow was impossible. Trying to deny something he longed to do left him helpless, scrabbling at her as his air ran out.


    "Oh, breathe, you big dumbass." Just like that, his will was his own. His legion of unseen hands wrapped around her, lifting her, pushing him upright until he stood on the top of the news van, her face even with his. She floated, unconcerned, in his gentle grasp, lips parted, eyes hooded, waiting for his next move.


    "I still don''t trust myself if you get hurt."


    "Fine. We''ll get more backup."


    "The FBI guy?"


    She frowned, "I''m not sure I trust him."


    "So, who, then?"


    At that very moment, a brilliant beam of light stabbed up into the sky beyond the airport. He dove for the ground behind the van, pulling Katrina to him, sheltering her with his body and his legion of unseen hands. She never blinked, just staring at him the whole time.


    "What?" he said when he¡¯d set them both back on their feet.


    In answer, she took his hand and led him around the nose of the van. She pointed to the beam of light, a rock steady line from the ground to the sky.


    "I''m not sure, but whether we''re looking for backup or just a new story, maybe we should check that out?"


    ***


    Jane could almost open her eyes. The scratchy, sticky smell of the gauze tape mocked her, but negligence, once her enemy, now aided her.


    She twitched. Her eyes slid open just a crack, and sounds leaked in.


    Her eyes slid shut. Silence returned, save for tiny, muted noises leaking through her eyelids.


    She rested a moment, rejoicing in her success. Every tiny triumph took forever, but she had nothing but time.


    A moment, no longer. She strained once more, pushing at the confining tape with the only muscles which would obey, albeit sporadically.


    She pushed for an eternity in dry, dusty silence.


    A quartet of pure, clear notes punched four bars from Earth to Heaven. Even through her confining lids, even past the scratchy smell of cotton and the awful light of her own filth, those bars beckoned. Deep within her own mind she murmured to herself, the words a feather light brush across her arms.


    "My name is Jane. I am lost, but I will find myself. I am broken, but I will heal. I am violated, but I will not rest until justice is done. My name is Jane..."

 Chapter Thirty Three - Super Hero!

    Jesse stepped into the clearing in the junkyard, and the world exploded into light. When her eyes adjusted, four pillars of light drew them like magnets, beckoning her. She took several steps forward before she could stop herself. Without knowing why, she knew she would burn in the light as surely as a moth in flame. Desperate for anything to take her attention from the solid, meter wide bars of blue-white light, she glanced around for something else to look at.


    Her jaw dropped when she finally took in what she hadn''t noticed before. The four pillars...


    Danged pillars, mustn''t look at them!


    The things she couldn''t even think about marked the corners of a massive pyramid of brilliant blue beams of light. She wandered toward the pyramid, not realizing its true enormity until she reached one edge. Midway between the corners, the angled bottom beam hovered, enticing her, nearly ten feet above her head. Without thinking she stretched one hand up to run her fingers across it.


    "Mother fudger! Sugar honey iced tea! Gosh darnit!"


    Before anyone could respond to her predicament or her swearing, she spread one hand to the size of a baseball glove and caught her falling, severed fingers. The moment they touched her skin, they merged with her hand, and her shortened digits grew out to their full normal length. She stared at her own hand, engrossed to the point of distraction from the shining, irresistible death lurking above her head.


    ***


    "Uh, guys? I think Jesse''s having some problems. Also, why the heck did you use cutting lasers for a light show?"


    "Oh, god, Chuck, what did you do? Find this one a few weeks ago and leave it to get ripe?"


    Charlie sighed in frustration. He''d wanted Steve''s initial reaction of surprise, or Jack''s understated awe. Even Jesse''s odd, wordless fascination pleased him more than Angela''s criticism, and Steve just had to distract everyone from his moment of shock by calling everyone''s attention to the stink rather than the show.


    "I didn''t use cutting lasers. I used high power pointers for the pyramid and the core of the beacons. They''re strong enough to light a cigarette with continued exposure, but not strong enough to cut."


    "Jesse''s fingers fell off, Charlie. I think you might have wired them wrong."


    Charlie shook his head, walked over to one of the beacons, and stuck his hand into the base of one of the smaller beams of light. The skin went red immediately, and he jerked his hand back.


    "Ow. That''s hotter than I expected. Maybe what you''d get from an electric stove. Shouldn''t be enough to cut fingers off, though..." He stepped away from the beacon, eyeing it warily. "You might not want to get close to the center of the beacon."


    "Yeah, we figured that, Chuck. Too bad they''re not real fires, or they might take the stink out of the air."


    "Shut up, Steve." Charlie turned to the imposing, dark skinned man in a suit walking beside Drew. Drew wanted to be an FBI Agent. Drew was a good guy. The FBI were good guys. Charlie held his time while he waited for his pulse to slow. When he had it under control, he let it flow again. "Agent Johnson?"


    "Mr. Morgan. Thank you for calling this in. I know you''ve heard it before, but please let me say again how grateful we are for your complete cooperation in the murder investigations you''ve been pulled into."


    The Agent wasn''t implying anything. Charlie did cooperate fully. Trying to hide once you were already in sight implied guilt. Charlie hadn''t ever killed anyone; the sitter lived, and he got therapy, and he''d apologized to her once he understood what he''d done. Charlie held his time again until his heart beat normally.


    "Thank you, Agent Johnson. I found the body right over there. If you''d like to examine the scene before the Forensics team gets here, maybe mark out how much of the area is going to be off limits to my crews until the investigation is complete?"


    "I''ll do that. I take it you had something you were planning on talking to your friends about?" With that, he left.


    The Agent had taken the hint. He even took it openly, which eased Charlie''s mind, until he realized it meant the Agent knew about his condition, which implied a level of play one level deeper than Charlie assumed previously.


    "Okay, Chuck, what''s up?"


    "What do you mean, Steve?"


    "You smell excited."


    "There''s an FBI Agent on my property, investigating a murder. Of course I''m nervous."


    "I didn''t say nervous. I said excited. You''ve got something cool to show us. Something besides the pretty light show, at any rate."


    The story has been taken without consent; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.


    Before Charlie could answer, Angela looked over from where she had a comforting arm around Jesse. "Speaking of which, how long are you going to keep those lights up?"


    "As long as we need to." He didn''t think they''d understand, but he had to tell them, right up front. Keeping secrets hidden always led to disaster. Keeping secrets in the open let those who needed to know them in on things.


    "Isn''t the FAA going to have something to say about that?"


    "Yeah. I have to notify them if I''m ever taking one or more down for maintenance, so they can let pilots know. They''re going to be on all the official navigational charts."


    Angela''s jaw shut with a snap. Drew sauntered over and stared Charlie in the eye.


    "Okay, then. Why did you bring us here?"


    Charlie blinked, held his time again until his reaction to Drew''s proximity died down.


    "Chuck, stop doing that."


    "What?"


    Steve stared at him, tilting his head as if to say ¡®really?¡¯ "Nobody''s scent changes that fast. Now stop trying to be all cool and collected and just show us already."


    Charlie gestured to the pyramid. "You see this, and you think you haven''t seen it yet?"


    "We know you, Charlie. It''s incredible. Now tell us."


    He frowned. His friends were used to him going so far over the top most people couldn''t even see him from the top, but he wanted to surprise them. Time for part two.


    "Okay, you got me. Just a second."


    He held his time, raced over to retrieve the folding table he''d brought a few days before, set it up, and dropped the briefcase on top of it. He let go of his time and threw the locks on the case.


    "I want to go into business with you guys."


    Angela shook her head. "Charlie, we''ve all got jobs. Careers even. I mean, you might get Steve, and I think Mr. Maliss might want to get back into the workforce, but the rest of us..."


    Other people called him paranoid and obsessive when he prepared. He reached into the case, pulled out the old-fashioned stack of paper with Angela''s name on it, and handed her the stack and one of the faintly glowing, heavy pens tucked into the case''s lid.


    "Section seven, clause forty-two."


    Angela tucked the pen into her lab coat pocket, fanned the pages, and paused when she found the right one. Her eyes flicked across the page, and she opened her mouth, already shaking her head. A moment later, she stopped, eyes flickering across the page and the next one, and met his eyes again.


    "You son of a... This is enough to equip a major metro hospital lab. You''ve got this stuff?"


    He shrugged. "Some of it is still being shipped. Other stuff is in storage until the facility is built."


    She quirked an eyebrow, opened her mouth and froze again. Mouth hanging open, she glanced at the pyramid, then back to Charlie. "Blue. Blueprints. Holy crap. You''re serious."


    Charlie started handing out contracts and pens to the rest of the group. After a moment, Jack joined him, reading his own only once Drew and Jesse had theirs. "Did I mention the position is salaried, with full partnership including profit sharing?"


    Angela still stared at her contract, lost in the possibilities of her own lab. Her right hand scrabbled for the pen seemingly without her conscious intervention. Steve slapped his down on the table, flipped to the last page, pulled open his pen, and looked at Charlie.


    "Time to work out?"


    "Yeah."


    Steve smiled. "Time to party?"


    "Yeah."


    Steve''s smile widened. "Money to keep my car and clothes?"


    "Oh, yeah."


    The smile disappeared. "I''m still gonna be fighting fires, aren''t I?"


    Charlie finally returned his smile. "Sort of."


    Steve signed and handed his pen and contract back to Charlie, who took the contract but indicated Steve should keep the pen with a gesture. Angela riffled through the rest of her pages, glancing at each one once before flipping to the next. Her head shook constantly, denying the existence of what she read. Jack looked up at Charlie from a page near the end.


    "This in American dollars?"


    Charlie blinked. He hadn''t considered anything else. For the first time in years, someone noticed something he should have prepared for when he didn''t. "Yep."


    "Do I need to kill anybody?"


    Charlie shrugged. "Nope. Shouldn''t have to."


    "You need a foreman on this?" He nodded to the pyramid of light.


    "Only if you really want to. I had other ideas for you."


    Jack signed the paper and handed it over to Charlie. He blinked once and looked up at his new boss. "Glowing blue ink?"


    "Yeah. Novelty pens. Amazing what you can find on the internet."


    Drew hadn''t even opened her contract. She alternated between staring at it like a viper and glaring at Charlie. When he had Jack''s contract packed away, he turned to her.


    "You know I want to go FBI, Charlie. I''m... I''m good at... Dammit, I want to be a cop."


    Understanding your own drives well enough to counter the unhealthy ones meant you could pick out other people''s unhealthy drives pretty well, too. "Yeah. No, you don''t."


    "Mind telling me how you know what I want and don''t?"


    "You want to be a good guy. You want to be a hero."


    "Yeah, a cop. I''m not into burning buildings or classrooms."


    Charlie grinned. "You''re so into paperwork, though." She blinked, and he knew he had her. "Your salary is a matter of public record. Kinda why I based the numbers off it. Base is four times your annual now, for doing the same job."


    "Same job? What jurisdiction?"


    "However many we can get the contract for."


    Her jaw dropped open. She didn''t sign, but she did open the contract and start reading.


    Angela stared at one page in the last third of the document. "Charlie, what''s this about code names and uniforms?"


    Jack''s eyes narrowed, and he stepped behind Angela to read over her shoulder. Charlie stepped around until Drew stood partially between himself and Jack, then replied. "Yeah, that went across a couple pages, sorry. The company will be taking care of copyright monitoring on your code names and covering all uniform related costs."


    "What kind of uniform do you think you''re going to put me in?"


    Charlie shrugged. This one he suspected he''d be overridden on eventually, but for now he wanted what he supported on record. "Whatever you want, really. You just need a few of them, so you''re recognizable. A blue theme would be good, though."


    Jesse spoke before Angela could reply. "Are you going to be making the costumes?" Her gaze still locked on the beam above her head, she half-staggered, half-flowed toward the table as she talked. "Because yours is awful."


    "Hey!"


    "It was."


    "Fine, we''ll hire professionals."


    She grinned, the expression stretching past the sides of her face. She set the stack of paper on the table, flipped to the last page and, without looking, scribbled on the line. The manic, gleeful grin seemed permanently etched onto her face, because just like before, she got it first.


    "I''m gonna be a superhero."

 Chapter Thirty Four - Allons-y!

    Jesse looked around the room where she''d spent most of her waking hours for the past five years. The walls bore the pale rectangular scars of posters removed, stacked in a neat pile on the left side of her desk. On top of the pile sat her grade book, patiently awaiting the arrival of whoever replaced her. To the right sat a box full of her personal items. It would have been nearly empty, but for the last-minute gifts from her students.


    Rolls of posters lay across the top of the box, some cheap inspirationals, some battered banners scavenged from the kids'' own rooms. Inside the box containers of candy, chips, and letter after letter completely obscured her coffee mug, her small collection of novels, and nearly buried her potted plant. She''d told them the day after she''d signed Charlie''s contract. For two whole weeks, they''d been silent, subdued, and she slipped into depression as their hurt at her betrayal ate at her.


    Then, on her last day, when she''d still brought cookies and soda for a final treat for her students, they''d surprised her. She''d arrived to find the classroom decorated, a perfect store-bought cake shoved to the side to give pride of place to the slumping, over frosted monstrosity baked by her students in the school''s own kitchen. Her students leapt out at her, shouting ''surprise'', and the tears and laughter almost made her regret her decision to leave.


    Drew hadn''t. She wasn''t on the municipal PD''s payroll any longer, but she''d only officially resigned after Charlie had the contract for the county in hand. Steve did the same with the fire department. He even worked out of the same building, at least until Charlie''s new headquarters building finished construction. Angela visited her remaining patients once a day and spent a few hours a day in the ER as well, but she''d already put together her lab in the warehouse where Charlie had stored her new equipment.


    None of her friends left their old lives behind entirely, but then, none of them had her responsibilities, either. She looked around the room one last time, making sure nothing looked out of place for her replacement. Only her desk looked wrong; last time they cleaned the floors they''d stuck it in place with floor wax, not quite square with the walls. She reached under the desk with one hand, stretched her fingers until she gripped the desk across all four legs, and lifted. Slow, inexorable pressure mounted until, with a screech of protest, the legs of the desk pulled free of their coating of floor polish.


    She set the desk down gently, squaring it with the walls. She''d been too surprised when Agent Johnson made his offer, too excited when Charlie made his, but she''d finally seen the smaller problem. The following Monday, in class, she''d looked around at the children in her class and realized what would happen the first time some criminal, or worse some villain with powers of his own, decided he needed to get her out of the way. He''d attack her kids. Before the final bell rang that day, her resignation arrived at the board offices.


    That reason pushed her away from her classroom, but only today had she realized the bigger, scarier reason. When she''d stepped into a darkened room, when all those bodies leapt out from behind concealing desks, her first response hadn''t been surprise. It hadn''t been joy at finally seeing how much her students and fellow teachers cared. Her first response had been to see which of her attackers posed the greatest threat.


    Something was terribly wrong with her, and she had no idea what it was.


    ***


    Katrina leaned back against Damien, propped her feet on the arm of his sofa, and stole the remote.


    "Hey!"


    "You channel surf."


    "I don''t want to see commercials."


    "Fine. We''ll watch the news."


    Without looking she sensed his eyes rolling toward the ceiling. Before she could chide him, his hands started working the knots from her sore limbs. She melted back into his embrace, barely retaining enough control to flick the button on the remote.


    "...in other news, billionaire Roger Gerard announced today he is entering into the private security field. When asked why, he had this to say:"


    The bland anchor''s face slid aside in favor of a distinguished looking middle-aged man behind a podium. At the cut, he stood motionless, his expression one of careful attention to the interviewer''s question. The moment the clip started, Katrina could tell he''d been made up to look older, or at least less physical.


    Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings.


    "That''s an excellent question, Marie. Everyone in the world is reeling from the damage done by the Rain of Fire. Emergency services are overwhelmed, and while most people have stepped up to help their fellows, some others have taken the opportunity to grab anything they can. I''m sure some folks will say that''s exactly what I''m doing, but... I didn''t get rich by providing services people didn''t need. I''m not going to pretend to be a saint. I''m doing this because I saw a business opportunity, but I''m also doing it because I saw an opportunity to make money by doing the right thing.


    "Emergency response teams across the country are being pushed to their limits dealing with the ordinary, everyday emergencies. When something out of the ordinary occurs, they slip a little further behind. What Gerard Security''s Chess Men are offering to every one of those precincts is breathing room. A chance to replace their slow slide into chaos with a renewed march forward to something better."


    Katrina frowned at the screen as, instead of switching back to the anchor, it stayed focused on the billionaire''s press conference. She hadn''t tuned in to watch an infomercial. She moved her finger to change the channel, but the next question froze her in place.


    "Mr. Gerard, how is your decision affected by the recent emergence of so-called ''super heroes''?"


    Carefully cultivated distaste flashed across Gerard''s face before he answered. "I''d say ''not at all'', Fred, except no one''s naive enough to believe that. The emergence of these individuals is bound to change the challenges faced by the Chess Men, but the same training and technology which allows them to act in the midst disasters both natural and manmade will allow them to act in the face of opposition from specially gifted individuals as well.


    "In addition, there is no reason those individuals should have privileged status in the eyes of the law. If they''re acting as duly deputized representatives of the government, like the Chess Men will be, there will be no need for conflict. If, on the other hand, they''ve taken the law into their own hands, or worse, done the unthinkable and used these gifts to bring harm to their fellow human beings, we will treat them the same as we would any other criminal; we will bring them to justice."


    The television went dark, followed by the lights in the room. Katrina let her eyes slip closed, implications of Gerard''s speech racing through her head.


    "Do you think he''s coming after us?"


    Damien''s quiet question crystallized her growing sense of unease. She''d gone along with Damien''s suggestion because she wanted the story of a lifetime. She''d kept doing it...


    She kept doing it because it felt good to be a hero. Right, like she''d finally found her real calling. She wasn''t giving up on being a journalist, but she couldn''t turn her back on being a hero, either. Since she and Damien had left the costumes hidden in the collapsed building, she hadn''t done anything. She''d called in sick every day, claiming injuries covering Centurion and Siren. She''d ignored her producer''s calls until he tracked her down at Damien''s place. She met him in a pair of shorts and midriff shirt, yellow-green bruises still covering her legs and body, the cuts scabbed over and starting to scar. He hadn''t called again, just sent her an email telling him to call when she felt well enough to return.


    Damien interrupted her musing. "We need to hide. If your producer can find us, a guy with a few billion to blow on his own private police force sure as hell can."


    She rolled over, his hands lifting as she twisted until she floated above him on a cushion of gentle, strong hands. He smiled up at her, his hands sweeping her hair back behind her neck.


    "So, where do we run to, love?" he asked.


    "We don''t."


    "He''ll find us."


    "Not if we stop hiding."


    Damien frowned. "He''ll just find us quicker that way."


    She held out one hand. "Phone."


    His frown deepened, but after a moment her cell phone slipped into the palm of her hand. She flipped it open and paged through her contacts until she found Agent Johnson''s.


    "What are you going to tell him?"


    "Everything. If we come clean, they can''t hold anything over us."


    His hands tensed, and a low whistle escaped his mouth. "We might wind up in prison."


    "Yeah, no. If they try anything like that, my next call is to Eduardo."


    "They might not give us a phone call. They might just throw us in a hole and forget about us."


    She looked away from her phone, staring into his eyes to calm the roiling madness that boiled up in reaction to the thought of Damien in danger. Her voice still echoed through the room.


    "If they try to throw me in a hole, I expect you to come get me out. If they throw you in a hole, do not despair, I will come for you."


    He smiled up at her, his frown banished. "That might not be the best situation for it, but I''m sure you will. Dial, news girl."


    She hit the call button and drew the phone to her ear. Before she''d finished the motion, Johnson''s voice spilled out into the room. "I''m a bit busy. Speak with Angela Merilyn at Parkway Memorial Hospital."


    With that he disconnected. They stared at one another for an endless, breathless moment. She realized, staring into Damien''s eyes, that there had never been a question. Everything they''d done had led to this point, avoiding the next step seemed unthinkable. Katrina twisted, moving to rise. Buoyed by a thousand gentle hands, she floated to her feet. Damien rolled out of the couch to stand next to her. She turned to stare at him, expectant.


    "Ready for a road trip?"


    She smiled. He might worry about her decisions, but once she decided, he backed her with everything.


    "Allons-y"

 Chapter Thirty Five - Clinic

    A huge fabric sign hung over the entrance to the warehouse. The ropes on the bottom, intended to hold it stretched out so passerby could read it, flopped around fitfully in the breeze. Damien tried to read the partially covered writing half a dozen times before he gave in. He reached out, grabbed each rope with one invisible hand, and pulled them taut.


    "Damien!" Katrina''s whisper barely tickled his ear, but he could feel the sudden paranoid urge to hide his face. He didn''t let go of the sign, but looking at the ground he didn''t a chance to read it, either.


    "What''s up?" He smiled at her, putting every ounce of innocence he could still muster into his grin. She held her frown in place, but he could tell by the way her eyes crinkled she wouldn''t be able to for long. She glanced back and forth, realizing how many people heard her whisper.


    "I''m stunned at how many people showed up here today."


    The elderly woman ahead of them turned her head just a bit before speaking. "Doc Merilyn has a new widget that can tell how bad the anemia is hitting you, and new iron pills that are supposed to keep better than the bottled ones."


    Damien knew he should handle the conversation; people knew Katrina''s face. He couldn''t stop her, though, when she sidled by him before he could think of a reply. "Do you know Doctor Merilyn, then?"


    "Oh, yes, dearie. She''s a friend of my neighbor, Charlie. She used to stop by and check on me at least once every few months, but what with all the troubles, she''s been too busy." She shrugged. "I needed to get out more, anyhow."


    "Thanks. That makes me feel a lot better."


    Damien hooked an arm over Katrina''s shoulders and pulled her closer. "See? Nothing to worry about."


    "I''m Alicia Gardner, by the way. You seem sort of energetic for someone with anemia. Or is it your husband who''s come down with it?"


    Damien hid a grimace; he''d left his slowly decaying hometown mostly to avoid the endless conversations about people''s health. Instead of replying to her comment about anemia, he tried to distract her with the other topic old people went on about. "Yup. Well, we''re not married, actually."


    Alicia frowned. "Young people. You two have been living together how long?"


    Katrina had remembered their plan to let him do the talking; she tucked herself under his arm as if to support him. He tilted his head to lean against hers, paying as much attention to Katrina snuggling into him as he did to Alicia. "We''re not, actually. We both have our own apartments."


    The old woman rolled her eyes. "Really. People think I''m blind because I''m old, but just because I''m old doesn''t make me stupid." She smiled, taking some of the sting out of her words. "Look at me. I''ve been cooped up so long I start playing busybody with two folks I don''t even know. Who are you, by the way?"


    "I''m Damien. This is Kat. Who is definitely not living with me, even if I would kinda like it better if she were."


    Katrina jostled his head upright as she twisted to face him without leaving the shelter of his arm. "Did you just make the lamest marriage proposal in the history of wedlock?"


    "Nope."


    "Damn. Here I was all ready to say yes, too."


    He shook his head as Alicia laughed. "You''d better not wait too long, young man. Someone will snap this one up quick if you don''t."


    The line started to move forward before he could reply. Without looking, he tucked each of the banner lines under the corners of the open doors. Before he walked into the building, he took one glance up to read the sign. Other than the sponsoring company''s logo, a pair of stylized capital ''b''s in royal blue, the sign was simple.


    "Blue Bloods Incorporated Free Clinic and Testing Center. Why Blue Bloods?" He managed to ask the question with a straight face, despite a growing suspicion, based entirely on a memory he tried to block out.


    "I''m sure I don''t know, Damien. You could ask Angela why Charlie picked the name, if you get a chance to talk with her."


    Damien frowned, looking down at her as they navigated a twisting corridor of eight foot fabric cubicle walls. "What do you mean, if we get a chance? Why wouldn''t we?"


    Before Alicia could answer, the three of them came to the end of the maze. It debouched into a hallway that ran the entire width of the building, with curtained alcoves all along one side. A sign tacked to the outside wall read ''please move to the next open examination room''. Halfway along the corridor, a curtain stood open, a young woman in hospital scrubs standing beside the opening.


    "Well, it''s nice to have met you."


    With that, Alicia toddled off in the direction of the open doorway. Damien leaned over and whispered to Katrina, "Odd."


    "What''s that?"


    "The setup." He knew she''d understand. Before the Rain, they''d been able to complete each other''s sentences sometimes. They''d grown closer since then. She could usually tell how he felt, and occasionally could tell his thoughts without before he spoke.


    This time she responded to his unease, not his words. "It''s actually way better than most clinics I''ve seen. Someone took their time, first thinking about the layout, then setting everything up. They''ve got the individual booths for privacy, the amusement park hallway to keep the line in a line rather than a herd, and I''m guessing..."


    The curtain nearest the door slid aside, revealing a tidy little alcove with another curtain on the far end. A desk split the space in two, a laptop and an automated blood pressure machine taking up nearly its entire surface. A familiar looking young man in a light blue coverall stepped out to greet them. Damien couldn''t place where he''d seen him before, or if he just resembled one of the thousands of people he''d filmed in the background of Katrina''s shoots. "Hello, folks. Which of you is next?"


    Damien reached out a hand. "We''re together."


    The young man shook hands, frowning. "You''re married?"


    "No."


    "I''m sorry, but we do have a policy against anyone but family members being examined together. Privacy issues."


    At the thought of separation, Damien clenched his fists. Squeals filled the air until Katrina put her lips up to his ear. "Hush, love. I''m sure we can work this out." She turned to the young man. "Who''s in charge here, Troy?"


    At the mention of his name, Damien remembered where he''d seen him before. The thought of a massive, pointed helmet forced a chuckle from him, despite his best attempts to hold it back. Troy grabbed at his chest, glancing down as he did.


    Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.


    "No nametag. How do you know my..." His eyes went wide. "Katrina Wells?"


    She smiled, laying one finger across her lips. "We''re actually not here for the clinic. We''re here to see Doctor Merilyn."


    Troy frowned at her. "I''m sorry, Miss Wells. Doctor Merilyn isn''t available for interviews. Maybe you could speak with the Blue Bloods press secretary? I''m sure she''ll be able to set up an appointment for you to speak with Charlie, er, I mean Mr. Morgan."


    Damien''s anger swelled again. Something about the rage felt wrong, foreign, but that thought couldn''t contain his outburst. "Look, Troy, we need to see Doctor Merylin, and we''re not going to be pawned off on some bureaucratic flunky."


    Tiny blue lights reflected from Troy''s eyes as all of Damien''s clenched fists glowed faintly. Troy stepped backward, and Damien followed him into the alcove, his arm still around Katrina. She whispered something into his ear, but the buzzing fury blocked it out. He reached out, even as he tried to stop himself, to grab Troy''s coverall in invisible hands and pull him close.


    "Is there a problem here?"


    The deep voice, calm even in the face of a cloud of glowing, flickering lights, belonged to a square jawed older man with a steel grey crew cut. He stepped through the part in the back curtain, and the glow around Damien''s clenched fists winked out one fist at a time. The rage trying to consume him evaporated like mist as the last of the lights went away.


    Shaking his head, trying to figure out what happened, Damien leaned on Katrina for support. She whispered into his ear again. "Calmly, Damien. It''s going to be all right."


    Damien let go of Troy''s shirt and turned to face the old guy in the urban camouflage fatigues. "Agent Johnson told us to come see Doctor Merilyn. The ad in the paper said she''s here. Was that some kind of scam by the military?"


    The old guy twisted one end of his mouth in a wry smile. "Not military. Not for a long time." Holding one hand up, palm angled down, in a gesture requesting patience, he turned to Troy. "I''ll take care of them. You going to be all right?"


    "Yeah." He waved one hand at the blood pressure cuff. "I don''t think we need a blood sample, do you?"


    "I''m sure Doc Merilyn will insist on one, but we''ll take care of that back in the lab." He turned back to Damien just before his patience ran out. "Okay, son. If Jamil sent you to talk to Doc, we''d best get you to her, don''t you think?"


    ***


    Katrina half carried Damien into the depths of the warehouse. His real arm draped over her shoulder; his invisible hands nowhere to be found. She felt his frustration ebbing with each step, but it remained all he could do to keep his anger under control.


    The heavyset older guy, Jack, led them past the clearly marked exit, through another curtained alcove, and into an area strewn with the remains of packing materials. Smooth-sided lab equipment, looking a little like overly complex copy machines, filled the remaining space. A single figure, illuminated by a trio of screens, hunched over a keyboard in the middle of the room. Her fingers flew, her keyboard rattled with a constant staccato rhythm.


    "What''s up, Jack?"


    Jack nodded toward Damien and Katrina, ignoring the fact the woman in the chair hadn''t looked away from her monitor. "Got a couple here who need to see you."


    She finally glanced up at that, barely taking her eyes off her screen for a moment before returning to work. The noise from the keys nearly drowned out her mutter. "I don''t have time for interviews, Jack. Have Flex deal with them." Her voice dropped down to a quiet, rapid-fire musing, but Katrina still picked out the words. "Maybe she can give them an interview pretending to be me or something. Not a bad idea." Her keyboard rattled, and Katrina saw an email window pop open, fill with text, and close again in the blink of an eye. The screen in front of her filled with code, the one to the right flickered through half a dozen browser tabs, and the one to her left displayed a rotating, three-dimensional model of something which looked vaguely like a gun.


    "Jamil sent them to see you. I think he''s a potential recruit."


    The woman in the chair spun around at that, her screens locking behind her. She grabbed a heavy, rounded device with a pistol grip from the top of a whirring machine as she walked toward them. She slid it against the side of the form-fitting bodysuit beneath her lab coat, where it hung without any apparent means of support.


    "Did the three-dimensional printer get here yet?"


    "Nope." Jack rumbled. "I checked online. It''s at Philly International now, should be here by tomorrow."


    "Damn. Get a space cleared out and set up for it, please?"


    "I''ll let Troy know."


    The doctor stepped up to Katrina, took a look at Damien, and waved for her to hand him over. Reluctantly, she let Merilyn guide him to a chair. He grit his teeth, but sat. Katrina stood beside him, one hand on his arm. His unseen hands rested on her shoulders, hips, and arms, still clutching at her for support.


    "I''m going to take a blood sample. Do you have a problem with that?"


    Katrina stepped between the doctor and Damien. "Isn''t there some paperwork you need him to sign? For legal reasons?"


    The doctor frowned at her, exasperation leaking out to trickle through Katrina''s mind. "I didn''t think Centurion would want a paper trail, but sure, we''ll play that way if you like."


    She pulled a small tablet from one of her lab coat pockets. After a few swipes and taps, a printer near the doctor''s desk whirred to life. She walked over, grabbed the sheet as it dropped into the catch bin, and walked back brandishing it like a weapon. Katrina took it, glancing through it while Damien stewed in the chair behind her.


    After reading the first couple lines, she held it out and pointed at one word in particular.


    "The legalese on this seems fine, but he," she swung her arm around to point at Damien, "isn''t Centurion."


    Doctor Merilyn rolled her eyes. "You spent the last four weeks filming the exploits of Centurion, a powered individual whose signature is the ability to project an unspecified number of invisible hands. Based on the handprints embedded in the sides of your news van, I suspect your first story about a powered individual on the night of the Rain of Fire was also about Centurion. You have four pairs of hands pressing into your body at various points right now. Either he''s Centurion, or you are," the doctor paused a moment, her brow furrowing, "or he''s nearby and aware of you. Occam''s Razor says your friend is him."


    Katrina tensed, her professional newscaster¡¯s smile slipping onto her face. "What hands?"


    Doctor Merilyn shifted, a bright, artificial smile plastered across her own face. She tapped her tablet a few times, swiped a finger across it, and turned the screen to face Katrina and Damien. There on the screen Katrina saw Damien''s mistake. Her shirt and pants, long to hide her bruises, and loose and billowing to keep her from overheating, pressed against her body in hand sized spots on her shoulders, her arms, and her waist.


    Katrina''s smile slipped from her face. She collapsed forward until she could lean against Damien''s shoulders. The moment her fingers brushed against his neck, her fatigue and fear washed away. A rueful grin twisted her mouth.


    "So... should we expect the police to be along shortly?"


    The doctor frowned again. "I''m sure your friend won''t wind up killing any of the officers when he escapes from the squad car."


    She slipped her arms around Damien''s neck, bending over to hug him close. "No. We won''t. We''ll go quietly."


    Damien tensed, then relaxed back into her arms. The tension leaked out of him with a long, drawn-out sigh. A single word escaped his lips. "Ayep."


    The doctor grinned, the expression strangely out of place after her grim statement earlier. "Well. I''m sure Drew will be glad to hear that, if she ever decides you need to be taken in."


    Damien stirred beneath her arms. "What do you mean?"


    "Agent Johnson wouldn''t have sent you to us if he wanted you in jail. He would have called Mr. Morgan and had the Blue Bloods track you down." She shrugged. "Instead, he sent you this way without telling us. I''m guessing he wants us to treat you like we would anyone else who came to us with your... unique condition."


    "Condition?"


    "You mean you don''t know?"


    Katrina had a strong suspicion she knew exactly what the doctor meant, but she couldn''t force herself to admit it. "I''m not sure. Could you explain?"


    "It''s easier if I show you. Do you mind if I take a blood sample from each of you?"


    She held out her left arm, pulling the sleeve back with her other hand. "No. Go ahead."


    The doctor pulled the bulky, pistol gripped device from her skintight jumpsuit. While Katrina stared at the spot she''d pulled it from, which had no hooks, snaps, or Velcro, the doctor grabbed her wrist, pushed the business end of the thing into the crook of her elbow, and pulled the trigger.


    "Ow!"


    Doctor Merilyn frowned. "Did it hurt?"


    Katrina stopped herself. "Um... not as much as I thought it would. A little, where you pressed it in. Mostly it felt... Odd. Like someone giving me a hickey, then dropping hot wax over it."


    "Well, that''s okay then." She pressed a control on the side of the device, and it whirred, clicked, and she watched as the doctor repeated her process on Damien. The slightest auditory hint of suction, followed by a brief flash leaking from between the device and his arm, and the doctor pulled the device away.


    "Okay now." She slipped two sample tubes from the back of the device. Each had an opaque paper covering with a pull tab. Doc Merilyn held up the one with ''1'' printed on the side and said, "Here''s your sample, Miss Wells. Red as rust." She pulled the tab away and stopped with her mouth hanging open. Katrina found herself staring as dumbfounded as the doctor. Only Damien, finally recovered enough to be his typical unflappable self, managed to respond.


    "Well, that''s different."


    Brilliant blue light leaked out from the tube of Katrina''s blood.

 Chapter Thirty Six - Widget

    Angela slipped both vials into her chromatograph. They clicked into place, the cover slid shut, and the machine hummed into action. She stepped over to her computer, logged in, and typed as she waited for the results. She sent an email to Charlie, letting him know about the two new potential recruits. Without thinking about it she addressed it to ''Mr. Morgan'', asking him to send ''Kronos'' to her lab to speak with Watkins and Wells. She went back to tinkering with designs and let her mouth run on automatic while she waited for his reply.


    "At this point, there''s not much we can tell you. There are at least three documented haemochromatic anomalies, but with everyone still reeling from the aftereffects of the Rain of Fire, it''s distinctly possible we''re missing something."


    Damien interrupted her, his New England accent softening the faint hints of anger lingering in his voice. "Hay Matto what now?"


    "Odd blood coloration. So far I''ve tested nearly ten thousand individuals, and..."


    Katrina cut in, reminding Angela why she hadn''t become a teacher. "Ten thousand? How did you get ten thousand samples since the Rain?"


    "Actually, it''s only in the last two weeks. I''ve been working with other clinics around the tri-state area, as well as working through Agent Johnson''s government and military contacts. If I had enough information or reputation to go public, I could get even more, but I don''t yet."


    "Okay. What colors?"


    She shot Katrina a quick frown. "Still looking for a scoop?"


    "It''s a habit. Hey, I might be able to help you with that going public thing, you know."


    "We''ll see. At any rate, out of those ten thousand individuals, roughly five hundred now have a distinct violet color to their blood. Interestingly, the largest single concentration were employees at Mr. Morgan''s auto reclamation yard. I''m still looking to see if there''s an environmental factor, or if it''s purely a genetic predisposition triggered by the Rain." She brought up a color swatch on her right monitor and pointed. "That''s the shade. At any rate, up until you two arrived, we''d discovered five individuals with bright cyan blood." She brought up another swatch. "In each of those cases, the blood is also luminescent. In one final case, the blood is neon green, also luminescent." She brought up a final color swatch.


    "Now, in each of the cases of violet blood, the patients have displayed a complete resistance to the anemia inducing effects of the post-Rain dust. I''m not presently sure if the same mutation that caused the violet blood change is protecting them from the anemia, or the protection from anemia is preventing full conversion to copper-based blood oxygen transfer. With me so far?"


    The pair stared at her. Wells nodded and smiled, but her eyes carried the glazed incomprehension Angela had come to know and hate. Watkins just stared, his mouth hanging open a bit, his head shaking.


    "Right." She rubbed her temples, trying to remember her classes on how to relate the nature of illness to mentally challenged patients. These two had normal intelligence, or she thought they did, but lately it seemed like everyone played stupid unless she pretended they''d suffered brain damage.


    "Okay. Purple blood is rare, and immune to anemia. Got it?"


    "Ayep." Damien nodded once.


    "Glowing blood, whether green or blue, is extremely rare, and in every instance we''ve seen it''s correlated with some form of... let''s call them unusual abilities. One example would be Centurion''s invisible hands. We''ve seen other individuals able to generate equally strange phenomena."


    "Such as?"


    Angela smiled at Katrina''s persistence. "Such as the abilities I cannot share with you due to privacy concerns."


    "You know about them, though."


    "First, I am the physician of record for all but two of the haematocyanotic individuals we''ve seen so far. Second, I am the staff physician for Blue Bloods, and have access to medical records for everyone in that organization as well."


    Wells smiled at her, trying unsuccessfully to hide her intentions. "All but two, huh? Mind if I ask who those two are?"


    Angela couldn''t help her smirk. "Not at all."


    They waited in silence, Angela returning to her work on the next generation of tools for her med techs. She desperately wanted time to work on her research equipment, but those modifications took all of her attention, and in just a few seconds she knew...


    A tiny sigh of exasperation escaped Wells. "Okay, then, who are the last two?"


    Angela spun around, her PC locking behind her once more. "I thought that would be obvious."


    "Would I be asking if it was?"


    Angela took a deep breath. Her bedside manner had deteriorated since the Rain. She knew it, but she couldn''t do anything about it. She could talk to Charlie; he could almost keep up with her, and if he couldn''t, he gave himself time to think without interrupting the flow of the conversation. She''d always treated Steve like a moron, so she could still banter with him. Oddly enough, Drew could come up with good ideas, although she always seemed more standoffish than usual when she did.


    Wells opened her mouth, and Angela spoke quickly to forestall her. "Wells, Katrina and Watkins, Damien. At a guess I would say Mr. Watkin''s abilities are related to his helping hands, and Ms. Watkins are vocal in nature."


    Wells'' professional composure shattered in an instant. "You will not tell anyone about this."


    The subsonic reverberations of her voice plucked at Angela''s spine, sending chills along her limbs and planting a seed of fear deep inside her gut. A curtain of gray hovered just beyond her vision. Before Wells could speak again she interrupted once more.


    "Ms. Wells, I would take it as a personal favor if you do not attempt to control me with your vocal abilities."


    "It''s okay, Kat."


    Damien''s quiet warning fell on deaf ears. "Doctor Merilyn, I would appreciate it if you didn''t reveal our nature to the authorities." The reverberations intensified. The curtain of gray ground down, nearly obscuring Angela''s vision entirely. She held herself still, focusing on the tiny circle of clarity in the center of her field of view. Her head ached with the force of the gray dust pounding at her.


    "I wish I had that helmet again."


    The moment the words left her mouth, she regretted them. Her tiny slice of sanity filled with speculation, hypothesis after hypothesis flashing into her head, only to be discarded. The moment the final idea fell, falsified, a weight settled on top of her head. The reverberations cut off like someone had thrown a switch. She concentrated on her breathing until the wall of gray dust cleared.


    Stolen content warning: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.


    Wells stood staring, her mouth hanging open. Not even stunned shock could keep her from talking, though. "You''re... you''re one of us... of them, I mean."


    Angela rolled her eyes. "You can stop trying to hide it. Ms. Wells... Katrina. Your abilities have to do with your voice and the ability to control people with it. His have to do with some form of telekinesis. My own, as you might have guessed, include a drastically increased intellectual capacity. Just in case you''re still in shock, I''ve found I''m very, very smart. It appears, however, that any psychological instabilities are exacerbated in equal proportion to our enhancement."


    Damien spoke up again. "It''s okay, Kat. I don''t think she means to hurt us. But... are you saying it makes us crazy?"


    Angela smiled at him. "No. I''m saying it makes us crazier. Human beings tend to be a little off at our best, and those of us who deliberately choose high risk or high investment professions tend to be off balance further than normal."


    Katrina cocked her head to one side. "Do you hear something?"


    "Sort of. A wobbly noise. Kind of like what happened when she pulled that hat out of thin air, only... different."


    "Fascinating. It appears you can detect other enabled individuals. Jack, could you open the curtain for Kronos, please?"


    Without a word, Jack pulled the curtain aside. A moment later, Kronos appeared in the middle of the room. He still wore the gas mask, but Angela had reshaped the breather to something less obstructive, as well as replacing his outfit with one made of a loose, flowing fabric. At his request, she''d made the torso and upper half of the legs out of a deep blue fabric, and the lower half of each leg out of beige. He thought he looked like an hourglass when he stuck his arms and legs out to the sides.


    He was almost, but not quite, entirely wrong.


    Katrina jumped at his sudden appearance, but her partner didn''t even blink.


    "Mr. Kronos?" he drawled, a soft New England accent leaking through.


    "Just Kronos." The gas mask altered Charlie''s voice enough strangers wouldn''t recognize him, but it wouldn''t work once he''d been on television a time or two. Angela sat down and tapped out a basic schematic for a voice changer she could shoehorn into his mask.


    "Mr. Watkins. Ms. Wells. I''m Kronos, head of the Blue Bloods field team. I understand Agent Jamil Johnson sent you to us?" The gas mask damped some of the nuance in Charlie''s voice, but Katrina picked up the cue despite that. Shaking her head and blinking, she still spoke as clearly as any news program could want.


    "Yes. I suspect he was giving us a not-so-subtle hint we should join you."


    Charlie nodded. "I agree. We''ll need Doctor Merilyn to do a physical..."


    "Done." Angela interrupted.


    Damien looked at her. "You took a blood sample. That''s not a complete physical."


    "I haven''t checked the data yet, and could purge it if you like, but my medical analyzer checks temperature, blood pressure, muscle and bone density, and body fat composition, as well as doing a quick scan for foreign bodies and biochemical irregularity. I suppose I need to do a check of your joints and reactions, but I''d hoped to hold off until we''ve got a more suitable gymnasium for that." She didn''t actually look around; she had more important things to work on. The database for the analysis tool, the next generation of the tool itself, and now Charlie''s voice changer.


    "Right," said Katrina, "so why did you need to show me my blood? Why didn''t your widget tell you I had blue blood?"


    "Because it doesn''t have a big enough screen for that kind of readout. It''s hooked to my handheld, but I didn''t have that out. The bigger ones the med techs are using have a built-in screen, and they call me in if anything abnormal shows up."


    "I can''t believe the FDA is letting you get away with this."


    Angela shook her head without looking away from her screens. "The Federal government is dealing with the biggest disaster mankind has ever faced. I''m sure when the FDA realizes they''ll be screaming bloody murder, and the AMA might want a piece of my hide as well, but right here, right now, I''m keeping a lot of people healthy, and the fact that they''re not at an emergency room or taking up the time of doctors and nurses needed to deal with critical issues means they''re able to save a lot of lives."


    Charlie cut in. "Which brings us back to the two of you. Mr. Watkins, Ms. Wells, if you''d like we can list you down as having haematocyanotic blood on your medical records, give you Doctor Merilyn''s number in case you need to see a doctor familiar with the condition, and let you go on about your lives. On the other hand, if you''re looking to lend a hand...?"


    Damien and Katrina exchanged a long, silent look. At the end, he reached out and took her hand, and she nodded, once. Damien stood, extending a hand to Kronos.


    "Call me Damien. How can we help?"


    ***


    Charlie leaned against Angela''s desk. Sweat drenched his close-cropped hair, beaded on the inside of his mask. The anti-fog coating on his lenses kept his vision clear, but the thick rubber coating covering the outside of his costume kept the sweat from evaporating. It ran along his sides, down his limbs, and pooled in his gloves and boots. He wanted desperately to pull off his mask, to collapse and pant until his breath came back, but without the all-concealing costume, someone might recognize him.


    "What''s wrong?" Angela asked her question without looking up. Her keyboard rattled as she waited for him to respond. Her left screen switched to a view of the parking lot. Jack and Troy helped the two new recruits into Charlie''s pickup truck. Jack hopped into the back, and Troy pulled himself up into the driver''s seat and drove off.


    Charlie realized he''d been staring at the screen for the past few minutes without answering. "Tired."


    "It''s probably stress. You''ve never had to deal with the press before." She paused, waiting for his reply. It came slowly, hauled from the depths of a fatigued brain, forced from numb lips.


    "I do promotional work for the Junkyard. Just finished doing it for Blue Bloods."


    She nodded, as if expecting his denial. "You''re not getting enough sleep. That exacerbates the stresses of leadership and being in the spotlight, both of which are particularly hard on you."


    He tried to force himself to push harder, but his body failed him. He held his time, but it slipped from his exhausted grasp. His answer came out in a muttered rush. "I don''t need as much sleep anymore. I get plenty."


    "You''ve never dealt with someone who can and has ripped men to pieces with the power of his mind."


    His mouth hung open as he searched desperately for any kind of reply. He kept searching as Angela stood, walked across the room to the charging station for her medical scanners, picked one up, and returned to his side.


    "Yeah. Haven''t done that before."


    "So. Maybe you''ll believe me if you see the results for yourself?" She waggled the scanner at him. She wasn''t giving in until he let her play doctor. That thought merged with the visual of her lab coat hanging open, showing off the form fitting bodysuit beneath. He lost track of why she needed to close with him, but he let her, craning his neck a little to get a better look.


    She sucked her teeth, sighing when she had to pull his arm out of his costume to get her sample. Shaking her head, she spoke, probably to keep him awake while they waited for the results. "You did really well. Got lucky, too."


    "Nope. Not luck." No matter what rushed through his brain, his mouth wouldn''t go beyond monosyllabic responses.


    "What do you mean?"


    He tried and failed to come up with an answer. The third attempt without being able to say a single word tempted him to use his power, but when he tried it slipped from him again. Finally, the timer alarm shook him out of his stupor enough to give her an answer, sort of.


    "Groundhog Day."


    She looked up, the tiniest moment of confusion furrowing her brow before she nodded, her eyes widening for an equally short amount of time. "You can retry things."


    "Hard. Tired. Hurts."


    She looked at his arm again, turning it until she saw the hand shaped bruises on his shoulder. "You step back, you don''t reset time itself."


    "Something like. I''ve got to get back to the base. Mr. Morgan needs to talk with Wells and Watkins."


    She slid one hand across his bruise, and cool relief spread from the point of contact. "Not right now, you don''t. I''ll call Flex. She can run them through the initiation stuff you came up with. You need to get back on your meds, not to mention getting some sleep."


    "Haven''t taken meds for years."


    "You haven''t had this many new stressors for years, either. Don''t worry, it''s a small dose, just enough to keep you together long enough to get some real sleep."


    Adrenaline shot through him when he realized what she''d done. "You dosed me just..." A yawn split his words in two, and she just stared at him as he muttered the rest of his sentence. "Drugged me."


    "Yes. I am your doctor. We will, on rare occasions where a patient''s life is in danger and there is no next of kin to consult, do that. Since by the terms of my contract you''re liable for any malpractice suits against me, I don''t think the patient will litigate. You might even forgive me when you wake up."


    He pushed more words at her as she led him to the cot on one side of her room. "Patrol. Drew. Tonight."


    Angela caught him as he fell into the cot, lowered him until his head touched the pillow. "Drew will be fine for one night of patrols on her own. She managed often enough before all this started."


    "Code name."


    "Yes, well. She doesn''t have one yet. We all vetoed ''cop'' and all variations thereon, as you''d remember if you''d been sleeping properly. Good night, Charlie."


    The sound of her rattling keyboard lulled him to sleep.

 Chapter Thirty Seven - Ice

    A light blinked on Angela''s leftmost screen. She slipped her ear bud in, clicked the light, and spoke. "Hello, this is Doctor Merilyn."


    "Hi, Doc. This is Andy down at the ER."


    She clicked a few links on her communication screen, returned to her drafting as the unneeded information scrolled by. "I remember you. Are Ellen''s lungs doing better?"


    "On the days I can convince her to take it easy, yeah. That''s not really important right now, though. We need you."


    Angela paused her drafting, brought up her alert queue. The intake at the ER had been normal for the past eight hours, although they''d had an ambulance arrive recently from outside the county. She pulled up the security feed from the ER doors. The sides were too dirty and scuffed up for her to get a good look at the originating county, but the damage told her enough; this particular truck had come from, maybe even through, one of the urban zones heavily damaged by the Rain of Fire. Still, the doctors remaining at the ER all had more experience than she did.


    "Did something happen to one of the other doctors?"


    "No, ma''am, I didn''t mean we need you in particular. But we kinda do. I meant we need Blue Bloods. Something weird is going down."


    Angela checked the Blue Bloods duty roster and shook her head. Charlie needed to rest. Jack and Flex were dealing with the new recruits. Drew would be on patrol tonight solo, so she needed her sleep as well. That left one person other than herself. She pinged him with a quick text.


    ''Meet me at hospital, ASAP - Doc.''


    His reply came back so fast she knew he''d been standing around playing with his phone, rather than patrolling like he should. ''Bossy bitch. CU there - Axe''


    She shook her head and spoke into her ear bud again. "What''s going on?"


    "We just got an ambulance in from, get this, Dade County, Florida."


    "And?"


    "Well, the guys driving are currently under observation. They hadn''t eaten right for like two weeks. Junk food and snacks while looking for... well, you, I think. They kept muttering about needing a special doctor for their patient."


    Angela rolled her eyes. No one ever got to the point.


    "So, who''s their patient?"


    "That''s why we need you guys. We can''t tell. The back of the ambulance is one solid block of ice."


    ***


    Steve stared at the back of the emergency vehicle, trying to get some sense of what lurked inside. Since the Rain, he''d been able to smell and hear things far beyond the human norm, but his sense of sight hadn''t improved. It''s not like he had bad vision, but compared to what he could hear, could smell, it just didn''t measure up.


    Before he switched gears and tried smelling for things, he gave the ambulance a once over. Florida plates, bright yellow-green paint scheme, lower half obscured by a thick coating of sandy mud, and practical off-road tires all spoke of a vehicle adapted for pulling folks from beaches, marshes, and other inaccessible places and getting them to a hospital. The guys down in South Jersey had similar setups, but they didn''t use chartreuse paint. They didn''t have Florida plates, either.


    He tried the passenger side door; it opened smoothly. The paramedics had left it unlocked. He leaned in to check the inside of the truck, but half a step back from the front seats a solid wall of ice obscured his vision. The afternoon''s heat still hadn''t worn off, so the cool air rolling off the ice felt good, but he wasn''t here to feel good. He had to figure out how to get the patient out of the back.


    He closed his eyes, cleared his head, and sniffed. It took a few moments to ignore the scent of the driver and his partner; both male, both rank after two weeks without showers. Whoever they had on ice wouldn''t smell like that. He inhaled again, deeply. The salt and rot of the sea assaulted his nostrils; a good chunk of that ice came from ocean water. He scraped a nail across the surface and touched it to his tongue. After a moment swearing quietly at the sudden pain of an ice cream headache, he confirmed the salt in the water.


    Of course, that told him why he''d gotten an instant cold headache as well. Salt water melted at a much colder temperature than pure, and the stuff in the back of the truck had as much salt as the stuff he''d occasionally gotten in his mouth down at the beach. He got out, closed the door, and wandered around to the back of the truck. The handles on the back door wiggled, as if unlocked, but the ice inside had infiltrated the mechanism. It wouldn''t turn far enough to let him swing the back open. Instead, he settled for sticking his face up against the crack and inhaling.


    A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.


    The security guard at the door of the hospital, a local rent-a-cop, not a real cop moonlighting for some extra cash, gave him a funny look, which he ignored. The two from the front seat had been past here, but not for the past few weeks. Faintly, he smelled something else. More ocean rot. Female sweat. Something else, something he associated with Angela and Jesse and Drew and... Charlie?


    He pushed away from the back of the truck, shaking his head as he did. "Hey, speed bump."


    The guard didn''t reply, didn''t even acknowledge he''d spoken. Steve shook his head, shrugged to settle his stylized, bright blue fireman''s coat a little more squarely, stuck his hands in his pockets and walked over to the guy.


    "Is the hospital so short on funds they''ve got to hire deaf security guards?"


    That''s when Steve noticed the emblem on the security guard''s shirt; a stylized chess piece, the symbol for Gerard Security''s far more numerous ''normal'' division. The guard nodded to him politely but didn''t say anything.


    "Yeah. Don''t talk much, do you?"


    The guard didn¡¯t even look at him when he replied. "Didn''t know you were talking to me."


    "Right. Sure. Whatever. I''m going to need a hose."


    The guard just stared at him.


    "Well?"


    "Do you have a security related concern, sir?"


    Steve hooked his thumbs into his belt loops and cocked his head. "Well, I''m not sure it''s security related, but if someone like that Centurion guy rolled up in the back of an ambulance, I might want to at least loosen the snap on my taser, if you know what I mean."


    The guard blanched, taking an involuntary half step backward and resting a hand on his weapon. "Centurion''s in there?"


    "Yeah, no. Somebody like Centurion. Somebody like Kronos. Or, if you want to get down to brass tacks," Steve smiled maniacally, "like me."


    "Uh... Okay. Thank you for the warning, sir. I''ll call for some backup."


    "Yeah, you do that. While they''re on the way, have them haul the fire hose out here."


    The mulish look crept back onto the guard''s face. "Why don''t you just get it yourself?"


    "Hey, no problem. I''ll leave you out here alone with the unidentified super powered guy in the back of the ambulance. I''m sure he''s a good guy, and not going to be disoriented from whatever put him in an ambulance in the first place." The mulish look wavered. "Besides, even if it''s some kind of rampaging ice beast, you can heal it when he rips your arms off, right?"


    The mulish look evaporated like spit on a griddle. The guard backed toward the entrance to the ER. "Yeah, can you keep an eye on my post while I run in and get the other guys and your hose for you?"


    "Yeah, why don''t you do that?"


    The guard walked into the building, pulling his walkie talkie from the case on his hip. Under his breath he muttered, "He didn''t have to be such a prick about it."


    Steve called out, "Yeah, but being an asshat is one of the best perks of the risking-your-life-for-others business."


    ***


    Rain bounced off the metal of the roof. So long since she heard it last, but she remembered it perfectly regardless. Perfect pitch, perfect recall, she still remembered her mother singing to her before she could walk. Off key.


    Unlike those days so long ago, the rain brought no respite from the heat. Just the opposite, the longer the rain droned on, lashing the roof so hard it must fall off, the hotter the shack became. The covers absorbed the impact, but the damp cold against her skin told her she would wake to soaked sheets, soaked bedclothes, and a soaked mattress.


    Grace hoped the rain would stop in time for her to dry the mattress. She hated when they mildewed.


    ***


    Angela pulled into the parking lot on automatic, her brain already racing to figure out the method behind Steve''s madness. That one existed, she didn''t doubt, but the details often eluded her. The worst part, of course, came when he explained, and she felt like an idiot.


    She hated feeling like an idiot.


    Without looking she backed the bright blue Smart Car into a spot, set the emergency brake, and gathered up her gear from the passenger seat. She spent a few moments standing beside the car, settling things in place on the support mesh, still staring at Steve as he hosed down the ambulance. Dirt and sand covered the edges of the spreading pool he''d created, but she couldn''t bring herself to believe he''d decided to wash the paramedic''s vehicle for them.


    Without calling out, she walked slowly toward him. When she still had fifty feet or so to go, he angled the hose at the driver''s side rear door, braced it against the side of his body, let go with one hand and tried the passenger side door handle. It opened, although from the way he tugged at it she thought the door might be stuck.


    Once he had one of the twin doors open, he shifted around until the hose rested under his other arm. That aimed the stream of water in through the now-opened door and let him work the driver''s side door open the same way he had the passenger side. He kept the water spraying into the back of the ambulance. Angela couldn''t see any sign of a fire, and the water continued to gush out the back in any case.


    When she reached conversational distance, he still hadn''t noticed her. She opened her mouth to speak and got a mouthful of water as Steve jerked the hose to one side, staring at something inside the ambulance.


    "Dammit, Steve! I did not want to drink from the fire hose!"


    "They all say that before they realize how much pineapple I eat," Steve muttered. Out of the line of the hose Angela recognized Steve''s autopilot banter and disregarded it. Trying to civilize him could wait, the patient couldn''t. Before she got close enough to grab the hose, he darted into the ambulance and back out, redirecting the hose inside the moment he got clear.


    Of course, he soaked her twice more with that one brief spurt of movement.


    "Steve, if you don''t stop spraying me and tell me what''s going on, I''m going to recommend monthly colonoscopies, just to be sure your head isn''t stuck up there again."


    Steve''s face had gone blue. Angela took a step back, because only something beyond the pale could make Steve blush. He opened his mouth to speak, closed it again. Twice more he tried to explain, all the while gently sweeping the geyser erupting from the hose through the vehicle. Finally, he gave up, shrugged, and reached his hand out to Angela, palm up.


    A bright blue star rested in his hand, a phosphorus flare in the shape of a blood sample vial.


    ***


    From the end of the infinite, intimate tunnel eternity spoke to Grace once more.


    Time to wake up.

 Chapter Thirty Eight - Sovereign Citizens

    Drew rolled her car along the street, engine nearly silent, lights off. The anonymous tip they''d gotten about suspicious activity at the strip mall hadn''t specified how many. With no backup, she intended to keep the element of surprise for as long as possible. More than once a group of perps had given up not because she could take them down, but because she''d ridden the surprise until all of them wore cuffs.


    A block away from the place she put the car in neutral, shut off the engine, and let it coast to a stop, swerving to avoid the pools of light from streetlamps. Right before she came into view of the line of stores, she popped open the driver''s side door and planted a foot on the curb. The weight of the car slid her along for another few feet before it stopped completely. The quiet crunch of the tires on the pavement announced her presence, but nothing more.


    Before she got out of the car she gathered up her new equipment. An earpiece with built in mic and camera went in her left ear. A heavy, steel-barreled six-cell flashlight slipped through the specially reinforced epaulet on her right shoulder. She''d argued for the left, but Charlie had overruled her. A taser, something she hadn''t carried since her days in uniform, settled in a holster next to her revolver. Charlie thought tasing criminals would be better for public image than beating them down to put the cuffs on, but no one had ever tased Charlie. Drew rated it as less painful than being hit with cattle prod, but way worse than getting the shit kicked out of her.


    She stared at the final bit of equipment for a while before putting it on. Her new badge followed the model of law enforcement badges everywhere; a basic kite shield, this one in blued silver. Two stylized Bs formed the shield, with her name written across the top in navy blue enamel. Charlie kept hounding her to pick a codename, but nothing seemed right. With a muffled sigh, she clipped the badge onto the lapel of her jacket instead of slipping it into a pocket. She didn''t expect any other police out here tonight, but if some conscientious armed citizen tried to help, she didn''t want to get shot.


    "Testing, testing, is this thing on?" Silence greeted her question.


    "Angie? Are you listening?"


    A moment later Angela whispered in Drew''s ear, "I''m monitoring, but I''m juggling a few things at the moment. Do you need backup?"


    Drew swore silently. Going into a potential armed robbery without backup on hand, and her dispatch had ''other things to juggle''. "Just testing this thing out. Any more information on the situation here?"


    "Nothing so far. I''ll be monitoring video and audio, but be aware, the video is a little dark on this end."


    Drew heaved another longsuffering sigh before sliding out the door. She closed the door, careful to mute the sound by pushing it rather than slamming it. Upon hearing it latch, she slipped into the night, drifting silently toward the strip mall. Without thinking about it, she brushed her hands across the holsters of her revolver and her taser, quietly unsnapping the covers.


    The strip mall held only half a dozen storefronts. One end had a supermarket, the other a department store. Sandwiched in between, two hairdressing salons, one church, and the entrance to a warren of ''professional offices'' each no bigger than a cubicle tried to outdo the others. All of them wound up looking tacky next to the bright colors of the Dollar Grocer and the relatively subdued mass of the Bargain Mart. The semi trailer parked in front of the Mart immediately drew Drew''s eye.


    "Angie, I''ve got a few suspects going carrying stuff out of the B Mart and loading it in a semi. Somehow I don''t think they''re after hours shelf stockers," she whispered.


    Angela whispered her reply. "Understood. Picture is grainy, but we''ve got enough definition to use in court. Do you require backup?"


    "Why are you whispering?"


    Enjoying the story? Show your support by reading it on the official site.


    "I could speak in a normal tone and risk them hearing the ear bud."


    "Right. Whispering is good. What''s the backup situation like?"


    Angela paused a moment. "I could have Flex there in ten minutes, but she''ll be breaking some traffic laws. Jack is presently overseeing Watkins and Wells; Wells insisted."


    "Huh?" Half her attention on Angela''s quiet recitation, Drew slid through the shadows along the edge of the parking lot.


    "They''re ''in custody'' until they get some kind of legal closure on the events in New York. Charlie spoke with Agent Johnson earlier. He''s getting in touch with a Federal judge, we should have something in progress by tomorrow AM. Until then, they insist we put them in a cell capable of holding them, which we don''t have, or guard them."


    "Huh. Damn." Drew muttered her reply, focused on the store and the truck. The perps had taken out one of the huge panes of glass from the Mart''s front windows. A line of men handed items through the window and into the truck. She ghosted forward, keeping track of the burglars through reflections and shadows. The unknown criminals moved with smooth efficiency.


    "So. Flex in ten, Jackhammer in twenty, or Steve in thirty."


    Drew thought, briefly, about who she''d want backing her if things got nasty. "Send me the Hammer. Tell him if I need him, I''ll need him sooner than possible."


    "Will do."


    Drew leaned back into the pitiful cover of the office suite''s entryway. "And tell Steve to change his name. It''s just not intimidating. ''Oh, here comes Steve!'', ''Halt evildoers, or face the wrath of Steve!''"


    "I don''t know, his body odor can be pretty powerful."


    Drew covered her mouth with both hands, trusting to her ear mic to pick up her muffled words. "Not as bad as that body spray he uses to cover it up. Okay, if you don''t stop making me laugh, they''re gonna hear me. Jackhammer on the way?"


    "Coming to you now."


    Drew popped out of cover just long enough to see the burglars, and swore. One of the bunch had climbed up onto the running board of the truck, and another now sat behind the driver''s seat.


    "They''re about to get away. Going in."


    "Drew, wait!"


    Drew ignored the whispering in her ear and stepped around the corner, one hand going to her light as she did. She crossed the remaining distance quickly, and between her dark outfit and their conversation, the two thugs in the truck didn''t notice her approach. When she stood no more than ten feet away from the front of the truck she flicked on her flashlight and shouted.


    "Hold it right there!" She shone her light straight into the eyes of the driver, blinding him momentarily. "Everyone stop right where you are. I need to see some identification."


    The guy leaning on the running board reached inside his jacket, and she swung the flashlight over to cover him. She lay her left hand on her hip, right next to the holsters for her pistol and taser. "Keep your hands where I can see them." She flicked the light back to the driver. "You too, sir."


    The driver''s hands crept up from beneath the dash, both empty. He kept raising them until his palms pressed against the roof. The thug on the running board leaned toward her, one hand holding him to the truck, one hand in the air, and called out. "I''m sorry, ma''am, but we need to ask you the same thing. Can we see your identification, please?"


    Drew rolled her eyes, then lifted her badge up to one side of her light. At that angle, the guys in the truck should be able to see she had a badge, but not much else. She''d already had someone call her badge fake, and Charlie didn''t want another incident.


    "Can you see it?"


    A radio squawked inside the truck. "Don''t answer that, gentlemen. Not until I''ve seen some identification."


    "It''s my boss, ma''am, I''ve got to."


    "He can wait. You''ve seen my badge. You in the truck, pull your driver''s license out and hold it out the window."


    As the driver moved to comply, she edged around so she would be able to see his license. "Dispatch, can you contact the store''s manager for me? I''ll need him to confirm this guy works for them."


    "On it," said Angela.


    The guy had his license out, but the angle kept her from reading it. She inched forward to get a better look.


    "She''s one of them aliens with the powers! Don''t show her nothing, Carl! Alien woman, we are sovereign citizens, and you have no authority over us!"


    "What the fuck?" Drew muttered.


    At the shout from atop the truck, the driver, presumably Carl, yanked his license back inside the window and started fumbling with the ignition. Drew swung her light to spot the guy atop the truck, but halfway there muzzle flashes ruined her night vision. She feinted left, dove right, and threw her flashlight at the shooter. She hit the ground rolling toward the trailer, and didn''t stop until she came out the other side.


    As Drew sprang to her feet, the sound of groaning and cursing brought a brief smile to her lips. It died when the guy on the roof shouted out ''kill the alien bitch!'', and the guys in the loading line started tearing at the packages they''d been loading.


    Long, thin packages from the sporting goods section. Rifles.


    "Angela?"


    "Yes, Drew?"


    "I''m calling out sick tomorrow, on account of I''m about to be shot."

 Chapter Thirty Nine - Grenades

    "Kill the alien bitch!"


    Drew had had enough of the guy shouting from the top of the trailer. Before the guys on the ground got their guns loaded up, she leapt up the side of the truck. Her fingers found purchase on the edge of the trailer''s roof, and she pulled herself up and over into a handstand. The screaming guy had just enough time to have his mouth drop open in shock before her feet hammered down on top of his head. He collapsed, and Drew used the momentum of her flip to leap off the far side of the truck.


    As she somersaulted through the air, a flash of pale red-gold near the floor of the department store caught her eye; a woman, hog tied and stripped down to her underwear.


    "And there goes any chance I could just hightail it and wait for backup."


    A light went on in the back of the van, briefly illuminating the line of cargo handlers. They wore fatigues, floppy boonie caps, and bandannas wrapped around their faces. All of it camouflaged in greens and browns, great in the forest, but doing nothing to break up their outlines against the backdrop of the department store. Before the handheld spotlight swung around to point at her, Drew pointed her taser at one of the perps, pulled the trigger, and rolled as she held the button down. The guy at the far end of her wires barely twitched, but twin spots on his chest smoked faintly for a moment.


    "Great. Let Jack Hammer know these fuckers have body armor."


    "Language, Williams. This is official business, and being recorded."


    Drew rolled, drawing her gun and bouncing to her feet well away from the beam of the spotlight. One eye shut to preserve her night vision, she snapped a shot at the spot. She leapt away from her firing point as rifle rounds zipped through the space she''d just occupied. The guy inside the truck swore, clutching at the hand he''d used to hold the light.


    "One injured in the truck. Possible gunshot to the hand."


    "EMS informed. Jack has hit traffic en route."


    Drew stopped, head cocked, staring at nothing. "What the hell? He''s worried about traffic laws?"


    "Traffic accident has the roads completely blocked."


    Another volley of shots forced Drew to move again, broken field running across the lot from light post to light post, taking out the lights as she ran. "Shit. I wouldn''t be surprised if these guys staged it. Tell him to expedite."


    "Acknowledged."


    The guy on top of the truck screamed again. "She''s worth a bunch! Five thousand dollars to the guy who brings her down!" He swung down into the back of the truck before she could get a shot off at him, but she had bigger problems. His henchmen charged her, half a dozen guys armed with rifles and various hand weapons. Before they closed, she emptied the last four shots from her clip. Two guys dropped, screaming and clutching at their knees, before she ghosted into the shadows again.


    "Amateurs. They always forget about the knees," she muttered as she scuttled around her pursuers in the darkness, moving toward the front of the store again. Without another word, her movements covered by the sound of the remaining four henchmen''s wild goose chase, she rolled back under the truck, coming out right next to where she''d seen the bound woman.


    On seeing her, the young woman thrashed around. Drew holstered her gun, slipped behind the free standing customer service desk, and found a set of scissors. When she returned, the woman had crawled, inchworm style, halfway to the doors. Just outside, the leader of the looters stood doing something with a handheld glow stick. Drew dropped silently to her knees beside the woman, grabbing her hands as she did.


    If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. Please report it.


    "I kinda hoped they''d improvised. You''re lucky." With two quick slashes of the scissors, she undid the zip ties hogtying the girl. Before the girl could do or say anything, Drew straddled her and twisted the bandanna gagging her. "Look. Don''t make a sound, and run the first time you see an opportunity. Got it?"


    At the woman''s terrified nod, Drew slashed away the bandanna and rolled back to her feet. She wound up face to face with the leader of the looters. He leveled his gun at her belly and snarled.


    "Looks like the bitches are in league. Don''t think your funny alien powers are going to be of any use, alien."


    "Mister, I don''t know what kool aid you''ve been drinking, but I was born in Philly. I moved to Jersey ten years ago. My friends call me Drew, but you can call me Officer Williams, and I''d appreciate if you pointed that gun somewhere else."


    Before her hand reached her sidearm, his gaze snapped down, back up, and he squeezed the trigger. Drew dove, trying to remember which way the recoil from an AK 47 pulled. Fragments of floor tiles ricocheted into her gut, and red rage washed over her vision. She rolled behind a counter, her hands drawing her pistol, popping the old magazine, and slamming a new one in almost of their own volition.


    I go to all that trouble to free the hostage, and this asshat starts shooting with her in the line of fire?


    The moment the AK stuttered into silence, Drew rolled back to her feet. Walking forward, her arms extended in a two handed shooter''s grip, she punched off round after round, each one hammering home in opposing shoulders. Each shot shoved the shooter backward another half step, and by the sixth one his body armor hung skew.


    "Carl, run this bitch over!"


    "Fuck you, Fred! I''m not killing a cop!"


    "Good for you, Carl! Don''t do life for this deluded asshole!"


    In the time she stopped shooting to shout encouragement to Carl, Fred grabbed something from his hip and jammed it into his leg.


    "We''ve discovered the source of your powers, alien bitch! We''ve got Blue now!"


    With that, he blurred into motion. His body armor flew at her, and by the time she''d ducked, he''d taken the first swing. For the next few seconds, everything blurred. Her gun landed somewhere above the drop ceiling, tossed there a moment before he clawed the empty weapon from her grip. His own weapon smashed into splinters against the concrete beneath the floor tiles, inches from her head.


    A glancing blow left her shoulder burning, and Fred limped from repeated kicks to his left knee. Drew dove through the upper half of the glass doors, nearly getting her head torn off as Fred ripped the door from its frame and threw it, her, and the remaining glass into the side of the semi trailer.


    He stood there, panting, glowing blue sweat trailing down his face, as she pulled herself from the wreckage. His mouth dropped open and his nostrils flared as she dropped into a fighting stance and waved him in.


    "Why won''t you fucking die, alien bitch?"


    Three of Fred''s remaining henchmen took that opportunity to come around the side of the truck, guns at the ready. Thought replaced by adrenaline laced fury, Drew charged. Three more ricochets tore chunks out of her favorite slacks, and one left a rapidly rising welt across her cheekbone. Then she closed to close quarters, and the henchmen went down like dominoes, kneecaps and elbows bent backwards by torque and leverage. The pounding rush of blood drowned out their sudden, shocked cries of pain. She spun through and past them, a whirling engine of destruction.


    Drew came to a stop in the darkened parking lot, well beyond the semi trailer. To one side, she saw the entrance of the store, the spot she''d last seen the redhead. While the light had dimmed, Drew couldn''t make out anything even resembling a corpse. Maybe the girl''s luck hadn''t run out.


    The sound of metal ringing on concrete announced the end of Drew''s own luck. Fred leaned out from the back of the truck, the pin and lever of the hand grenade clutched in his hand clattering to the ground. Drew instinctively grabbed for her gun, then for her taser. Both holsters flapped empty, one ripped permanently open, the other dangling half off her hip.


    "Dodge this, alien bitch!" Fred lobbed the canister toward her. Her life flashed before her eyes, focused for some reason on her repeated fights with her bathroom.


    "The perp has grenades."


    A sound from behind her snapped her head around for a split second while the grenade arced through the air. The redhead stood there, an aluminum baseball bat clutched in her hands. That explained the last remaining henchman. It also brought into sharp focus what Drew had to do.


    She leapt toward the grenade, one hand coming up in a futile grab. She''d intended to pull it to her, to wrap herself around it, but before she could even try the world filled with sound and light and the furious hammer of an angry god smashing into the palm of her hand.

 Chapter Forty - Awakening

    A syncopated rhythm rattled Grace''s skull, pulled her step by shuddering step back to consciousness. Waking up surprised her in and of itself. The last she remembered, the ocean dragged her down into the depths, hammering her against the bottom before burying her under all the unimaginable tons of water in the Zhujiang river estuary. Now her head pounded with every mistimed beat of her heart, that problematic organ thumping away just a touch behind the rhythm of the world.


    She kept her eyes closed and listened, hoping for some clue as to why she hadn''t died. She might even find a clue where she''d slept, or who had changed her from her skirt and blouse into soft, dry pajamas. Soft yet insistent electronic beeps pinged through the room from half a dozen different locations. Eight tiny electric fans filled the room with the soft susurration of air currents too soft to feel, with one larger brother distanced from her by a long, convoluted square metal tube.


    A woman interrupted Grace''s auditory examination of the room; cloth rustled and springs squeaked as she rolled over in her sleep. Her breathing settled down once more, no louder than the small fans or the beeping, but now that Grace thought to listen for it, she heard slight groans of pain with every breath.


    A hospital? Not unless the price tag hovered higher than any she''d ever been in. Absolutely none of the sounds of nursing staff going about their daily business filtered into the room, which meant either no such staff existed, or the walls blocked such noises out. Grace had never visited a hospital with that level of soundproofing. Of course, an expensive care facility would explain why she didn''t rate a private room.


    She lay there, listening to the quiet, repetitive sounds fill the room, hoping they would carry her off to sleep once more. Her head wouldn''t pound like this if she didn''t need rest. For that matter, she shouldn''t be noticing how her heart didn''t beat when it should. Thoughts of why her heart logically couldn''t be exactly three quarters of a second late each and every beat filled her head, and she finally gave up on sleep.


    She cracked her eyes, immediately grateful to whichever kind soul had turned the lights down to a single nightlight. Even that tiny spark lanced straight into her brain, setting the syncopated drumbeats on fire. Forcing her eyes to stay open despite the pain, she pushed herself up on unsteady arms, looking for an exit. Her heart beat a staccato rhythm on her skull; blank cinderblock walls, institutional gray, not in the least hidden or decorated by a few unfamiliar pieces of medical equipment.


    The lights came up as she rose, indirect lighting set against the ceiling. She swung her head around, looking frantically for the light switch, terrified she''d see nothing but a blank, padlocked door. Her terror faded to irrelevance when she looked upon the face of an angel.


    The raven-haired beauty lay on her belly, half covered by a sheet so thin it clung to her like wet paint. Broad shoulders, almost too strong to be feminine, shifted, and Grace lay fascinated by the interplay of muscles under the skin of the woman''s back. The blanket slipped down, and the lights followed it.


    "I''m sorry," a woman''s voice whispered in her ear, "I roomed you together because waking in an empty room after an extended period of unconsciousness can be traumatic, and we didn''t have the spare hands to babysit either of you right now. Unfortunately, I didn''t realize my assistant hadn''t dressed your roommate." The woman hissed those last words, and Grace caught the telltale static of an ear bud microphone.


    A moment later, an older man''s voice, quiet with distance from the mic, confirmed Grace''s suspicion. "I''m sorry, Doc, but I didn''t pick Drew up with a sheet of plywood because I thought she had cooties. I dumped her in the bed, poked her once with the scanner, without looking, flipped a sheet over her and got out of Dodge."


    Grace scrabbled at her hair. She didn''t find the ear bud until she ran her fingers through the hair behind her ear. She unclipped the barrette and brought it around in front of her. The unknown man and woman hadn''t stopped arguing.


    "She''s already going to go ballistic when she wakes up. You think she''s going to be in a better mood if she winds up naked and filthy from the explosion?"


    "Hey, I walked her and the sheet of plywood through a car wash."


    Not a bit mollified, the woman continued. "She''s still developing. Worse, I can no longer get samples from her."


    A younger man, equally distant from the microphone, broke in, "Hey, I''ll go get some fluid samples for you."


    If you spot this tale on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.


    "Shut up, Steve," both of the previous speakers chorused. After a few moments of the two men arguing unintelligibly as they moved away from the microphone, the woman spoke to Grace once more.


    "I''m sorry about that. They''re both far more professional than they sound. I''m on my way to you right now."


    Grace considered her words carefully before speaking. " N¨« h¨£o. Zh¨¨ sh¨¬ m¨¤ik¨¨f¨¥ng zh¨´?" Hello. Is this microphone live?


    She barely caught the muttered profanity before the woman answered her. " N¨« h¨£o. N¨« h¨¢i j¨¬de sh¨¦nme y¨©ngy¨³?"


    "Yes, I remember English. Your accent and idiom are terrible." Grace kept her voice low, out of consideration for her angelic roommate''s continued sleep.


    "Yeah, well, I just learned it about three hours ago after we brought you in. I figured you might be in a fugue when you woke. You''re not in a fugue state, are you?"


    Grace couldn''t help it, a smile crept onto her face. "I wouldn''t be able to tell if I was, would I?"


    "Well, no, but your response might tell me if you were."


    "Well?"


    "Well, what?"


    "Am I in a fugue state?"


    The woman let out a quiet snort of laughter. "I have no idea. I doubt it, but more importantly you''re still talking. Keeping you awake and communicating won''t hurt at this point. If I''d wanted to deal with patients who can''t tell me if something hurts, I''d have been a surgeon. Or a vet."


    "Do you have a name?"


    "Oh, god, I''m sorry. Uh... just a second. Can you do me a favor, Grace?"


    Grace''s smile disappeared when she realized she hadn''t told the woman her name, but she replied with a simple, "Sure."


    "I''m coming into the room. I need you to close your eyes and keep them closed until I tell you otherwise, okay? It''s for your own safety, really."


    Grace''s heart raced once more, setting her head to pounding anew, but she held herself motionless. Trying to attack the woman as she came in would only make things worse. Her path out of captivity would be political and economic, not physical. She closed her eyes, covering them with her hands for good measure.


    "Ready when you are."


    Light speared through the gaps between her fingers, slipped through her squeezed shut lids, and poked her right in the brain. She squinted harder, but only succeeded in making her head hurt more. Muted thunder rattled her skull as a big piece of thick fabric unfurled. An army blanket, by the sound of it. A moment later the woman spoke again, her voice coming from beyond the angel''s bed instead of Grace''s ear bud.


    "You can open your eyes now." Grace lowered her hands and squinted at the woman moving around to the side of her bed. "I''m Doctor Merilyn."


    She stuck out her hand, and Grace gingerly reached out to take it. Merilyn''s hands were as strong as Grace''s own, but far less calloused. "I''m Grace Chung."


    "I know. Of all the weird things I''ve seen over the last four weeks, finding out Steve is an aficionado of classical music has got to be the most disturbing."


    "Steve. The one who offered to get the fluid samples?"


    Merilyn''s cheeks colored, and she pulled out a small hand flashlight. "You heard that?"


    Grace flinched when the doctor leaned in, pointing the light at her eyes. She reacted immediately, pointing the light at the ground. "Headache?"


    "Incredibly bad."


    "Well, let''s get you some aspirin." After a pause where she glanced at the blanket shrouded figure on the other bed, Merilyn continued. "Actually, let''s get you out of the room before Midnight decides to kick her covers off again. Do you feel up to walking?"


    Grace tried to pull her knees up. Her legs wobbled fiercely, but she hadn''t escaped before without an abundance of determination. Inch by inch, she slid her legs sideways until they dangled off the edge of the bed.


    "That would be a no, then." Merilyn held out her hands, arms spread and palms up, the posture one would use to lift a child. "Do you mind?"


    Grace shook her head, fear clutching at her throat too much to speak. She''d finally slipped the sheet from her own hospital-shift covered body. Her normally thin arms and legs were nearly skeletal. The doctor slid her forearms beneath Grace''s thighs and lower back. Grace clung to the woman as she straightened without apparent effort. Without further hesitation, Merilyn walked out of the room into a broad, brightly lit room festooned with medical equipment. Grace shut her eyes and listened to the door close behind them.


    "Jack?"


    "Yeah, Doc?" Jack whispered from the doctor''s ear bud.


    "I need you to keep an ear out for Midnight. You don''t have to go in if she wakes up, just talk to her through the intercom. Get her to put some clothes on, for god''s sake."


    "On it, Doc. Jack Hammer out."


    "Doctor?"


    "Yes, Grace?"


    "I have two questions before you medicate me."


    She felt the doctor''s head turn sharply her way before she spoke. "I''m reconsidering the medication; I think you need fluid and food more than anything. I''m taking you to the cafeteria and getting both into you before we try any drugs."


    Grace wanted to leap down and flee, but knew neither would work, if she even had the ability. "Where am I?"


    "You''re in Blue Bloods headquarters. One of the mostly finished portions, anyhow. Labs, infirmary, and cafeteria all still need to be painted, but the hardware is in place."


    "Blue Bloods? What is that? Where are these headquarters?"


    "Something tells me that''s not your second question. Don''t worry, I''ll fill you in as best I can until Mr. Morgan is available. Short version, you''re in a half-built corporate headquarters about thirty miles southwest of what''s left of New York City."


    So many questions bursting in her mind like fireworks, but she needed to focus. She firmed her grip around the doctor''s neck, braced herself for the worst, and asked the question she''d feared the answer to since she woke.


    "Am I free to go?"

 Chapter Forty-One - Safe As Houses

    Angela reached out and flicked a switch on the control board in front of her. Inside the testing room, nothing changed. With exaggerated motions, to be sure Grace could see her, she slid several controls down to the bottom of their respective tracks. Grace staggered along, nearly falling twice, as the treadmill accelerated another notch.


    "It''s not slowing down!" Grace tore one-handed at the monitoring harness holding her to the machine, clutching to the bar along one side with her other hand. In her fatigued state, she had no hope of keeping to her feet without the bar''s support.


    Angela activated her intercom. "Try lifting yourself off the belt. If you can do that, I''ll try to increase the incline to vertical."


    Grace stared at her, wide eyed, the harness forgotten. "What are you trying to do, kill me?"


    "No. If you drop off at that point, you''ll hit the ground, but you won''t be shot back into the wall behind you."


    "This thing," Grace tugged feebly at the cable around her chest, "is as dysfunctional as the rest of your damned gear! I''m going to die!"


    Despite her frantic manipulation of controls, Angela kept her voice level. "You''re perfectly safe in the stress testing chamber, Grace."


    "Like hell I am! I''m going to die, all in some misguided attempt to show you the powers I told you I don''t have!"


    Angela looked at the control board and frowned, thinking about the conversation they''d had in the cafeteria. The front of the treadmill slowly started to rise.


    ***


    Angela poured the young Chinese musician hot tea, dumped several spoonsful of sugar into it. Grace really shouldn''t be having caffeine, but right now a comfort drink might help her more than a purely medicinal one. She still needed the calories from the sugar, though. Preparation complete, she walked back over to the table where Grace sat grilling Charlie.


    "So, I''m free to go, but you want to perform some tests on me first."


    "Yes. If you choose to leave, we won''t make you stay."


    "Won''t. Not can''t."


    Charlie smiled as he took his tea from Angela. A moment later, the steam stopped rising from Charlie''s cup, and he took a sip before speaking. "Technically, we could hold you as a suspect in the possible theft and vandalism of a Dade County emergency vehicle. I doubt we could find a judge who would convict you, but we could legally hold you. We could even press charges, but I try really hard not to be stupid."


    Angela hid her frown behind her teacup. She hated when Charlie slipped into his ''Mr. Morgan'' persona. Whether he realized it or not, he''d based quite a lot of the mannerisms and speech patterns on Roger Gerard, and Angela still hadn''t gotten over how he''d sued the hospital after the Rain. Apparently, the fact that he ran away in the chaos had become Angela''s fault.


    "How could I possibly be responsible for the theft of the emergency vehicle?" Grace''s crisp, precise words contrasted pleasantly with Charlie''s slow, considered ones. "I was the patient, remember?"


    "You''re a blue blood. Small ''b''. Technically, according to the world''s best specialist in the condition, you''ve got haematocyanosis. Thus far, all known haematocyanotic individuals display abilities far beyond those normally possessed by humans, whether it be Flex''s ability to reshape her body or Axeman''s incredible healing abilities. While I can''t tell you who, there are blue bloods who can affect the minds of others."


    "So, you''re saying I could have mind controlled the paramedics into stealing the ambulance."


    "It''s possible. I really don''t think you did, but it''s possible."


    Grace tensed; her tea held motionless halfway to her mouth. Angela kicked Charlie''s ankle under the table. "Just a reminder, Mr. Morgan. You need to wrap this up soon, because you need your rest."


    This tale has been unlawfully lifted without the author''s consent. Report any appearances on Amazon.


    At Grace''s raised eyebrow, Charlie explained. "Doctor Merilyn is also my personal physician." He shrugged and shot Angela a blatantly fake smile. "Apparently, I''ve been overextending myself, and she''s worried I''ll do myself a mischief."


    "I don''t have any powers like you''re describing. I''m certain I''d know if I was some kind of... superhuman... thing." She sipped her tea as if to wash the taste of the words from her mouth.


    "Blue bloods aren''t things, Ms. Chung. Nor are they superhuman. They''re as human as you or I. They''ve just been given talents beyond the norm. Think on your own musical talent, if you will. Could anyone else do what you do?"


    Grace tensed, "Certainly, if they practiced long and hard enough."


    "But does everyone who practices as long and hard as you do get as good as you?"


    "No." She drew the word out, stalling for time. "But no amount of practice will let you lift an automobile, or... fly."


    "At present, we have no confirmed reports of blue bloods flying."


    Angela decided to cut in; for whatever reason Grace reacted better to her. "There''s the Silver Streak."


    "Despite the blood sample and documentation he left at your clinic, we have no proof of his claims. Some of them are out and out lies."


    Angela smiled despite herself. "Yeah. ''My tears cure cancer. There is no chin beneath my mask, only another fist.'' He pulled those two direct off a ''real true facts'' website." She turned to Grace. "For all we know, you''re the first blue blood to have no unusual abilities. For the safety of yourself and others, though, it might be a good idea to run a few tests, just to be sure."


    Grace sighed, then took another long sip of tea before she spoke. "If I do this thing for you, then can I go?"


    Charlie cut in again before Angela could stop him. "Like we said, you can go now if you like, but," he shook his head, a fake rueful frown plastered on his face. "Look, I''m sorry we''ve got off on the wrong foot. You still need some medical attention, and we''ve got spare space at the moment. Whether you go through the doctor''s testing or not, you''re welcome to stay as long as you like, and leave whenever you wish. We don''t have professional drivers yet, but Troy might be free." At Grace''s increased tension, Charlie sighed and set a hand to his waist. He worked a single ring free of the jangling mass of keys and dropped it onto the table.


    "That''s the key to my pickup." He set a bright blue card next to it. "Our address is on the card. Mail it back to me and let me know where it''s parked when you''re done with it. Okay?"


    Grace eyed the key like a scorpion. "Will I be arrested for stealing your car? Will I even be able to get out of the building?"


    He shook his head again, let his keychain retract, and stood. "I really am too tired to talk any more. I hope you''re still here when I wake up. If you''re not..." He shrugged. "Like I said. Just send me the key when you''re done with it."


    With that he turned and walked away.


    "So. I show you I do not have powers, then I go home."


    "If you like. As your doctor at the moment, I''ll add one item to that list; first you eat."


    Grace smiled. "The tea is too sweet."


    "Most everything else is prepackaged at the moment."


    The tiny woman shook her head. "I like it this way. Do you have any other items to add?"


    "Only a request."


    "Make it. If I do not know the song, hum a few bars and I will fake it."


    "If you do have powers, stay with us long enough that you feel you can control them."


    "Not long enough that you feel I can?"


    Angela leaned in and whispered conspiratorially, "It''s a trick, really. I told myself I''d leave when I have control of my powers. I''m not sure I''ll ever really feel that way, but... I feel safer here, where there are people who can help me if I lose control."


    ***


    They stood before the doorway to the stress testing room. Grace glared at the locks.


    "There is a lock on the outside."


    "Like I said. I''m worried about when I lose control. There''s a lock on the inside, too."


    "So... what, if you lose control, you lock yourself in, and they lock you in too?"


    "That''s one way of looking at it. Another is that I''m locking them out until I feel safe."


    Grace laughed, no humor finding its way into the sound. "Safe. I wish I knew how that felt."


    ***


    "I do not feel safe! You told me I would feel safe!" Grace screamed.


    "I assure you, Grace, you''re safe as houses."


    "Houses must not be very safe where you come from!"


    The treadmill, already inclined nearly twenty degrees, bounced upward to nearly forty-five degrees. The cable around Grace''s chest went taut, and her hand slipped from the bar. Her feet flew out from under her...


    Frost swept across the armored Plexiglas window, obscuring Angela''s vision. The display from the cameras in the room frosted as well, although she could still make out a humanoid figure via the infrared camera. She tapped a control; the display had inverted, showing the figure as colder than the room. The temperature display read negative Kelvin, a flat impossibility. Before she could clear up the anomaly, Grace hit the treadmill hands first.


    The infrared went white, and the biometrics monitors blanked out. At the same moment the frost disappeared as fast as it had arrived. Grace knelt on the floor in the middle of a fading afterimage of the treadmill. Tiny flakes of ash drifted toward the floor, only to be swept up into the whirlwind whipping around the androgynous, icy mannequin Grace had become.


    Angela couldn''t help it; her sense of humor had only grown worse since the Rain. She grabbed her tablet, shut down the ''runaway treadmill'' scenario, stepped away from the fake control panel and knocked on the window.


    "So. Still think you don''t have powers?"

 Chapter Forty-Two - Deal and Car

    "I know why we''re doing it, but I still think we''re..."


    A key turning in the lock on the door stopped Katrina midsentence. A moment later a distinguished older gentleman stepped into the cell, escorted by a big, bald, Black man in a suit, who could only be Agent Jamil Johnson. The older guy must be the judge. Katrina shut her mouth and vowed silently to keep it shut unless he asked her a direct question.


    "Good evening, Agent Johnson."


    "Good morning, Mister Watkins." Johnson''s deep bass rolled through the room, far more intimidating in person than he had been over the phone. He reached out with one massive paw and shook hands with Damien, then extended the same hand to her. She shook it silently, smiling but not speaking.


    "Good evening, Miss Wells." Katrina nodded her reply. Johnson narrowed his eyes at her silence but turned to the older gentleman. "This is Judge Christopher Carter. He''s here as a personal favor to me, so I''d prefer you don''t waste his time."


    "We really appreciate you coming here, your Honor." Damien nodded his head, and Katrina copied him.


    "So, what''s this all about, then?"


    "We''d like to turn ourselves in. We''ve typed up our confessions," he turned to the short stack of papers sitting on the table in the middle of the room. He handed the smaller one to the judge first, followed by the larger.


    The judge turned to Agent Johnson, his whole bearing demanding explanation.


    "It might help if you told the judge your aliases."


    "Oh, yeah." Red heat rushed into Damien''s face. "She''s Siren. I''m Centurion."


    The judge took an involuntary half step back. To his credit, his gaze never wavered. "I haven''t tried a violent crime case in almost ten years, Jamil."


    "I know, your Honor, but we needed someone I knew could be discreet."


    "You intend to cover this up?"


    Johnson extended one hand, rocked it side to side. "Yes and no, sir. You''ve seen the video?"


    The judge, already flipping through the two documents, nodded his head absently. "I remember thinking to myself I didn''t envy the poor bastard trying to prosecute a hero."


    "Yes, sir. Based on the video, I think the absolute best case should this go to trial is a conviction for manslaughter. Worst case, he could claim self-defense and walk."


    I wouldn''t think of that as a worst case. Damien''s voice whispered into her head.


    We''re not going to try to get out of this. We agreed. She thought back to him.


    The judge and the agent both half-turned to look at her. "Did you say something, Miss Wells?"


    She shook her head, biting her lip to keep from responding aloud.


    "So... they''re confessing to what, exactly?"


    "Fundamentally? Manslaughter in self-defense, under extreme emotional duress." He shrugged, as if to indicate he couldn''t understand why they''d insisted.


    "Given what I saw of that video, there''s no way we could have taken this one," he nodded toward Damien, "in successfully unless he let us. Are you telling me he''s willing to sit in a cell?"


    Johnson waved to the plain cinder block walls of the room. Katrina knew the cots were more comfortable than they looked, but even with that knowledge, the cell was clearly just that: a cell. She reached out and took Damien''s hand, suddenly terrified that the judge would separate them.


    "Well... I guess he might be. Obviously, they''re looking for a deal of some kind?"


    Damien spoke. "Yes, sir. I... I killed those men, sir. I can''t even say I wouldn''t do it again in that situation, although I hope I''ll never have to find out. I want to serve whatever sentence is appropriate, but I can''t help but think my gifts would be wasted if I sit in a cell for the next ten years."


    The judge cut in, absently flipping through the papers again. "Three. Probably cut down to two and a half, because I can''t see any of the inmates giving you a hard time. If we could even convict you, which I doubt at this point. What do you want?"


    "I want to help, sir. The Blue Bloods offered me a position, and I''d like to take it, but I don''t want anyone to say I didn''t serve my time. I was hoping I could serve my time under house arrest here. With a kind of work-release whenever they need me in the field." He smiled hopefully at Judge Carter.


    "This is highly irregular. Most people in your situation would want to walk away Scot free."


    "I don''t think that''s right, sir."


    "If I told you your sentence would be served at Rikers, separate from your partner, who would also be serving a sentence for aiding and abetting, would you go?"


    Katrina closed her eyes, clamping her jaw shut to keep the words in. When Damien said, ¡°I would, sir¡±, she nodded agreement.


    "What about you, Miss Wells?"


    She steeled herself before opening her eyes. She met his gaze and nodded.


    "Is there a reason she''s not speaking?"


    This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it.


    "Her powers, sir."


    The judge looked at Agent Johnson "I would mention how irregular this is, but I figure it''s going to get worse."


    "Yes, sir. I''m hoping you know a federal prosecutor who will go for the deal we''re looking for."


    The judge pulled out a chair and nearly fell into it. "You''re going to owe me for this, Johnson."


    Damien jumped as if he''d been poked with a cattle prod. "Sir, do you mean you''ll offer us that deal?"


    "I mean I''m going to do what I can to keep you working in the service of your country. Anyone who''s willing to sit in a cell when he could be on the run with her," he nodded to Katrina, "is just the kind of boy scout we need out there. Things are getting strange." He rubbed one hand over his eyes. "I think I can find someone, but... this is wrong in so many ways."


    "Would putting them out of circulation at the moment be less wrong?"


    "No. I told you I see your point. They''re remanded into custody until I can find a prosecutor and we hash this out. Do they have a lawyer?"


    "Mr. Morgan says the Blue Bloods will provide one for us."


    "Good enough. I''ll be in touch. In the meanwhile, you two stay here, and keep yourselves out of trouble until we make this all official."


    Katrina couldn''t help it. She skipped across the room to the judge, threw her arms around him, and whispered, "thank you!"


    His eyes glazed over. Agent Johnson slumped, one arm propping him up where he leaned against the wall. Damien just looked at her, shaking his head.


    "Oops?"


    ***


    Someone was coming. Jane felt him moving from far away. She trembled with his every step closer, shaken to her very core.


    Soon he would open her eyes, and the silence would end. The ghosts of her past gathered around her, rubbing their loss into her skin until she felt nothing else.


    He would come, and she would die, and she would rise to seek the one who had sent him. When the silence broke, she would see justice done at last.


    ***


    A light flashed in one corner of Angela''s screen. Steve looked up, annoyed by the high-pitched whine until she clicked on the light and a single line of text raced across in front of her. He couldn''t even pick out a single word, but her shoulders slumped.


    "I was afraid of this. Who''s ready?"


    He looked up from where he''d been messing with her roster to make sure he had Saturday night off. "Uh... Jack. Flex. Me. You. Charlie, maybe."


    Angela stood, closing down her computers as she did so. He couldn''t complain about the form fitting jumpsuit under her lab coat, but the coat itself kept obscuring his view. Of course, that kinda made it hotter. "Not Charlie. Get the others in, now. We''re headed to Philly."


    "Philly? Why?"


    "Because humans aren''t the only ones with blue blood."


    ***


    Angela recited the rules to the rest of her team as she led them to the newly completed hangar. They all knew them, but the unruly child lurking in her head might not. This reminder might make the difference between life and death in the field.


    "Remember, code names only. Not all of us are public, and some of us would like it to stay that way."


    After waiting for their mumbled replies, she continued. "Okay then. Let''s have a roll call."


    "C''mon, Ang, there''s four of us. We all know who''s here."


    Jack ignored Steve''s complaint and chimed in. "Jack Hammer, present."


    Much to Steve''s dismay, Jesse followed Jack''s lead. "Flex here."


    They walked another few moments in silence, Angela glaring pointedly at Steve, letting habit and the rear-view cameras built into her headset guide her along the corridor. The other two grinned, each enjoying Steve''s discomfort for different reasons. Finally, Steve shook his head and pulled out his long-handled fire axe. He spun it like a baton as he spoke. "Axeman, ready to rock." He spoiled the presentation by losing control of the axe halfway through, whacking himself on the head with the handle before getting his grip back on it.


    Angela shook her head. "I still can''t believe you''re trying for a sponsorship deal with your code name. It''s bad enough you douse yourself in the stuff."


    "Pfft. What kind of a name is Widget, anyhow? I still think you should have gone with Mega... what in the hell is that?"


    They''d reached the hangar, and she took the opportunity to watch each of them through the video screens in her protective glasses. Jack walked along, unperturbed by the sight in front of him. Flex followed, staring around with unfeigned delight. Only Steve stood stock still, staring. Before Angela could twit him about his reaction, Jack answered his question.


    "Osprey vertical takeoff and landing aircraft. Or, it was until somebody, what is it they say these days? Pimped it out?" He looked at Angela for confirmation of his guess.


    "You are correct, Jackhammer." She forced herself to adopt the even, cultured tones she''d copied from Katrina''s newscaster persona. They hadn''t been secretive before, but this would put them on the map, so to speak, and she needed the practice before the paparazzi hit.


    "I can see you''ve put some big guards around the turboprops, but what''s she got under the hood?"


    "The turboprops have been replaced with higher power, lower endurance custom engines. As you mentioned, the cowling around them should prevent any accidental damage, as well as making it far less likely someone will wander into the path of a blade. We''ve added a pair of engines to the tail, similar to the configuration of a Warthog." She pointed, and Jack nodded his recognition.


    "You got a GAU-eight on this thing as well?"


    "No. Per Charlie''s standing policy, we''re not going to put lethal weaponry on any of our vehicles. We''re dangerous enough as it is, we don''t need a reputation for excessive force."


    Steve, jogging to catch up, interrupted. "What do you mean, dangerous? We''re not even armed, for chrissakes."


    Angela thumbed a control on her smart phone and a quintet of engines coughed, then growled to life on the far side of the Osprey.


    "The three of us can, literally, tear someone limb from limb with minimal effort. You, on the other hand, are carrying a damned battleaxe."


    Steve followed her around the back wheels of the plane, frowning. "Hey, this is a piece of rescue equipment. Classic firefighter stuff."


    "It''s also a weapon, and not one with many ''nonlethal'' applications. Just be careful with it. Do you understand, ''Axeman''?"


    Angela thumbed another button, and a car alarm ''safe'' bleep sounded from the heavily modified SUV in front of them. "We''re not taking the Osprey today. We don''t have any gear to speak of, and this is easier to set down in small spots."


    The engines, one positioned outside each wheel, twisted to point to the front and rear, letting the four Blue Bloods get to the doors. They wouldn''t hurt anyone while idling, but Angela knew at some point someone would try to get in or out with them going full blast, so she''d programmed them to avoid killing anyone.


    "Okay, folks. time to go."


    "What the hell is this, then?"


    Jack just popped open the back door, slid to the center of the bench seat, and started pulling on the five-point restraint. "No clue, but it looks like a flying SUV."


    Jesse... Flex flowed over the back seat and into the cargo area. "So cool!"


    "Yes, it rather is." Angela climbed into the driver''s seat, and pointedly stared at Steve until he started around to the passenger side.


    "Why are we going in Frankenstein''s SUV instead of the cool looking jet?"


    "Because I only have so much time in the day."


    Steve propped his axe, head down, in the foot well of the passenger seat. Angela leaned over and slapped the handle into the restraining clip on the glove compartment. Steve frowned at her, but he buckled in. After a quick check of her internal cameras to be sure Flex had buckled herself into the jump seat in the back, Angela hooked herself in.


    "I haven''t learned how to fly a jet, really. This is programmed to be a lot like driving a car, with one big difference."


    She waited, knowing Steve couldn''t resist for long. Finally, he turned to her, frustration clear on his face. "What''s the big difference."


    She shifted gears, slid a control, and the car launched itself through the widening gap in the ceiling of the hangar. "Duh. The Skycar flies."

 Chapter Forty-Three - Bear?

    Grace sat listening to the whisper of air through the ventilation ducts, the only sound this deep in the headquarters complex. In front of her chair lay the woman she''d seen on waking, her chest rising and falling gently. Angela had said she ought to be back before Drew woke, but just in case she''d asked Grace to watch over her.


    Of course, she''d asked her to do so from the security station. Five minutes after the doctor left the building, Grace left the little room with its wall full of televisions and walked back to the infirmary. After so long under surveillance, she didn''t feel right watching someone else sleep via a camera. Watching her in person had dangers as well, but those were less personal.


    She smiled at the thought that being unnaturally attracted to a woman would be less personal than voyeurism. She''d had an almost obligatory relationship with a girl when she first arrived in the States, and she knew her preferences didn''t lie in that direction. The girl in question had told her so, in fact. Keeping that thought firmly in mind, she opened her eyes and looked at Drew once more.


    Angelic. Angelic, but not ethereal. The blanket draped over her rose and fell with an intoxicating rhythm. Almost as if she could sense Grace looking, the woman rolled over, stretching as she did. Grace held herself motionless, refusing to give in to the fire rushing through her blood. Vapor wafted up from her lap, misting the air between them. Grace glanced down at her simple shift, afraid she''d see it smoldering, but she hadn''t destroyed her own clothing. Instead, little beads of ice had formed on her knees, and from the feel of it along her thighs as well.


    Silently, she closed her eyes and returned to her contemplation of the ventilation ducts.


    ***


    "Damn, this thing moves, doesn''t it?"


    "Yes, Axeman. It would be counterproductive to build a vehicle that didn''t."


    Before Steve could frame his reply, Jack interrupted their banter. "Pardon me, Widget, but... where are we going? You were in such a hurry we didn''t get a proper briefing."


    Angela flicked her finger across the smart phone mated to the dashboard, and the words ''autopilot engaged'' flickered onto the screen. That done, she turned back to face Jack. "I knew we''d have some time in the air, and the situation is a real emergency."


    Jack smiled. "Bleeding, burning, falling, sinking, on or under fire?"


    Angela didn''t share his humor. "Bleeding, and possibly falling, sinking, and under fire, for a very primitive value of under fire."


    The first word told Jack the severity of the situation, the rest just amplified it. "Okay. What are we getting into?"


    "A small group of militant animal rights activists attacked the Philadelphia Zoo. They claimed the Zoo had been mistreating the animals since the Rain and were intent on releasing them ''into the wild''. Of course, they didn''t bring cages to transport the animals; they were just letting them loose."


    Jack frowned. "That''s... horrible. Most of those critters have no idea how to survive in this climate. They''ll starve, or freeze, or... I dunno. Just die. I take it we''re going in to arrest the terrorists?"


    "No. That won''t be necessary. They made a rather fatal mistake."


    "What''s that?"


    "Apparently one of the security guards tried to stop the activists, and they shot at him. Fortunately, he wasn''t hurt. Unfortunately, one of the polar bears was shot."


    "So, there''s a dead polar bear. Does that mean we get to kill us some Vegans?" Angela just glared at Steve, and Jack intervened again.


    "I don''t think so, and I don''t like the sound of where this is going."


    "You''re likely correct. The injured polar bear began growing. He left his containment area when he no longer fit in the pool."


    Jack hadn''t been to the Philly Zoo, but he''d seen enough bear enclosures to guess at what it looked like. "How did it get out? Bust up the concrete?"


    Unauthorized usage: this narrative is on Amazon without the author''s consent. Report any sightings.


    "Only by accident. It stepped out."


    He did some quick mental math. All those artillery classes were finally coming in handy. "The thing would have to have something like a twenty-foot stride to do that."


    "It ate the protestors, one bite each, and the only reason it didn''t eat the security guard is because he got into one of the exhibit houses and it couldn''t fit. He says it ate a few of the other animals, then headed for the Schuylkill River. He called the city for help while it was eating protestors, they called us as he lost track of it."


    Steve snorted, but Jack had heard enough terrified young men to hear the fear beneath his bravado. "So, it''s headed for the ocean. Why are we risking our lives to keep it from swimming back to Antarctica?"


    "First, polar bears are from the Arctic, not the Antarctic. That is in fact what ¡®Arctic¡¯ and ¡®Antarctic¡¯ mean. This means it will move North, not South, which will take it directly past New York City, as well as several other major population centers as it travels."


    "So? Place is a shithole now anyhow. Let the bear have it."


    Angela plowed on as if Steve hadn''t spoken. "Second, the guard reports it''s moving slowly, but it''s path takes it right past the brightly lit boat houses along the river, many of which are being rented out tonight for some kind of big fraternity party."


    "What? Sorority girls in mortal danger? Shit, pop the afterburner on this thing! This is an emergency!"


    ***


    Steve sniffed. The air in the Skycar reeked of fear-sweat, but for the life of him he couldn''t tell who stank of it. Jack smelled weary, a little tense. Jesse''s scent spiked all over the place; since she''d decided to be a superhero, her moods had gone completely unpredictable. Faint fear overlay the excitement drifting across from where Angela sat in the driver''s seat, but not nearly enough to account for the screaming terror saturating the air in the car.


    "How much longer ''till we get there?"


    "Sixty seconds less than the last time you asked, Steve. We''re about three minutes out." Angela''s irritation lashed at his nose, forestalling the snappy comeback he''d planned.


    "How are we deploying, Doc?" Trust Jack to ruin a perfectly good setup line with practical considerations.


    "Two options. We can set down on a flat surface big enough to hold the Skycar, or you guys can rappel out the back and deal with the bear while I go looking for a parking spot."


    "Speaking of the bear, do we have some super tranquilizers, or rope, or I dunno, chains or something?" Couldn''t let Jack take all the good questions.


    "At this point we''re looking at luring it back to the Zoo. The city has half a dozen snipers from the SWAT team set up with tranq guns. If we''re lucky, the bear hasn''t developed a resistance to tranquilizers."


    "Great. So, we lure it back, they shoot it, and then what happens?"


    "We''ll cross that bridge when we come to it. Right now, we''re just trying to keep it away from civilians."


    "Right. Speaking of bridges, isn''t that the Schuylkill we''re going over now?"


    Angela banked the Skycar to look where he pointed, then swung around to head almost due north. Beneath them the river snaked back and forth, the land just beyond the banks slowly changing from industrial parks to strip malls to row houses. Jack cut in again just as Steve noticed the Art Museum.


    "If I remember the local terrain right, there''s a small, wooded island west by northwest of that big museum. Straight behind it, I think. If we set down there, we would be right in the bear''s path."


    Angela banked again, glancing at the ground to confirm the GPS had them in the right spot before leveling out and heading for the brightly lit museum. As they passed over it, she banked to the left and dove. The brightly lit boathouses shone across the water in front of them, the silhouette of the island dark against their twinkling reflections.


    This close to the zoo, the reek of unwashed animal filled Steve''s nostrils. The closer to the island they came, the stronger the scent got. Thirty feet above the surface of the river, he reached out and grabbed Angela''s wrist.


    "Ange, can you roll down the window a little?"


    "That''s contraindicated while we''re airborne. The doors still open in case of emergency, but if you''re going to barf, there are bags in the glove compartment."


    "Stop going down. Y''know, I think that''s the first time I''ve ever said those words in that order." Steve yanked at the door handle, shoving the door open with his foot. The smell of sweaty polar bear musk filled the cabin as the engines'' whine made normal conversation impossible. Steve leaned out and looked down on the island, which had turned to face the boathouses. Eyes the size of trash can lids stared back up at him as the bear lifted its massive head from the water.


    "Holy fuck! That thing''s not a bear, it''s a fuckin'' kaiju!"


    The massive ursine blinked as Angela revved the engines, lifting the Skycar away from its questing paw. She leaned over to Steve and shouted to be heard over the roaring jets.


    "You''re going to have to tell me how you know the Japanese word for ''giant monster''." She glanced back at Jack and Jesse. "Are you two ready to rappel down, or should I head to the boathouses?"


    Steve couldn''t wait for a reply. The moment it realized it couldn''t reach the Skycar, the bear had lazily started toward the boathouses once more. Hundreds of partying coeds lined the docks, all of them staring at the hovering Skycar. Of course, not even one noticed the bear paddling toward them just under the surface of the water.


    Only one thing he could do at this point. Steve popped the quick release on his seat harness, pulled his axe free from the dashboard holder, and rolled out the door.


    "Hey! Teddy! I got your big stick right here!"

 Chapter Forty-Four - Bear.

    Walker stirred, the government issue cot beneath him creaking as he did. The smell of chili heavy with meat assaulted his nostrils and eyes, making both runny. Giving up on sleeping, he swung himself upright. The chili sat in the middle of a tray full of food; a ripe banana, a bowl of apple slices, a packet of crackers, and a plate piled high with cubed cheese. The tray itself sat in the little airlock his keepers used to deliver food, books, and even an mp3 player.


    He pulled the tray into the room and set it on the table. A few seconds work and he had the table set up to eat, but before he did, he took a second to inhale the m¨¦lange of odors filling the room. The spice of the chili, the tang of the apples, the slight yeasty scent of the crackers, and even the strange, light sweetness of the banana all belonged. The bitter bite of medicine had no place in the mix, but it teased at him, nonetheless.


    Of course, whatever changes he''d experienced in space had given him one advantage here in quarantine. He spooned up a big bite of chili and tried to ignore the undercurrent of sedatives. Other than the bitter drugs, the chili wasn''t half bad. He tried to ignore the unique sensation of his digestive tract ferreting the poison from his food and caching it in his liver. Once it hit a critical mass, something inside him tore it apart, leaving nothing but simple compounds to be dropped back into his bloodstream.


    If he hadn''t stood unprotected on the surface of the ISS, Walker would have bet he hallucinated the entire thing.


    After eating half the chili and all of the cheese, he pressed the call button next to the airlock.


    "Yes, Captain Walker?"


    "May I speak with the officer on duty, please?"


    "Is something wrong, Captain?"


    "I''m not sure. To whom am I speaking?"


    "This is... Lieutenant Savoy, Captain." Walker noted the hesitation, filed it away with the rest of the anomalies confronting him.


    "Last time I checked, astronauts haven''t been quarantined since Apollo fourteen."


    "Officially, yes." Savoy let the statement hang there, ominous.


    "And unofficially?"


    "Well, unofficially we can''t take any chances when there are bombs dropping out of the sky, and then one of our own space men decides to come strolling into Fort Dix without so much as a parachute." Since he''d been placed in isolation, Walker hadn''t been able to confirm his detention. Now his jailer, a junior staffer by his use of the lieutenant rank, had let it slip.


    "So... how long do you expect this quarantine to last?"


    "Oh, it won''t be much longer now. As soon as we''re sure you''re who you say you are."


    Walker nodded; his decision made. The type of mind who thought that way would never be sure. Worse, they''d discount anything he told them about the alien asteroid-ship as enemy disinformation. He had to get in touch with his superiors, let them know how he''d been dumped in a hole. He thought about how he might do that for a moment.


    "Could you see about getting me a radio or something? I''d at least like to hear the news."


    The response came immediately. "Eh, sure. Why not. I''ll bring one in for you tomorrow."


    He had a day to get in touch with someone. Laying back down on the cot, he opened himself to the ongoing, chaotic noise of the radio spectrum, listening for someone he could trust.


    ***


    This story has been unlawfully obtained without the author''s consent. Report any appearances on Amazon.


    Jack watched the crude lunatic leap out the door, axe already swinging, and knew what he had to do next. He unlatched his five-point restraint and twisted around to climb over the seat. Halfway over, the Skycar tipped backward.


    "How far back can this thing tip before you stall?"


    "I built it with your weight in mind. Have you got that flying thing down yet?"


    "We''re about to find out. Flex, you ready?"


    In answer, the girl pressed the button to pop the back hatch, slipping out through the crack before it had opened more than an inch. He moved to follow her, trying to put himself in the same state of mind he''d been in when he wound up hovering at the hospital. Before the back door lifted far enough to let him through, Flex stuck her head back in and grinned at him.


    "Don''t worry, Jackhammer. I''ll take care of you if you can''t keep it up." She contorted her face into an over-the-top leer, and he couldn''t help but smile in return.


    "That boy''s a bad influence on you." He heard the distinctive sound of metal thunking into flesh, followed by a scream receding into the distance. "Then again, he''s got his moments. Let''s do this."


    ***


    The moment Jack leapt from the Skycar, it leapt skyward. Angela struggled with the controls, tweaking the four engine throttles individually to keep the ''car upright. After a few tense moments, she got it leveled out, only several hundred feet above the Zoo itself.


    Not too bad for a maiden flight, for me or the Skycar.


    She spun the car until it pointed toward Boathouse Row. There, illuminated by the hundreds of lights decorating the houses of the row, stood the bear. Rearing on its hind legs, the river barely covered the animal''s knees. It clawed at its face, where she could just make out Jackhammer clinging to it and pounding on its forehead. Without taking her eyes off the fight, Angela flicked her smart phone. A few seconds later, as Jack leapt away from the bear''s claws, Charlie answered.


    "What''s up, Angela? It''s... God, it''s the middle of the night. What''s going on?"


    "We have a situation. We received a call about an escaped Polar bear exhibiting signs of haemochromatosis. Axeman, Flex, Jackhammer, and I responded in the Skycar." She swooped in until she could focus a spotlight on the bear''s face. Faint blue lines traced through the white fur, dribbling into the river below. The bear roared, the sound so loud the fragile glass of the spotlight shattered. "I can confirm haemochromatosis. The bear is," she did some quick calculations based on what she remembered of the depth of the Schuylkill, "approximately sixteen meters tall at the shoulder. At that height it ought to mass around a hundred tons. Nothing that big ought to be able to support itself."


    "Angela! You''re babbling. Get it together. Where is it?"


    "Boathouse Row. Philadelphia. There are a few hundred civilians in various states of intoxication in the boathouses. Axeman and Jackhammer have engaged the bear. Both have been knocked out of my immediate field of view. No idea where Flex is... wait!"


    Flex leapt out of the water, growing as she did. Her shoulder caught the bear in its midsection, a perfect lunging tackle. For a moment, Angela thought it might fall, but instead of collapsing backward, it brought both forepaws down, hard, on Flex''s back. It sheared through her like she wasn''t even there, paws landing in the river hard enough to throw mud across the drunken, screaming spectators.


    "Flex down. We need an airstrike. A fuel air bomb might suffocate it."


    "Angela! By the time the Air Force mobilizes, half of Philly could be in that thing''s belly. Hell, if they drop an FAE in Philly, that''s about all she wrote for most of the East Coast." She heard the distinctive shooshing noise of her armored composite weaves, followed by the clicking of quick release catches. "I''ll be there as soon as I can. Get the civilians out of the way and try to distract it."


    With that, he hung up. Angela glanced from the bear to the boathouses. Half of the partiers were screaming and running, the other half stood shouting encouragement to the tiny blue firefighter climbing up the bear''s back leg. She brought the Skycar down above the Row and engaged the PA system.


    "Attention! This is not a show! You are in deadly danger! Please evacuate as quickly as you safely can. We will buy you as much time to get away as we can."


    That scared off another huge chunk of potential bear chow, but at least a dozen bare chested young men kept trying to get a boat into the water. Shaking her head, Angela did the only thing she could think of. She brought the Skycar down directly on the boat, hard. The armored panels protecting the drive train crunched, and the young men staggered away, a few pulling pieces of broken fiberglass from their arms.


    "Get out of here!"


    Two of the men ran, screaming. Another one started hitting the car. Angela leaned over to grab her first aid kit, intending to treat the cuts she''d inflicted in the course of stopping the young men''s suicide by bear.


    When she straightened, all but one of the young men had run, screaming. The last bravo stood, one hand pointing at something behind the car. Angela looked into the rear-view mirror. A pair of giant bear legs obscured everything else.


    A curtain of grey slammed down between Angela and the world.

 Chapter Forty-Five - Bear!

    Grace walked through the halls of the headquarters. A few minutes earlier, she''d heard several doors open and close in rapid succession, far faster than she''d thought possible. She''d poked about the medical area until she found a tablet computer set up to monitor patients. With the tablet in hand showing her the angel''s sleeping form, she explored the building looking for the source of the sounds.


    Her sense of hearing, always excellent, seemed to have improved. As she tried every door she came to, she recognized the distinct sounds of each and every one. In a matter of minutes, she''d sorted out the trail. It led from a door marked ''private quarters'', which opened into a hallway straight out of a hotel, to an exit.


    She stood there in the doorway, the breeze blowing her hair back from her face. Of its own accord her hand slipped into her pocket, pressed a button on the keychain lurking there. Across the parking lot a powerful engine coughed to life, then settled into a quiet growl. She could drive away now, never think about this place again.


    She held the tablet in one hand, the keys in the other. The angel still slept, although as Grace watched she stirred a bit. The big ring of keys weighed her arm down. She pressed buttons until the truck''s engine shut down. Once she''d satisfied herself she hadn''t done the vehicle any mischief, she took one long breath of evening air, then headed back to the infirmary.


    ***


    Angie rolled to a stop; the half-naked, really cute boy cradled in her arms. The big, ugly bear screamed and shook its paw, trying to dislodge the shards of metal and glass.


    "That''s what you get for ruining my car!"


    She leapt to her feet, shaking one fist at the bear. With her other hand she pulled the boy to his feet. He gaped at her; eyes wide. "Who the hell are you?"


    She shouldn''t tell people her real name. She remembered that much. After a moment listening to the grumpy old woman in the back of her head, she smiled at the boy again. "Me? I''m Widget! I''m a medic! Are you hurt?"


    The boy blinked, no doubt taken aback by her maturity and poise. He stammered out, "uh, no. I don''t think so."


    "Oh. Then you should run!" She grabbed his shoulder, spun him around, and gave him a little push to get him started. He landed in the bushes beside one of the boathouses. That put him out of the bear''s line of sight, at least. She turned around, the boy forgotten, and faced the bear.


    She faced the bear''s knees. She looked up, and up, and up, into the roaring maw of the bear as it screamed at the stars. Its mouth got bigger, and bigger, and bigger. Just before it could swallow her whole, she leapt in the only direction she could, her lab coat flapping behind her like a cape. Beneath the bear stank of wet bear fur, rotting river mud, and cheap spilled beer. Spilled beer smelled like old pee.


    Before she could think why the spilled beer smelled so much like pee, the bear realized where she''d gone. Holding itself up on three paws, it swiped at her. She rolled away, slamming her shoulder into the remains of the poor Skycar as she did.


    Support creative writers by reading their stories on Royal Road, not stolen versions.


    That made her mad. She liked the Skycar. Zooming around in a flying SUV was cool, but the bear smashed it. Now Charlie would yell at her, and she wouldn''t be able to fly until she fixed it. Furious, she ran over to the bear''s braced forepaw and kicked it hard.


    "Stupid smelly bear! I hate you!"


    The bear roared, a solid wall of sound swatting Widget away like a beach ball lifted by an ocean wave. She landed, rolling to her feet and staring at the bear as it stood again. Before it could take another step toward her, a giant fist speared out of the water near the shoreline, slamming right in between the bear''s back legs. Before the bear could react, Flex twisted between its legs, ending up on her hands and knees pressed up behind it. A rock the size of the bear''s head flew out of the darkness behind the boathouses, missing the bear by inches.


    Stumbling backwards, blinded by pain and rage, the bear tripped over Flex. She couldn''t hold the bear up, but she pushed at its knees just enough to send it falling butt first into the water. It rolled over, scrambling to get its feet under it, roaring so loud the air between Widget and it wobbled like the air above a hot road on a sunny day.


    An instant later, the only sounds on the river were the fading echoes of the bear''s roar and the steady rush of water back into the river from where the big beast had displaced it. Widget stood, looking around to see if anyone needed help. She found Jack first, limping out from behind one of the boathouses, a boulder bigger than him held above his head. He pulled it back to throw, but she hollered at him before he could.


    "Jackhammer! Wait!" She remembered his code name! Code names were really cool. She ran over to him, stopped and stood, arms akimbo, smiling for the cameras that must be watching. "I think it''s done for. It hasn''t been roaring, and I think I see someone on top of it."


    Jackhammer squinted at the bear, frowning and shaking his head, but he dropped the boulder to one side with a crash. "My eyes aren''t as good as they used to be. I can''t see for... I can''t see well after dark anymore."


    "That''s okay. I''ll tell you what I see. Oh, right! You really scared the bear good with the other rock!" She knew she ought to be nice to Jackhammer, because you were supposed to be nice to old people, and nobody she knew was older than Jackhammer.


    "Uh, yeah. I was aiming for its head. Still, if it''s stupid and it works, it ain''t stupid. Flex! You around?"


    A few quiet seconds later, a dripping Flex dragged herself out of the water. She looked exhausted, with dark circles under her eyes and everything sagging. She crawled over to them, pulled herself up using Jack for leverage. When Widget could see her face and Jackhammer couldn''t, she winked.


    "I''m bushed. You gonna carry me over to the island to check on Kronos?"


    He frowned. "How am I gonna get over there?"


    Flex smiled and melted. She pooled under Jackhammer''s feet, which hovered an inch off the ground.


    "Oh. Sure. C''mon up here, both of you."


    The old woman in her head kept shouting louder and louder about Charlie. Widget didn''t need the old baggage telling her something that obvious. She scrambled up onto Jack''s shoulders for a piggyback ride to the bear. Flex just stood up, grinned again, and stepped across the river to the bear.


    Jackhammer shook his head again and floated them across to the back of the bear, where Kronos lay flat on his back. His head shifted marginally when they got close.


    "How''d you get yourself out here, anyhow?" Jackhammer asked.


    "You gotta run... really fast..." Kronos wheezed. His eyes rolled back in his head, and he fainted.


    Widget wrung her hands, wishing she could do something. She knew the old woman could help, but that meant going away. Widget didn''t want to go away. She wanted to help so badly she couldn''t keep it all bottled up.


    "I wish I had a way to help Kronos get better."

 Chapter Forty-Six - Triage

    Jack settled himself slowly onto the broad back of the motionless giant polar bear. Stiff, slippery fur crunched under his feet. Long habit had him planting his feet at right angles without thinking about it, sliding them sideways through shattering, glassy fur. Oddly, once he''d broken bits off, they drifted to the ground like normal, if thick, hair. He reached down and lifted a few strands; they felt normal as well.


    "So, what''s this thing you summoned up, Widget?"


    The doc stood next to a white sarcophagus which reflected the remaining lights of Boathouse Row. She poked dispiritedly at a set of buttons on one side. She''d found a panel shortly after wishing the thing into being, but after that she''d just stared at it. Her shoulders slumped lower and lower until he walked over, sliding his feet through the snapping, wiry hairs, and lay a hand on her shoulder.


    "Widget?" Long habit forced his voice to a whisper that wouldn''t carry past the white noise of the water gently lapping against the sides of the bear. "Doc?"


    She shook her head and spoke in a voice three octaves higher than normal. "I can read. I know I can. I learned. I taught myself. This isn''t fair!" She pulled back one hand, balling her hand into an inexpertly made fist. Not knowing whether to protect her or the thing which ought to be able to help Charlie, he grabbed her elbow, fingers gently squeezing pressure points to keep her from pulling without hurting her. She swung, and he found himself pressed against the back of a very healthy young woman, suddenly remembering he no longer lived in the body of a nearly dead old man.


    She turned her head slowly to face him, stopped when he could barely see her eyes in the darkness. "Jack... hammer? I don''t think you oughta..." The doc''s whole body twitched. Jack felt his cheeks heat like a schoolboy when he realized how little she''d moved, and why he''d known anyway. Her fist unclenched, fingers spreading across the top of the sarcophagus. They remained tense; years of experience told him how much she wanted to move, to do something. Even with all those years he had no idea whether her tension stemmed from a need to hit or a desire to do... something else.


    Either way, he slowly opened his hand, releasing her elbow, and stepped backward. If she wanted to hit him for getting so close, he ought to back off, and if the drumming of her fingers across the top of the gleaming white box had another reason, now wasn''t the time or the place.


    "Widget?"


    "I''m fine, Jackhammer." She looked around, the lines around her mouth and eyes giving the lie to her words. "I''ll be fine, anyhow. I wonder where I''m pulling these things from."


    "You sure you''re not just creating them from scratch?"


    Her lips, curled into a parody of a smile, dropped down into a natural frown. "The mirror I summoned had a simplified Mandarin ideogram for a name. Roughly translated it meant ''great cuts''. I looked it up, but the Chinese aren''t quite up to speed on every mom-and-pop hairdressing salon having a website, and I really didn''t have time to explain how I''d stolen their mirror."


    Jack nodded. Way back in his military days, he''d learned to deal with techies. Nod and mimic their facial expressions and wait until they gave you some hard info. Maybe ask a question when the silence dragged a bit. "What did you do with that mirror, anyhow?"


    "After a while it disappeared. I''m not sure exactly when; I had Charlie haul it down to my lab for study, and then one morning it was gone."


    "Huh. Wonder if there''s some kind of time limit."


    "The ball of nanomachines and catalytic compounds I wished up hasn''t disappeared." Her frown deepened. "Yet. At any rate, no one on Earth has technology as advanced as the dust. Also," she waved at the control panel on the side of the sarcophagus, "this thing is using a non-Terran alphabet."


    "You sure it''s not a cipher?"


    Doc Merilyn waved at the box again. "Feel free to take a look."


    He leaned in to see, and she tensed again. He still couldn''t tell why. He focused on the strange, swirling letters on the panel on the side of the box, trying to remember what the code breakers he''d worked with so long ago had told him about ciphers. For a moment, comprehension teased at the edges of his brain, but a thick, wet cough tore it away from him.


    "Dammit. What the fuck has a guy got to do to get medical attention around here?" Jack could barely make out Steve''s words, thick with dark water bubbling from his mouth. He grabbed another hunk of polar bear hair and dragged himself forward leaving a man wide trail of blackness behind him.


    This book is hosted on another platform. Read the official version and support the author''s work.


    "Hang on, Axeman." He hurried over, but his gut clenched when he saw the extent of the firefighter''s injuries. His arms were covered in blood, the reinforced coat torn to tattered shreds. The lower part of the coat, not so tightly fitted, fared better, and it hid the lower half of Steve''s body. Jack didn''t need to see Steve''s front or legs; a single ropy intestine ran out from the tail of the coat and stretched out into the darkened water.


    "Hang on," he repeated. He hated this feeling. He''d left mercenary work because of one too many youngsters dying after pushing themselves far beyond what rational men thought possible. Still, he''d seen Steve heal some really ugly smaller injuries, and Doc Merilyn could work wonders. Hell, she might even figure out how the sarcophagus worked. Done reassuring himself, he flipped Steve''s coat out of the way so he could see the extent of his injuries.


    His teeth ground together with the effort of not vomiting. He''d seen worse, years ago, but not much, and not too many times. Steve ended just below the waist. His intestine, gleaming pink in the moonlight, stretched from the gaping hole where his hips ought to be. Jack knew from experience if he had light and the right angle, he could see the pink of lungs and the deep dark red of liver.


    "So... am I gonna be able to tap dance after I heal up?"


    Jack almost choked on his reply. "Yeah... yeah, you''ll be fine, Axe... you''ll be fine, Steve."


    "Great. I never could before. Chicks dig that shit."


    Jack stood there, torn between laughter and tears. "Doc, I think Steve... I think you need to take a look at him."


    "While your own code name is quite similar to your real name, not all of us have gone that route, Jackhammer. Also, I suspect Steve''s injuries aren''t as severe as he''s led you to believe."


    Steve scowled and coughed, the noise interrupting Jack''s own reply. "Dammit, you icy bitch, I can''t feel my legs over here."


    Jack laid his hand on Steve''s shoulder. "That''s cause they''re not there, son."


    Doc Merilyn stood from where she knelt by Charlie''s side, strode quickly over to where Steve lay, glanced at him once, then returned to the sarcophagus to study the control panel. "Do you still have your Axe?"


    "Oh, yeah, I have it right here, strapped to my leg." Steve flailed his right arm through the stiff hair to one side of where his legs ought to be. "Oh, fuck, that''s right. I forgot my fuckin'' legs in the fuckin'' bear''s fucking alimentary canal! Shit, what''s a guy got to do to get some first aid around here?"


    The doc didn''t look up from where she continued to tinker with the box. Nothing opened or moved, but the controls morphed and twisted, finally eliciting a soft beeping tone from the panel. "Pardon me, Axeman, but I thought you said you couldn''t feel your legs?"


    "No, I can''t. My guts, on the other hand, hurt like a motherfucker. Mind doing something about that?"


    Flex stepped out of the water, her legs shrinking to normal size as she did so. She set a cooler down next to the doc, then handed her a small pill bottle. "Couple dozen bottles of ibuprofen, but only this one of aspirin. I looked for powder but couldn''t find any. I''ve got all the abandoned booze, cola, and snacks I could cram in here."


    "Great, we can have a fuckin'' picnic. Oh, wait, I can''t, I forgot half of my fuckin'' digestive tract. Mind doing me a favor and telling me why you''re not doing something about this, Widget?"


    Angela reached into the cooler, pulled out a half full bottle of cola, and tried to grind the aspirin tablets into the bottle. When Jesse saw what the doc wanted, she took the bottle, squeezed it around for a few seconds, then poured the resulting powder into the soda bottle. After the fizzing died down, she handed it back.


    "Hello? Screaming pain over here! Torn in half! Dying as we speak!"


    "Don''t lie, Axeman. It''s unbecoming in a hero." She nodded to the cooler. "The rest of that is for him. If he can''t, or won''t, eat it and drink it, force it into him." She moved back to Charlie''s side, lifted his upper body, and started pouring the aspirin-laced soda into his mouth. She tried to hold him up, pour the drink in his mouth, and massage his throat all at the same time, but with only two hands she couldn''t quite manage it.


    Jack couldn''t just stand by and watch, even if he didn''t like the doc''s triage. "Dammit." He started toward the doc, intent on taking over part of the job of force-feeding Charlie, but she waved him off.


    "Sorry, Jack, but I don''t know how radiation would affect Charlie right now. Not too much research on radiation therapy for stroke patients. Besides, I need you to do something else." Before she could continue, Jesse reached one long arm across the ten-foot gap between Steve and Charlie, sliding her forearm behind Charlie''s back. With her other hand she poured cheap whiskey into Steve''s spluttering mouth from three feet above his face.


    Angela nodded, satisfied, and focused on getting Charlie to drink his aspirin. "Okay. Jack, I need you to do something for me. It''s a medical necessity, and I''ll need you to do it without asking questions or hesitating. Okay?"


    Jack took a deep breath. "Yes, ma''am."


    "Tear Steve''s intestine free."


    Jack had lived a long time taking orders without thinking. He relied on that life now. A few seconds screaming and thrashing later, Steve lay panting, trying to avoid the jalapeno popper Jesse tried to stuff in his mouth as the remains of his intestine slithered away into the water. Right before Jack''s eyes the bottom of Steve''s torso sealed itself over, two stumps already protruding.


    "Shit. That actually feels better," he sighed, then tensed. "Oh hell, no it doesn''t!" he screamed, thrashing as the stumps shot to full length through the crunching forest of bear hair, lacerating themselves as they did. Without thinking Jack stomped the whole area flat, trying not to stomp Steve''s new legs too much as he did.


    "Oh, crap. That stung like a motherfucker. Remind me never to get eaten by a giant bear again."


    "Will do, Axey!" chorused Jesse.


    Steve leaned back in her lap as she knelt next to him, talking around bites of food she shoved into his mouth as fast as she could pull them from the cooler.


    "At least I don''t have to be the one to babysit Midnight when she wakes up."


    "You wish, Axey. We''ve only got the two beds set up!"

 Chapter Forty-Seven - Fated

    Grace stared at the tablet in her hands, trying to ignore the quiet, steady sound of the angel''s breathing. At first, she''d tried a set of earplugs, but the lack of sound nauseated her. She''d focused on the ventilation for a while, but after a time its repetitive nature pushed it into the background. Now she simply sat quietly reading the publicly available information on her temporary roommates.


    Widget, the gadget maker, the super scientist. She wore a small mask and a wig styled different to her real hair, but Grace recognized her immediately as Doctor Merilyn. Jack Hammer didn''t even bother with a mask, and his online profile gave his real name, Jack Maliss. He looked far younger in his photograph than in person, though. She suspected he''d been airbrushed to hide some of his age.


    Flex could only be the young woman Widget had briefly introduced as Jesse. In her bio picture, she''d stretched herself out and altered her face to look like a character in an anime, but her smile remained eerily similar. Much like Jack, Axeman also revealed his real name, Steve Chambers. Kronos, she hadn''t met; his entry said something about the power to control time. Charles Morgan, the man she''d been introduced to as the team''s leader, had tinkering abilities, but where Widget''s were typically handheld and had to do with medicine, Mr. Morgan''s were large scale, dealing with architecture. It explained how he''d built such an impressive headquarters so quickly.


    Finally, the angel in the room, officially listed as Midnight. Her picture, beautiful as it was, didn''t do her justice. The picture didn''t breathe, didn''t move, didn''t sing out to Grace every second of every minute she stayed in the room.


    She stood; every moment careful to avoid waking Midnight. Every time the angel stirred, Grace lost her steely grip on her self-control. She didn''t need to start that again. After turning the light down, she left the room, her tablet now set to display the output of the camera pointed at Midnight''s headboard. Before she''d taken two steps toward the kitchen, the tablet bleeped at her. A glance down showed a simple ''incoming call'' alert with a ''connect'' button. She tapped it, and a young man''s face appeared on the screen.


    "Hi! Miss Chung? There''s a call coming in, I thought it would be better if you take it."


    Grace frowned. "Pardon. Who are you?"


    "Oh. I''m Troy. I''m kinda Charlie''s assistant. I help out Angela a bit too, I guess. Tonight, I''m manning the phones while Widget''s all tied up down in Philly. I''m sort of the odd job guy, come to think of it." He ran down, his brows furrowing as his eyes unfocused. She took the opportunity to get her next question in.


    "I think I understand. I understood no one knew I was here. Why would someone be calling for me?"


    "Oh, they''re not calling for you specifically. They just called, and I figured..." His brows drew down again, and he reached up and rubbed at his right temple.


    "That I might wake Midnight and let her speak with the caller?"


    "Oh, no. Doc was pretty clear on that, I shouldn''t wake anybody in the infirmary unless it''s an emergency."


    "Then how did you know you could call me?"


    "Computer listed your tablet as active. I figured it wouldn''t be unless you were awake."


    "Did you perhaps think Doctor Merilyn would be here, by mistake?"


    "Oh. Nah, I know she''s gone, and I can tell the tablet''s still local. I hope she''s okay. She''s not answering her phone."


    "Is that why you contacted me? Because you couldn''t reach her phone?"


    Reading on this site? This novel is published elsewhere. Support the author by seeking out the original.


    Now Troy frowned harder than Grace. "Nope. Just tried it now. I cannot for the life of me think why I pinged you. I don''t want to hang up, either."


    Grace blushed, a common occurrence when forced to confront her own fame. "If you would like an autograph, I wouldn''t mind."


    "No. That''s not it, though I think Steve wants one. No, I just thought you ought to take the call."


    "Were you given any instructions to hand calls over to me?" Grace grew more puzzled by the second as the nice young man frowned at her, clearly wanting her to take the call, but equally clearly uncertain why.


    "No. This is so weird. Do you mind talking to him?"


    "To who?"


    "The guy on the line. His name''s Walker, says he''s a blue blood, says he''s trying to get in touch with whatever government agency is in charge of you."


    Grace paused, thinking about her own horror at the fading image of the incinerated treadmill. "I do not have a government agency in charge of me, but... I suppose if he''s worried, I can talk to him."


    "Okay, I''ll put him through."


    A moment later, Troy''s image disappeared, quickly replaced by the image of Midnight resting in bed. Troy spoke once more, "Mister Walker? I''ve got Grace Chung on the line for you."


    A firm baritone replied, "I don''t see a Grace Chung listed on the website. Are you sure I have the right number?"


    "I''m sorry, sir. The rest of the team is unavailable at the moment. I could have Mister Morgan call you back tomorrow?"


    A sigh sounded through the line. "No. I''ll speak with her."


    Grace decided to cut in before Troy upset the man further. "Hello, Mister Walker. This is Grace Chung. I''m... I suppose I''m a probationary member of the team."


    "Probationary? How so?"


    "I''m not sure this is what I want to do with these... gifts. I''m not sure I even want them. I''m staying with the Blue Bloods until I learn how to control them. Maybe until Doc... until Widget or Mister Morgan figures out a way to fix me, so I don''t have them."


    "Fix you? Why..." Walker trailed off.


    "I am not combative by nature. I am not a pacifist, I will defend myself, but I just can''t see myself as some kind of defender. I''m a musician."


    "Oh." Walker tried to hide his disappointment, but Grace had too much experience and too fine an ear to miss it.


    "You have these gifts as well, I take it?"


    "Oh, yes. Unfortunately, it appears someone within the government thinks they make me too dangerous to be allowed out of a box. I''ve been unlawfully imprisoned. Really, if I could speak with someone in the JAG''s office, I''d be willing to go through channels, but I haven''t been allowed out of the room I''m in. I haven''t even seen more than half a dozen people, really."


    Grace thought about her own youth. The cells, the prisons in all but name. She sympathized with the man on the other end of the line, but she had no idea what to do for him.


    Movement on the screen caught her eye. The angel stirred, stretched, and started to sit up. The sheet fell away, and Grace wrenched her eyes from the tablet in her hands. "Mister Walker, I believe one of our more senior people will be available shortly. If you could just hang on a bit?"


    ***


    Jane could almost taste the sounds as fate moved through the world. Thunder rolled with every footstep, shaking bits of plaster from the walls and ceiling. Lightning flickered, teasing at death''s echoing steps, and death blinked, peered about, and stared directly at Jane.


    She''d tried until she collapsed to open her eyes, to end the silence, but without success. Her eyes remained stubbornly shut, the world silent and still save for the endless tolling of the death striding toward her. That one sound shook the world, so loud she could hear it through her closed eyes, so loud she couldn''t not hear it, even with her eyes squeezed shut.


    She could squeeze her eyes shut. She ought to be able to open them. The scent of tears rolling down her face brought even more tears in their wake, the sight of them so hot her eyes squeezed shut of their own accord once more.


    Jane tried to push herself upright, to bring her hands to her face. She knew she had hands; she''d smelled them when last fate shoved her from her perch.


    Her shoulders slumped. She''d tried as hard as she could, but fate walked toward her, death clutched in his hand. The lightning, guilty once and guilty twice and guilty thrice, had sent fate to kill her once more.


    Once more. Memories, images from the time before, teased at the edges of her mind. The acrid goo in her mouth, the lead hammering into her skull, the knives piercing her until they''d had their fill. Knife had stabbed her, and yet she lived. Gun had shot her, and yet she lived. Poison had corrupted her, and yet she lived. Sky had fallen on her, and yet she lived. Fierce desire kindled deep in her core; desire detached from the guilty world of those not dead. Her eyes remained closed, her body remained still, but her tears stopped flowing.


    Fate strode toward her, shaking the earth with the weight of her next death in his hand.


    Once more, and the silence would end.

 Chapter Forty-Eight - Midnight

    Drew stretched, trying to remember when she''d checked into the motel. More importantly, she tried to remember why, or more to the point who had slept in the other bed. Whoever, they''d left the sheets a mess. Her own smelled faintly of perfume and sweat, but both held the slightly acrid tinge of age. Her stretch finished, she lay back down and stared at the ceiling, trying to recall the events of the night before. She couldn''t for the life of her remember how the sheets had gotten sweaty, or why she''d been wearing perfume.


    Suspicion uncoiled from the back of her mind, stretching almost as languorously as she had. Naked. No memory of the night before. Sweaty sheets. Drew sucked at her teeth, frantically trying to remember what she''d been told roofies tasted like. Nothing but a faint hint of fiery cinnamon and icy peppermint. Schnapps might get her into a motel room, but they wouldn''t blank her memory this badly.


    She peered around the darkened room, trying in vain to bring up a face, a name, even the hint of a body. A faint feeling of soft, yielding breasts pressed against hers, hungry lips locked against her own, and the memory vanished.


    "The hell? I''ve been really drunk, but I''ve never been so drunk I went to bat for the other team." Despite her conviction, she sniffed at the sheets, seeking the scent of cologne, aftershave, or even guy''s deodorant. She even rolled out of the bed, careful to stay out of view of the window despite the curtain, and sniffed at the other bed. Perfume, different than the one in her bed. Citrus and pumpkin spices. "Did I?"


    Someone knocked hesitantly on the motel room door. "Midnight?" A woman called; her voice pitched perfectly to be heard through the glass inset. "Are you dressed?"


    "Sorry..." Desperately Drew scrambled to think of something coherent to say. "Forgot I was supposed to be dressed by midnight." She looked around; two corners of the room had wardrobes. Something didn''t jive; hotels too cheap to have proper closets didn''t have beds as nice as these. She tabled that for later and popped open the wardrobe. The woman called again while Drew read the note hanging from the thick biker leathers she''d found.


    "Dressed as Midnight, don''t you mean?"


    Drew. These are reinforced. They should hold up better than the last set. Sorry if they chafe a little. Angela.


    Something struck her as odd about the thick, smooth leather, but she couldn''t bring herself to care a whole lot. Engulfed in the rich, spicy smell of never worn cowhide, she immersed herself in the feel of the coat. Beside that she found a set of pants; she''d never had the courage to try a pair before, but then she''d never had the ass she had now, either. Just beyond those...


    "A leather shirt? Really, Angie? What am I, the Biker Dominatrix or something?"


    "Pardon, but there is a phone call, and I believe you would be the better choice to take it."


    Drew looked on the shelf above the clothes bar. Nothing. The floor held the nicest pair of badass leather shit kickers Drew had ever laid eyes on, but nothing else.


    Why did Angela leave me a note in a motel room wardrobe? How the hell did she leave me a note in a motel room wardrobe?


    "Midnight?"


    "Yeah, um... do you have any idea what we did with my underwear?"


    The woman outside snorted as if trying to hold in a laugh mixed with some other, unknown exclamation. "I''m sure I don''t know. Shall I slide the phone in to you?"


    Drew rolled her eyes. "Why don''t you just bring it in?"


    "Oh, no. I do not think that would be wise." The door slid open a few inches, letting light in from outside. Artificial light, which would make sense if, like the woman said, it was midnight.


    Drew had never stopped running her fingers over the leather. She felt two patterns embossed on the front, one on each breast. On the left, the Blue Bloods logo. On the right, another stylized letter. It took a few moments for the implications of the ''M'' to sink in. The chair sliding into the room with the same double ''B'' logo on the backrest, a smart phone sitting on the seat, brought the truth slamming home.


    "Oh, hell. I''m in Blue Bloods HQ, aren''t I?"


    "That is correct."


    "Um... who are you?"


    "My name is Grace Chung. I am... a new recruit, I suppose."


    Drew looked at the smart phone, then back at the closet. "So... why aren''t you coming in the room?" She reached for the pants; she could go without panties, but Angie wasn''t kidding. This would chafe. They slipped on, the inside strangely stiff and smooth. When she pulled the zipper closed, the button snapped into place like some kind of magnet. The moment it did, the pants constricted until they fit like a buttery smooth second skin.


    "With you asleep, I found my concentration slipping. With you awake? I might not be able to resist your power."


    Drew stopped, taken aback by the frank declaration. "Um... you''re gay? I mean, I don''t care, one way or the other. Gay chicks are great. I mean, I''m not one. Really. I''m not in the closet, or in denial, or anything like that, either, but..."


    "But you are babbling, because I implied I found you attractive."


    "Yeah, talking to you without seeing you is really getting on my nerves. Why don''t you come on in?" Drew searched once more for a bra, giving up after looking through all the pockets of the jacket. Rolling her eyes and hoping her new super-boobs didn''t start super-sagging if she went without for one day, she pulled the leather shirt on. Again, the moment she pulled it closed, the buttons snapped together automatically, and the rest of the shirt snugged down until they looked painted on.


    Stolen content warning: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.


    "Are you dressed?"


    "Mostly. In her infinite sartorial wisdom Angie decided I''d go commando, but I''ve got pants and shirt on."


    Grace slid the door open all the way. Light speared in, showing a tiny Asian woman with classically beautiful Chinese features and long black hair, wearing nothing but a thankfully closed dressing gown. The moment her eyes met Drew''s her mouth dropped open. A second later, as she staggered to sit in the chair she''d pushed into the room, a wave of fog rolled away from her. A burst of flame shot out, the heat engulfing Drew momentarily, but it didn''t last long enough to do any damage.


    Someone hit the floor with a thump. Grace yelped. The fog parted, and Drew stared wide eyed at the icy mannequin sitting in the middle of the floor.


    "Uh. Yeah. I can see why they recruited you. You said I had a call?"


    Grace looked up from the floor, ran her fingers through a fine powder surrounding her. "I believe Captain Walker was disconnected."


    ***


    Grace stared at Drew as she followed her through the Blue Bloods complex. The change in the policewoman fascinated her. Where the sleeping angel personified poise and seductive allure, Drew marched down the corridor, looking for trouble with every gesture. Grace found the dichotomy disturbing, but she couldn''t even explain it to herself, so she stayed silent.


    "What the hell do you mean, ''after the stunt I pulled''? I intervened in an attempt by some domestic terrorists to seize weapons. As far as I remember, I nearly got killed trying to stop them." The hand holding the phone to her ear clenched, the brushed stainless steel of its case groaning at the pressure.


    "What I did after I stopped them? Hell, I don''t remember stopping them. I vaguely remember grabbing something... a grenade maybe? and tossing it back at the terrorists. Next thing I know I wake up in Blue Bloods headquarters with someone saying there''s a blue blood, lower case, being held prisoner by the military. I figured calling you would be a better bet than going all loose cannon."


    Grace could make out the murmur of a deep bass through the tiny phone speaker, but she deliberately ignored the content of the man''s words. She''d done that habitually ever since she made it to the States and realized how jealously people here guarded their privacy. More importantly, she hadn''t wanted to annoy the nation which had rescued her from her gilded state slavery.


    The gentleman stopped talking. "If there''s some kind of porn video of me on the internet, I don''t know about it. I sure as hell wouldn''t have done some kind of freaky girl on girl thing, either. I don''t swing that way."


    Another brief murmur. "Charlie did what?"


    A manic grin clawed its way across Drew''s face. "Oh, no sir. No sir. You don''t need to send a SWAT team, or the Marshalls. Keep them for looking into this Captain Walker. I don''t know much about him, other than his name, his rank, and that he''s been kept in solitary since he discovered his abilities. Makes me think he was doing something black, or we''d have read about someone using some abilities and disappearing."


    This time the reply came too quickly and forcefully to ignore, "You''re tracking new blue bloods?"


    "Yeah, I told Charlie about the privacy issues. I think the basic problem is him not giving a flying fuck about privacy issues when maybe someone ten miles away is developing the ability to create nuclear explosions with her mind and isn''t full of the best of intentions."


    The bass voice dropped to a more conciliatory tone, far too low to hear. "Yeah, why don''t you just do that little thing."


    Drew flipped the phone closed, reaching to slip it into her jacket pocket without thinking. Halfway there, she stopped, deliberately slid the phone down the curve of her butt, then swore when the plastic rubbed across smooth leather with no pocket. "Paper pusher." She sighed, shaking her head ruefully. "Nah, he doesn''t deserve that. I''m just pissed. Do you know anything about this damned video of Charlie''s?"


    Without thinking about why she did so, Grace pitched her voice to soothe. "No, Miss Williams. I''m afraid that I, much like yourself, awoke in a sickbed after a prolonged period of unconsciousness. In my case, however, my last memories were of a wave sinking my water taxi in the middle of Hong Kong harbor."


    Drew smiled at her, the angel peeking out from beneath storm clouds. Grace''s gut clenched and her head spun a little. She wondered briefly how much worse Drew affected men or lesbians. Then the frown returned, and Grace realized Drew had asked her a question. She replayed the last few seconds. Drew wanted to know if the taxi driver had survived.


    "I don''t know, actually. I lost consciousness shortly after the taxi capsized. I had no chance to do anything about my driver."


    "Too bad. Guess you must have floated here or something." She frowned. "Timing''s off though. Currents aren''t right for it this time of year." Her eyes shot wide, and she muttered under her breath before Grace had a chance to think of something else, to ignore her. "How the hell do I know that?"


    "Miss Williams..."


    "Call me Drew. The only person who calls me ''Miss Williams'' is my gynecologist, and I don''t think either of us are really into you getting up all in my stuff." Grace nearly choked with the effort of holding back her near-instinctive denial. "Speaking of which, I have to figure out what the hell JJ was talking about. I''ve never done anything with a chick, and I''ve certainly never done anything on camera." She stopped, staring at the wall, lost in thought. "Well, there was that one party back in college. I still don''t remember much more than blurs from that whole weekend. Shit. I guess I''ve got to go take a look at this damned video, see if it''s really me."


    "If you wish to do so, I believe I can show you where the computer terminals are."


    Drew stopped in mid-stride. "How long have you been awake?"


    "Not terribly long. It''s hard to tell within the confines of this building. I believe I''ve been here a little over a day." She paused, surprised at herself. Since she''d gone looking for Mr. Morgan''s truck, she hadn''t even thought about leaving. "I''ll show you the computers."


    She led Drew to a hallway lined with offices. Each had a name displayed on the outside, most in a customized script. When she reached the door labeled ''Midnight'' in a script suitable for a motorcycle gang tattoo, she stopped and gestured.


    "Is that you? Midnight?"


    "No, Miss Williams. It''s you. I guess your teammates chose it while you lay unconscious."


    Drew shook her head as she opened the door. "This better be good."


    Inside, the dichotomy of the decor struck Grace as strongly as it had the first time she''d glanced in, looking for an unoccupied office to sit in for a while. Half the walls sported what Grace automatically labeled ''biker regalia''; embossed leather jackets interspersed with various weapons, both improvised and not. The rest of the decoration reminded her of a police detective''s office. Photos of Drew''s graduating class at the police academy, a face shot of her in her uniform, and a wall full of degrees made up most of it, but even the ''cop'' portion of the room had a few weapons as part of the display.


    Drew slipped into the office chair behind her desk, and a look of pure, surprised bliss washed over her face. The room spun, and Grace looked up from where her hands clutched at the edge of the desk.


    "Oh, man, you okay, Miss Chung?"


    "Please, call me Grace. I am fine. I see you discovered Widget''s automatically adjusting chairs?"


    "Yeah." She tapped the button on the computer, which sprang to life near instantly. "Huh. Message from Widget. Watch all three videos. Your keys are in the desk drawer. You know anything about this?"


    Grace shook her head. "No, my task was to see you were not too disoriented to wake in a strange place. I should probably be going now."


    "Nah. Stick around. If I''ve got keys, I might have a car. If I have a car, I might want a drink. If I want a drink, I''ll want somebody to drink with. If I get somebody to drink with, I might get drunk, and if I get drunk, I''ll need somebody to hold my keys."


    Grace opened her mouth to object. Drew grinned conspiratorially at her own humor, and she gave up on the idea of escape. Drew clicked her mouse a few times and settled back into the preternaturally comfortable chair to watch what had happened in the world since the night she fell unconscious.

 Chapter Forty-Nine - Video

    Drew stared at the monitor, idly dragging her mouse pointer back and forth across the screen. She''d watched all three videos. Her new motorcycle ''keys'', really a pair of remote starters and security fobs, dangled from her other hand. Some deeply ingrained training slipped them into her pocket, reached into the left-hand drawer of her desk, and pulled out her pistol. With an offhand motion she tossed it, holster and all, to Grace.


    "Get rid of that."


    "What do you mean? I am not a weapons expert; I don''t know any safe disposal..."


    "I don''t care. What you did to the phone. Do it."


    "I..." Drew glared at the woman. Without speaking, she stood and held the gun before her, dangling from her finger and thumb like a dead animal. Smoke, steam, and frost filled the room for an instant, and the icy mannequin sat back down, the chair creaking beneath her as it adjusted to her new form.


    "Thank you."


    She clicked on the first video again. Charlie appeared, flanked by Angela, and began nattering about finances, non-profits, and LLCs. As she remembered, he neatly evaded why any of the measures were needed. He reached the part where he started talking numbers, and she reached up and idly toyed with the debit card she''d tucked into her shirt without thinking about it. It slipped; she still hadn''t found a bra. Then again, she didn''t really need one anymore, except for modesty.


    The card squeaked, drawing her attention. One corner of the plastic bore a distorted impression of her fingerprint. One drawer at a time she searched her new desk, finally finding a scissor in the bottom drawer. She pulled it out, staring for a while before slowly, carefully trimming the edge of the card back to its proper shape.


    She slipped the debit card into the inside pocket of her jacket, then tapped the mouse to pause the video. For a while she rolled the selector back and forth, first rewinding, then fast forwarding. Eventually pure random chance wound up with her looking at the links to the two other videos, the first labeled ''original'', the other labeled ''official release''. Unthinking, she clicked on ''official release''.


    A face stared back at her. Not her own. She''d almost begun to think of it that way. Her reflection in the glassy surface of the monitor hadn''t seemed a stranger, but then she''d seen the video. She''d seen the original footage. She stared at the simple yet professional graphics proclaiming the name of the woman on the screen: Midnight. A woman who wore the only face she would ever have.


    A few stills from her career prior to the Rain of Fire filled the screen as the voiceover did a quick bio. After that the other face filled the screen again, then the camera panned back to give the viewers a full length still; she recognized it from one of the photo shoots Charlie had forced her to sit through. The woman on the screen had a body any woman would want, envy, or both.


    "Miss Williams... Midnight... Drew?"


    "Yeah?" Drew growled.


    "Do you still wish me to stay with you?"


    "Yeah."


    The icy mannequin settled back. Her chair creaked, trying to adjust despite a thin coating of ice across the entire mechanism. Drew stood, turned the monitor around to face the room, and then walked over to stand next to Grace''s chair. She rested her hand on Grace''s shoulder, snatched it back when the icy burn of frostbite punctured her palm.


    On the screen, Midnight engaged the looters. She threw her flashlight, leapt for the top of the truck, and brought both feet down on the guy''s head. After that, things got hectic and confusing; she practically danced through gunfire without being hurt, her own return fire dropping enemies, who afterward lay writhing in clearly non-mortal agony. She got into the building, cut the hostage loose, and incidentally sheltered the redhead as the madman leading the looters cut loose on the two of them with an assault rifle.This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it.


    Drew winced as Midnight shrugged off the gunfire like hail, rolled to her feet, and fired off a volley of shots that left her opponent''s body armor hanging loose. He jammed a glowing blue needle into his leg, and everything got even crazier. Whatever camera had recorded the event couldn''t follow as he attacked her. Midnight''s counters didn''t outpace the camera, but they came at such a rapid pace she seemed to have at least three arms. Every attack left the looter open, and every time it did, she hammered her shin into the side of his knee.


    Eventually his chemically enhanced speed and strength battered through her defenses. Her jacket tore away, her gun and holster flying a moment before the looter grabbed them. She dove through the door, only to have the looter rip it from its hinges and throw her into the side of the truck.


    He stood there, panting with exertion, as she tore her way free of the wreckage, losing more of her shirt and half of one pant leg in the process.


    "Funny, I don''t remember my clothing getting trashed."


    A new squad of gunmen opened fire, and bullets sparked from Midnight''s bare skin as she turned and charged them.


    "Okay, I remember that bit. I was really pissed they''d ruined my slacks. Guess I wasn''t thinking too clearly."


    Grace remained silent. On screen, Midnight demolished the remaining gunmen, then nearly disappeared into the darkness of the parking lot. The redhead from inside snuck up behind her, a bat in hand, and then the leader of the looters...


    "Fred. His name is Fred."


    ...Fred leaned out of the trailer and tossed a grenade. Midnight half turned to run, saw the hostage behind her with the bat, and leapt back toward the incoming explosive. It detonated the moment she grabbed it, her hand shaping the charge, blowing most of it backward toward the truck.


    Drew looked down at her right hand. No scars. No bruises. Nothing to indicate she''d absorbed the impact of an exploding grenade.


    Midnight flew backward into the redhead. The semi-trailer, sparked by some fragment of the grenade, exploded. Flaming debris rained down on the parking lot, and the camera jerked as something out of the field of view struck it. The point of view swayed as Midnight''s body jerked time after time, burning fragments glancing away, each lighting another portion of her tattered pantsuit aflame.


    Finally, after what seemed to be an eternity, the rain of debris ended. Midnight stirred, then rolled over as the redhead trapped beneath rolled the unconscious hero off of her. In repose, her belligerent nature concealed, only the angel remained, revealed. The redhead knelt, scrabbling at the angel''s burning clothing, yanking it away before it could sear itself to Midnight''s skin. The heroine barely moved, arching and rolling as if to assist the redhead. Each scrap of fabric removed revealed another welt or burn.


    When she''d thrown each bit of burning cloth across the lot, the redhead finally turned to look on the angel and froze. When she moved again, she crawled the few feet to the angel''s side, each move tentative. She reached out with one hand, fingers tracing along her side until she cupped Midnight''s face. Her lips descended.


    The camera jerked once, the scene shifting, and then fell to the ground. After a moment''s static, the screen filled with a simple text graphic, stating Midnight had survived and made it to medical care at Blue Bloods Headquarters. The same graphic asked that anyone with knowledge of the redhead''s identity call a toll-free number, as the Blue Bloods were offering a reward for keeping one of their own from burning to death.


    Drew leaned over and spun the monitor back around.


    "That... doesn''t seem so bad." Grace ventured.


    Drew''s fist clenched. Her nails bit into the palm of her hand. Grace didn''t know. She couldn''t know. She hadn''t been shown.


    "That''s the edited video. The original doesn''t cut off there."


    "But... the camera?"


    "A clever bit of editing. There''s... more."


    Grace just waited, silent and unreadable in her ice form.


    "She did more than kiss me, Grace. I''m not sure what she did do..." Fragments of memory surfaced, soft breasts pressed against her own, the taste of old cigarettes and cheap beer invading her mouth, worst of all the lack of any kind of horror or resistance on her own part. "I''m not sure what all she did, but I saw enough in the video. Sick freak. Midnight might have been lying there dying, and she decides to get her freak on."


    Grace sat, unmoving, wisps of steam rising from her icy skin.


    "Well? Aren''t you going to say anything?"


    The wisps of steam expanded into a torrent, obscuring Grace from sight for a moment. When it cleared, she sat there covered in nothing but her hair. Her gaze never faltered, her poise absolute. Without thinking, Drew pulled off her jacket and tossed it to the tiny woman. It landed draped across her front like a blanket; Grace never moved, never broke eye contact.


    "You''re not the only one this has happened to."

 Chapter Fifty - Flinch

    Grace watched as anger warred with confusion on Drew''s face. Her brows drew down before she barked out, "Oh, so that makes it all okay?"


    Silence beckoned, but Grace knew the end result of that path. "No. It does not. But it means there are others who have been where you are. There are others who have felt what you are feeling now, as much as any human being can feel what another feels."


    "How would you know?"


    There were moments to speak, and moments to use silence as the tool of communication. Grace stared at Drew as the taller woman''s anger grew, moment by moment. She saw the exact moment comprehension took hold, and the anger twisted in on itself to become shame. She slumped back to lean against her desk.


    "When?"


    "I was still a girl. Even then, my musical talent was obvious. I spent more time in the company of my instructors than my parents." Buried pain surfaced, but Grace had come to terms with this long ago. "One of them kept me after class one day. He explained how without proper mentoring, my talent would never blossom. This would, of course, reflect badly on my parents and the rest of my family.


    "I took him up on his offer of additional tutoring, of course. I had no idea of his intent. After I''d spent every night in his company for a week, he told me the price of his assistance. He... used me."


    Drew looked up at that. "What did you do?"


    "What could I do? I cleaned myself up and went home."


    "You didn''t tell anyone?"


    "He was right. I needed his knowledge."


    "But... but you could have gotten someone else!"


    Grace shook her head once in negation. "He was scum, but to this day I''ve not met another instructor capable of driving a music student as he did. Or maybe that''s what I tell myself, since at the time I didn''t know how many other teachers had applied to be my mentor."


    Drew just leaned there, shaking her head slowly as if she couldn''t control her own motion, her own emotions. "I''m sorry."


    "Don''t be. You didn''t do it. You were a world away, years younger than I. You could not have prevented it."


    "I wish I could have. No one should have to feel like this."


    Grace shrugged again. "How do we know if we feel what anyone else feels? When I arrived at his office at the end of his next school day, he claimed I liked it, made it a frequent component of our sessions. He wanted to open each lesson with such activity, but I told him I was too tired after. In truth I couldn''t keep my hands steady."


    "How long?"


    "Two years after our first lesson, I came to realize he''d begun repeating himself. When I pressed him for more, he demurred, threatened to reveal our relationship, use it to destroy my reputation."


    "What did you do?"


    "I did it myself. I informed my parents, my other teachers, and the police. By then everyone in my hometown had some inkling of my talent. Given the choice of losing a has-been music instructor or one of the greatest musical prodigies of her generation, they chose to believe me."


    Drew''s posture had grown stiffer and stiffer as Grace''s tale wound on. Now she snapped. "Yeah, you got support. It''s not the same here."


    "Is it not?"


    "Your friends believed you! They didn''t sell videos of you banging your music prof for profit!"


    "No. They did not. Instead, they watched me, placed me under constant surveillance, for ''my safety''. What little personal life I''d managed to have evaporated like spit on a griddle. My old mentor went into psychiatric care; it turned out his own mentor had done much the same to him. Of course, that meant I was watched all the more carefully whenever circumstances forced me to be around music students younger than I, lest it ''happen again''."


    "Yeah, it''s still not the same!"


    Until now, Grace had kept her emotions in check, holding them back with the same iron discipline that had let a twelve-year-old remain functional when a man twenty years her senior raped her. Drew''s anger finally broke through that reserve and sparked her own lurking fury.


    "Why? Because you are American? Because you are a policewoman? Because you are not a child? Why? What makes you so special?"


    "I''m not special! I just... I don''t... This kind of..." Anger rose, peaked, and vented in a scream which shook the walls, "I''m not a victim!"


    "Why not? What makes you so special, so much better than me?"


    "I didn''t say I was better than you!" Drew paused, scraping to rescue the right words from her fury. "I''m... I''ve trained, my whole life, to be one of the people who stops this kind of thing. I promised myself I''d never be one of those women weeping in the station, battered after being abused time and again by some man."


    "You''ve succeeded there. Unless she is more adept than most cross-dressers, your molester was definitely not a man."


    The monitor shattered against the wall next to the door. Grace didn''t flinch. Flinching never helped. "That''s not what I meant!"


    "Then what did you mean? Make it very clear to me, Drew Williams, so I can understand this thing you claim I do not."


    "I''m not weak!"


    Silence reigned. Drew stood, panting, in the middle of the room. Grace stood, shrugging the leather jacket on backwards for the little protection it provided. She walked over to her angel, her newest friend, and without warning slapped her across the face.This content has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.


    "What?"


    "Never call me weak again, Drew Williams."


    "I didn''t..."


    "This thing which happened to you also happened to me. It happens to others, each and every day. It happens to one in three women in the civilized regions of the world. In the rest of the world, when they even care it''s not considered worth surveying. It''s just part of being a woman."


    "But..."


    "Be silent, Drew Williams. This thing that happens to so many, are you implying it only happens to the weak? Think carefully. Whatever you think about the victims of this crime, know you are thinking this about me."


    Drew stood there, mouth working, her shoulders slumping until she reached out blindly for support. Grace took her hand, guided it to her own shoulder, and left it there. She did nothing else, silently waiting for the other woman to speak. After an eternity, tears started leaking from Drew''s eyes. She blinked them away without noticing. Her left hand clenched into a fist, her right lay listless on Grace''s shoulder.


    She finally spoke, her voice tiny, "What am I gonna do?"


    "You will go on. You will remain strong. You will heal." Grace shrugged, and Drew''s hand fell from her shoulder to hang listlessly by her side, a strange sight with her other hand clenched so tight her bones squeaked from the strain. "Or you will not. You will hide, and flinch when faced with strength, and lash out to vent your frustrated anger when faced with weakness."


    "I wouldn''t! I couldn''t... I..." Drew slumped back to the desk, her clenched fist opening just in time to catch her. "Fuck me. I just did, didn''t I?" She slid to the floor, framed by rich, dark mahogany and slate on the floor.


    Grace stepped up to her, the difference in their heights emphasized by how close to her waist Drew came when seated on the floor. "You will again, I am sure. You have no more control over that than you would over flinching when you put strain on any other injury. What makes you strong isn''t a lack of flinching. It''s moving again after you flinch."


    Grace reached out her hand. Midnight, still blinking her eyes free of moisture, reached out and took it.


    ***


    Jack slipped carefully off the back of the rental truck, massaging his back as he did. Steve hadn''t hit every pothole in the road, but Jack''s back felt like he had.


    "You okay back there, Hammer?"


    "I''m fine, Axe. You feeling any better?"


    The young smartass sauntered around the end of the truck, the ragged ends of his coat flapping around his legs. He had the thing buckled in front, because his pants hadn''t grown back when his legs did. His axe hung from a strap in the bed of the truck. He reached in to grab it, flashing his ass to the entire garage.


    "C''mon, Axe, I don''t need to see that."


    "You could have grabbed it for me."


    Jack just shook his head and walked toward the base entrance. Before he got there, the doors slid open, and a vision of leather clad fury stormed out.


    "Where is he! Where''s Charlie!"


    Before Jack could even open his mouth, Steve replied. "Hey, rich girl! What''s shakin''?"


    Drew changed course in midstride, one hand reaching out to point at Steve. Jack stepped toward them to intervene, but a hand on his arm stopped him. A small Chinese woman stood beside him, her head shaking. When she saw he''d stopped, Grace removed her hand and stood, watching.


    "I do not have patience for your bullshit right now, Steve."


    The young idiot showed no more caution than he had when he leapt from the Skycar. "Yeah, well. What else is new? Any chance I could get you to buy me a new pair of pants?"


    She stepped up to him, getting right in his face. "I swear to god, Steve, if you don''t shut it and tell me where Charlie is, I''m going to break it off and shove it up your ass."


    "Hey, whoa, unlike some of us, I''m not into that whole same gender thing."


    Faster than Jack could follow, she grabbed the remains of Steve''s coat collar in one hand and lifted him off his feet. "One more word, asshole..."


    "Hey, look, I don''t judge. You do what you do. I just wish I was..."


    Jack didn''t even see her fist move. One second, she held Steve in front of her, the next he flew backward, a few shreds of his coat still dangling from her grip. The fireman tumbled away, limbs limp, and rolled to a stop halfway across the hangar. Grace stepped forward, but Jack lay a hand on her shoulder, stopping her as wordlessly as she''d stopped him.


    Steve pushed himself to his feet. "Damn. I didn''t know you were into all that rough stuff."


    Drew stalked toward him, heels striking the pavement. "Steve..."


    "I guess that''s a no on sex, then?"


    This time, when she started swinging, she didn''t stop. Over and over, she punched him in the gut, in the chest, and in the face. With each hit he flew backward, limp, only to push himself to his feet a few moments before she reached him. When he staggered, she hit him with an uppercut, flinging him into the air. She hit him a dozen times before he slammed into the far wall. He slid slowly down the wall, leaving a trail of blood behind him. He slumped when he reached the floor, utterly motionless.


    "What, out of snappy comments?"


    Drew stalked over to where Steve lay, each step less determined than the last. By the time she reached him, she shook so hard Jack could see it from where he still stood next to the base door. She dropped to her knees next to his crumpled form.


    "Oh, god. Oh, god, Steve, why the hell did you... what the hell did I do?"


    Jack started across the bay, Grace by his side. Drew tried to touch Steve but couldn''t complete the motion.


    "God, Jack. Why did you let me... what did I do?"


    "I dunno, Williams. What do you think you did?"


    She turned up to him, fury in her eyes immediately extinguished by shame, but the words already flowed from her mouth. "I lost my temper. I beat one of my best, oldest friends to death in a fit of rage. And you... you didn''t even lift a finger to stop me. Either of you!"


    Grace reached out with one hand, brushed an errant hair from Drew''s face. "Would that have served any purpose, other than to add two more bodies to the floor?"


    "Oh, yeah. I can beat up mister special forces here."


    Jack shook his head. "Honestly? Yeah, I think you could. I might slow you down, but I don''t think I could stop you."


    "So why didn''t you at least fucking say something before I broke Steve''s goddamned neck?"


    Jack smiled. He''d realized Steve''s intent late, but he had eventually realized. "As to that..."


    Steve groaned, air wheezing from a hole where one rib poked out of his chest. Drew''s head snapped around, but before she could do anything Jack leaned over and pushed the rib back into position. Steve let out a muffled groan and pushed himself up until he leaned against the wall. His eyes fluttered closed, but he drew in a ragged breath.


    "So. Feel better?"


    Drew slumped over, eyes fluttering closed.


    "Ah, hell. Did she just faint?"


    "Yep."


    "Dammit. I had a great line about her not being as good at eating me as the bear all lined up."


    Jack kept his gaze focused on the wall a few inches above Steve''s head, carefully shuffling around the unconscious woman on the floor until he could lift Steve up and carry him toward the base entrance.


    "Miss Chung? Could you wait here with Midnight until she wakes up?"


    The little Asian woman just sighed and nodded, then settled down cross legged beside the sleeping angel. Jack clamped down on Steve when the young man tried to squirm out of his grasp, ignoring his pleas until the base door slid shut behind them. A few seconds after it did, Steve started laughing, the movement spraying bits of blood from his few remaining cuts.


    "Steve? You okay?"


    "Oh, hells yeah. I just realized something that makes up for the bear line."


    "What''s that?"


    "Well, y''know how some chicks look passable when you''re talking to them, but then you wake up the next day and realize why people say, ''she''s got a great personality''?"


    Jack set Steve carefully on his feet. He staggered a little, but with one hand on the wall managed to remain standing.


    "I''m familiar with the phrase, yeah." He wasn''t about to let Steve know how familiar he was with the phenomenon. Young body or not, those days were in the past.


    "Drew''s so hot straight guys and lesbo chicks literally can''t keep their hands off her. Makes me wonder about you, by the way."


    Jack just stared at him, waiting. He was also long past the point where minor insinuations could disturb his calm.


    "Well, anyway, she''s that hot, but only when she''s unconscious."


    "Your point?"


    "She is literally irresistibly hot, but her personality is so bad nobody notices unless she''s unconscious."


    Jack left Steve leaning against the wall, laughing at his own humor. Old enough to ignore most trivial bullshit or not, he needed a drink.

 Chapter Fifty-One - Nondescript

    Jesse looked across the emergency room from her vantage point in the paramedic''s break room. She watched the patients waiting, some bored, others in obvious pain. A few others crossed her field of vision; a pair of candy stripers moved through the room making sure everyone had filled out all the forms, that no one would soon or had recently passed out, and generally tried to keep everyone''s spirits up. This pair had lasted through the Rain and the disasters following. Not many could say that.


    Somewhere upstairs Charlie lay in a hospital bed, doctors deciding his fate. Jesse wanted more than anything to push her way past all the barriers and see him. To keep herself from doing just that she catalogued the ways she could, and the reasons why each of them would make things worse. Of course, the biggest reason she couldn''t tell herself; just like all the concerned, emotional relatives she''d gently pulled away so Steve or Angela could work, she''d only be in the way.


    Mercy walked over from the nurses'' station. "Jesse, I heard about that big bear you fought up on the Delaware."


    "Yeah."


    "I heard Steve¡­" She stopped, obviously at a loss for words. "Got hurt, but Doctor Merilyn sent him home. I guess she figured he was beyond anything we could do here. Charlie''s up in ICU. Has anyone looked you over?"


    Jesse grinned; humor absent from the expression. "No need, Mercy."


    "Charlie''s laid up with some kind of brain trauma, and from what I heard there wasn''t enough left of Steve to fill a body bag. Someone needs to check you out, young lady."


    This time a little genuine laughter leaked out from Jesse''s lips. "Who are you calling young, Mercy? I''m a year older than you."


    "And if you''re still young, that means I am too. Now, am I going to have to call an orderly to hold you down? I''m not about to have you bleed out while you''re sitting in my ER."


    Jesse shook her head but levered herself from the chair anyway.


    "Okay. I''d prefer just a little privacy though." She pulled the curtain across the entry to the alcove just as a few new people came in; a mother with a crying child, an elderly couple, the woman holding something over the man''s hand, and a nondescript guy in a dark suit.


    "You just got some new customers, so let''s make this quick." Jesse shrugged off her camo jacket, exposing the tattered blue tee shirt beneath. She reached into the supply cabinet and pulled out a scalpel. Before Mercy could do more than open her mouth, she slashed it across her own forearm. A gash appeared, but instead of gushing blood, her skin just folded back over itself.


    "How... what?"


    "Yeah. That''s what I''m trying to tell you, Mercy. I''m... I''m upset about Charlie. I''m kinda tired. But other than fatigue and emotional trauma, I don''t seem to be prone to the kind of injuries you can treat."


    Mercy''s gaze kept shifting from Jesse''s face to her arm and back again. Her mouth worked, but no words came out.


    "I expect Steve is fine, too. Assuming Drew hasn''t found a way to kill him yet."


    Mercy shook her head again. "Well. I guess you don''t need anything from me. I''ll let you get back to whatever you were doing."


    "Actually..."


    "Yeah?"


    "Could you check on Charlie and Angela for me? I have no idea how he''s doing, and as far as I know nobody''s checked on her."If you come across this story on Amazon, it''s taken without permission from the author. Report it.


    "You mean she can''t..." Mercy nodded toward Jesse''s arm.


    "Not that I know of, no."


    The nurse stared for a few moments longer before shaking her head, then nodding once and walking away.


    Jesse turned back to her people watching, trying to reconnect with the person she had been.


    ***


    Angela leaned against the waiting room wall, her mind racing in circles. On one hand, she knew with absolute certainty she wasn''t the right specialist to be looking at Charlie right now, and she could only jog the MRI tech''s elbow. On the other hand, no one in the world understood the blue blood phenomenon as well as she did.


    Charlie didn''t have many friends. Angela counted herself as one of them, and that meant she couldn''t, right now, be his doctor. Day to day, researching their shared condition, she could make an exception, but with his life on the line she wouldn''t be able to retain her objectivity.


    The same thoughts chased themselves through her brain over and over again, her blood pressure rising with each passing moment. Briefly, she considered heading to the cafeteria to get some food, but Doctor Davies might come out at any moment. Before her thoughts could fall into the same trap again, she pushed herself from the wall and headed for the elevators.


    Waiting for the elevators, she thought about the heavy device she''d summoned up on the back of the bear frozen in the middle of the Schuylkill River. The sigils on the sarcophagus'' panel didn''t coincide with any alphabet she knew. She pulled out her phone and started searching the web for other character sets, hoping to find a matching one.


    The elevator doors slid open, but before she could step in a man in a dark suit stepped out. She stood aside to let him pass, and in the distance heard Doctor Davies'' voice.


    "Doctor Merilyn?"


    The guy in the suit turned away from the waiting room, heading toward the terminal care patient wing. That suited Angela just fine, she took the corner at a sprint, gray haze threatening every moment. She couldn''t afford to lose it just now; her other self might not understand why Charlie needed a doctor, let alone what the doctor said.


    She skidded to a stop in front of the doors just as they swung closed. She pushed them open cautiously and called out, her attention focused on keeping that grey haze at bay. Her other self prodded at her, trying to take over, but she held strong.


    "Doctor Davies?"


    The doctor turned around, relief on his face. "Doctor Merilyn. Thank god." He paused. "Are you okay?"


    "Sorry, I was just about to step onto the elevator when I heard you calling."


    "Oh. Have you run any MRIs on patients with haematochromatic syndrome?"


    Angela blinked, trying to focus past the encroaching grey haze. "Uh, no. I''d intended to, but I''ve never had the time and equipment. What''s wrong?"


    "That''s what I''m not sure of. There''s some intracranial bleeding. Not a great deal, normally I''d recommend against any invasive procedures given the amount. I''d proscribe drugs to assist him with recovery, but..."


    "But you''re not sure how they''d interact with his altered body chemistry?" Given a problem for her conscious mind to work on seemed to help with the grey haze. Unfortunately, the problem wasn''t very complex, and she tapped the solution into her phone and fired it to the pharmacy before Davies could finish nodding his head.


    "I''ve sent down equivalents that should work. Is that all?"


    "No. There seems to be something out of place."


    Doctor Davies'' words brought the grey haze down with a vengeance, but she didn''t lose herself entirely. Instead, his last three words echoed over an image of a nondescript guy in a dark suit headed down the hall toward the terminal ward.


    Out of place. Roger left the hospital the night of the Rain of Fire. Jack lived at Blue Bloods headquarters now. The post-Rain refugees had long since returned to their homes or more permanent shelters. Only one patient remained in the terminal ward.


    "Jane." She made eye contact with Davies, trying by force of will to make him understand her urgency.


    "Call security!" With that, she turned for the terminal ward, diving into the wall of blue-grey haze, hoping it would be enough.


    ***


    Angie literally bounced off the wall as she came around the last corner before the terminal ward. Halfway down the hall, the security camera shot sparks onto the floor, landing in the pool seeping from behind the nurse''s station. Angie knew she ought to be able to help the nurse, but not right now. Doctor Davies could help the nurse, she had to stop the dark suited man before he did this to anyone else.


    Before Angie got halfway there, the heavy door to Jane''s room blew backward across the hall. For a moment frozen in time, the assassin hung suspended from the door, a smoking half-sphere burned into the center of his chest.


    A voice boomed from Jane''s room, raising goose bumps across Angie''s arms. "The silence is over. Your guilt echoes in my eyes. Justice is done."

 Chapter Fifty-Two - Jane Do...

    Angie stared at the dead man sliding down the wall. His feet touched the ground; his legs crumpled up underneath him. Eventually, after an eternity of waiting, he collapsed forward, hiding the gaping wound in his chest.


    She''d never seen someone die before. On TV, yeah, but never in person. Half of her wanted to scream and run, half of her wanted to poke the body with a stick, and half of her wanted to sink to her knees and cry or throw up. That didn''t even count the half sitting behind the thin grey curtain in her head, shocked for once into silence, but obviously appalled at her lack of math skills.


    A sound from inside the room changed her hushed contemplation of the corpse into frightened immobility. Cloth rustled. Static electricity popped, enough to make Angie''s hair stand on end all the way out in the hallway. Before she could run or hide, the voice from before spoke again, this time quiet enough to sound like a woman rather than thunder come to earth.


    "It''s okay, little girl. I only seek Justice against the guilty."


    Images of destroyed couches, pallets of chocolate, and poor Steve''s naughty bits clutched in her fist forced Angie back against the wall, curled into a ball. When she didn''t move, the woman in the room spoke again, this time uncertainty seeping in to replace the iron.


    "I... I could really use some help. I promise, I won''t hurt you."


    Angie knew she ought to help people, but the crumpled form against the wall forced her to stillness. Only when the faint sounds of sobbing replaced ripping cloth did she creep over to the door on hands and knees.


    A woman stood in the middle of the room, naked. Behind her lay the smoking remains of a hospital bed, huge circular chunks carved out of the mattress and frame. She pawed through one of the drawers, dropping smock after smock onto the floor.


    "I need real clothes. I''m sick of these... things."


    Angie looked away. She wanted to help, but she only had the swimsuit thing her other self dressed in, with a lab coat draped over top for pockets. She shrugged out of the white coat and held it in front of her. The naked woman... Jane... stepped over, took the coat, and stared at her. In the back of her head, Angie''s other self screamed.


    "You give me the clothes off your back. You are not only innocent, you are generous. But," her eyes narrowed, and one hand shot out toward Angie. It didn''t touch her; instead, it passed through her, and her other half screamed in agony. Angie cried out and fell to her knees, and the woman backed away.


    "Why are you hurting me?"


    The woman stepped back, blinking.


    "Hurting you? Does the spirit clutching at you have such a grip that I can''t dislodge it without harming you?"


    Angie blinked. The woman seemed so confident, but what she said sounded so stupid. Angie wasn''t possessed. She might be split in two, but both halves were her, and her alone. Confusion rippled through her, and in that moment the grumpy old woman swept her aside.


    ***


    Angela stared at the woman hovering above her, the woman she''d known only as Jane Doe. Anger and fear threatened with a wall of grey, but she couldn''t let either overwhelm her. She closed her eyes, took a deep breath, opened them and looked Jane over once again.Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.


    Jane''s hands glowed faintly, and her feet each rested on its own glowing hemisphere. Her body covered by the lab coat, Angela couldn''t see the faint sheen of energy playing across her skin, but nothing could hide the gaping wounds in reality where Jane''s eyes used to be. All at once they occupied Jane''s eye sockets, the whole of her face, and everywhere Angela looked. Even when she turned her face away entirely, the edges of Jane''s ''eyes'' teased at her peripheral vision.


    "I''ll thank you to take your hands off me, Jane."


    "How do you know my name?"


    "I don''t. You''re a Jane Doe. I was your doctor for months. Honestly, given the state of things, I may still be the physician of record."


    Jane blinked, the unwavering certainty draining from her voice. "But... my name is Jane."


    Angela shook her head, pushing to her feet as she did. "Probably an implanted memory from hearing so many of us referring to you as Jane."


    "No." Jane stood, the spheres holding her off the ground letting her loom over Angela. Despite the light flickering around her hands, she still seemed less imposing than she had previously. Even the strange warping around her eyes dimmed. "My name is... my name... my name is Jane Donaldson. I am... I am a... I''m a Special Agent for the Federal Bureau of Investigations." She reached into her jacket, looking momentarily nonplussed as she scrabbled at the interior of it out of habit. "Dammit. I must have been undercover when I got... shot?"


    Angela''s head spun, connections forming faster than her mouth could form words. Instead of trying to keep up, she replied to Jane''s question, "I''m sorry, Miss Donaldson, but you were shot, beaten, and, we believe, violated sexually once unconscious. Do you have anyone who could confirm your identity?"


    Jane shook her head, then smiled wryly. "Damn. I was stuck so long, but I my old reflexes... it''s hard for me to even admit to my real name."


    "Stuck?"


    "Yes. Stuck. I... I knew I was in a hospital, I could... I can still... dammit, when I try to say it, it feels stupid."


    Something about Jane''s cadence caught at Angela. "Feels?"


    "Yes. The words feel stupid, even when I say them in my head. Like when I let them out, you''ll sound like I''m crazy."


    More connections clicked, and Angela shook her head. "No, Jane. I won''t think you''re crazy. How much have you experienced since you arrived at the hospital?"


    "I woke up here one day. Since then, everything''s been... wrong. You... you!" The vortexes of Jane''s eyes flared, reaching out to encompass Angela, obscuring her vision, filling her ears with static. A moment later they receded, but she still felt them, feather light tickles across her back. "I''m sorry. You''re my doctor! You''re Doctor Merilyn!"


    Angela glanced at her lab coat; she''d long since replaced the stitched ''Merilyn'' with the word ''Widget''. "You... you heard my name while you were in a coma, and you remember it?"


    "I heard it on the paperwork sometimes, I felt the orderlies say it." Jane''s face hardened, the light around her hands flaring back to life. "They didn''t like you much. You wouldn''t let them neglect me." A smile cracked her face into humanity once more, and in an instant her arms were around Angela, her hands extinguished.


    "You took care of me. Thank you."


    Angela reached around Jane, remembering a day months ago when she did the same for Jack. "You''re welcome, Miss... Donaldson." For a moment she held the other woman, but Jane wasn''t dying. If anything, she''d just returned from the grave, and things needed to be taken care of as soon as possible, to return her to as normal a life as a blue blood could have. "I think we''ll need to have a talk at some point, but for the moment... I think I may know someone who could confirm your identity, but before I go that route, can you think of anyone who could confirm your real identity?"


    Jane nodded, her face still over Angela''s shoulder. "Yes. My old partner... my control when I went undercover."


    A final connection snapped into place, despite Angela''s attempts to deny the synchronicity. "Your partner was Special Agent Jamil Johnson."


    Jane reared back, flying across the room until her back pressed against the wall, the spheres under her feet lifting from the ground until she hovered just beneath the ceiling. "You can''t know that! How do you know that? "


    "I figured it out. I''m very smart."


    "No one''s that smart!"


    "No one can fly, either."


    Jane''s vortexes rolled across the ceiling. "Well, duh, but what does that have to do with anything?"


    "Look down."

 Chapter Fifty-Three - First Time

    The world swam back into focus, music playing faintly in the background. Something hard and angular in Drew''s pocket vibrated along to the tune. Disjointed images flashed through her head; a giant lizard, mouth gaping; a juggernaut the size of a small moon crashing through the sky; a gun leveled at her face, the barrel pointed just too low for her to see the bullet.


    That last image had her rolling to the side, trying to get out of bed before she opened her eyes. The leather of her pants squealed in protest as she twisted to get her feet under her. Midnight finished crouched on her toes, scanning the room for any cover.


    The garage, a hanger in all but name, echoed with the sounds of her sudden movement, then went still. Next to where she''d been lying, Grace sat cross-legged, steam rolling from her frozen surface.


    "I really hope you''ve got a reason for your alarm, Midnight. While you slept previously, I discovered my clothing is occasionally turned to ice by my transformation."


    Drew blinked, the past few days'' memories flooding into her mind to replace visions of death and destruction. "Um... what does that have to do with anything?"


    "I like this blouse. I''d hate to see it melt."


    A jaunty little jingle sounded from the floor near Drew''s butt. Without looking, she reached around, picked up her phone, and lifted it to her ear.


    "Williams! I''ve been texting you for five minutes. Where have you been?"


    "Sorry, Agent Johnson. I''ve been unconscious on the floor of the hangar."


    "What''s going on? Do you need backup, too?"


    She shook her head, pushing herself to her feet and reaching for Grace. The smaller woman rose gracefully, without assistance, then fell in beside Midnight as she walked toward the door into the base.


    "Nah, just a stupid prank by Axe. Who else needs backup?"


    "The Agent I sent down to look into your Captain Walker. He ought to have reported back by now." For once the imperturbable Special Agent seemed shaken.


    "Okay, so what do you want me to do about it?"


    "That''s what I''m trying to..." Johnson cut off as Midnight''s phone hiccoughed with another incoming call. "...out." A quick glance at the phone showed her Widget''s gear icon.


    "Agent Johnson, can I put you on hold? I''ve got another call coming in." Without waiting, she swiped the phone. "Hey Ang. What''s up?"


    "We need to get in touch with Agent Johnson." Uncharacteristic hesitance marked Widget''s voice.


    Midnight pulled the phone away, stared at it a moment, and then tapped the control to go to speaker phone. All the while she strode deeper into the base, headed for her office. "I am talking to Angela, right?"


    "Yes, Drew. It''s me. Jane woke up."


    Drew blinked. She''d handled the initial paperwork for the Jane Doe, and she still had nightmares about the woman''s condition. Her gut clenched as she remembered what had been done to her. "How is she?"


    "She''s... well, I find it hard to believe no one''s taken a blood sample since the Rain, but¡­" Angela trailed off into silence.


    "What''s she doing?"


    "At the moment? Floating around the room, trying to figure out how to get down. Half an hour ago? Killing off an assassin sent to kill her."


    "What?" Drew held the phone away and stared at it, almost as if she could force Angela to recant her statement.


    "Yeah. She''s claiming a bit of amnesia. Not unlikely with the brain damage she came in with. However, she does remember quite a lot from before the events leading to her injury. For instance, she remembers her former occupation."


    "God, I''m gonna have to deal with another murder case. I hate murder cases. So much damned paperwork." Drew started tapping at her phone, looking for the app Angela had put together to let her do her paperwork on the run.


    "Well, Like I said, I''d call it self-defense. The guy had a high caliber gun, and it''s been fired. The bullets are in the wall and the floor."


    "Right. I''ll be down as soon as... wait. Shit. I''ve got a potential kidnapping to investigate. We need someone else who is trained to take care of documenting this crap."


    "We''re in luck, then. I''m fairly certain Jane can help with that."


    Drew froze. "What do you mean?"The story has been taken without consent; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.


    If Angela realized she''d shocked Drew, she didn''t indicate that. "She''s an FBI Agent by the name of Jane Donaldson. Guess who her partner was?"


    Drew shook her head, disbelieving her own words, "Jamil?"


    "Ayep."


    "Oh, this is too rich. I''ve got him on the other line. He wants me to go back up an Agent of his who was checking out that Captain Walker thing. Hang on..."


    Blue light flickered from the phone as Drew switched lines. Before she could react, Johnson''s voice rumbled out of the speaker. "Williams! What''s going on?"


    "What''s your old partner''s name?"


    The phone went quiet, the silence ominous. Finally, Johnson ground out, "Why do you need to know?"


    "I need to verify an identity. It''s urgent, but it might not be bad news."


    Another silence, followed by a deep whisper. "Her name was Jane Donaldson. Now, can we get back to your Captain Walker?"


    "Is."


    "Huh?"


    Drew smiled into the phone. "I said ''is''."


    "What the hell are you talking about, Williams?" Johnson growled.


    "Your partner''s name ''is'' Jane Donaldson. Not was. Is"


    The phone went quiet again. After a few moments it clicked once again. Drew pulled it away and swore; Widget had hung up and called back. "Special Agent Johnson?"


    "Yeah, Williams?" he choked out.


    "I need to pick up my other line. Widget''s got something going on. It may be related to your partner."


    "Go."


    Drew swiped her phone, only to have blue light flicker across her face before receding.


    "Drew! I need you to intercept us on route two-ninety-five. Bring the VTOL and make it fast!" The sound of rushing wind and nearby traffic nearly made Angela''s voice unintelligible.


    "What''s going on?"


    "I''m not sure, but Jane muttered something about ''corruption'' and ''injustice'', then blasted through the exterior wall of the building and headed south."


    ***


    Jane heard the doctor leap from the building in the distance behind her, felt the woman calling her name, but none of that mattered. She could see the assassin''s trail, saw where it split from another. Secondhand traces of that other clung to Midnight, brushed on her by the edges of Walker.


    Walker. Imprisoned without trial and without cause. Even if she couldn''t find another clue to point her toward her own justice, she couldn''t let an injustice like that stand.


    She felt him in the distance, connected to Midnight by the faintest of traces. Even as she groped to hold on to him, he slipped from her grasp, but that didn''t matter. Before she''d lost her grip on him, she''d found his jail cell.


    Injustice taunted her, but she slept no longer. Justice would prevail.


    ***


    Walker hid a wince at the sound of his dinner tray rattling through the slot in the wall. Since the incident with the radio, he had new jailers. None of them responded when he spoke, and all of them seemed to have a grudge against him personally.


    All but one of the four guards wore their uniforms like recruiting poster fodder. Unusual in the situation to say the least. The final one, less rigid than the rest, got dressed down on a daily basis, but nothing seemed to faze him. He walked in every day with his uniform blouse slung over one shoulder, his shirt untucked until his fellow guards berated him into replacing it.


    So far none of them had mentioned their rank, and their names were almost certainly fake. The chances of having four guards named Charlie, Mike, Oscar, and Victor were so slim he hadn''t even bothered trying to convince himself. All his efforts on that front he saved for one thing and one thing alone; convincing himself any of them were actually United States soldiers.


    If they weren''t, he didn''t think he''d be getting out of the cell alive.


    ***


    Grace buckled herself into a seat on the plane as Midnight ran a pre-flight check. The moment her friend entered the craft, Grace knew she had to go along. With all the things Drew had suffered, she might freeze at any moment. If that happened, someone on the team needed to know how to handle things. By what she''d heard, Steven had no idea and Jack couldn''t handle talking to a woman about this kind of trauma.


    Both men buckled in behind her, closer to the exits, which even now slid closed as Midnight flipped a switch. Steve laughed and reached out with his axe to tap one of the parachutes bolted to the walls of the plane.


    "Who are these for?"


    "I didn''t know you could fly now," replied Jack.


    "Yeah, no, but I''d rather get down fast and get up close and personal, rather than be a dangling target."


    Jack just shook his head. "You''re not worried one of these injuries is going to be one too many?"


    Steve just grinned and rolled his eyes. "I used to run into burning buildings for a living. Nothing heals quite so slow or hard as a burn, man. Shit, this job''s a cakewalk in comparison." When his gaze came back down from the ceiling, he stared straight at Grace. "And the scenery''s much nicer, if you know what I mean. What do you think, chica? You want to go grab a beer after we''re done?"


    "I''m not terribly fond of the taste of alcohol, Mr. Chambers."


    "Call me Steve. How about dinner?"


    She shook her head. "I''ve found my appetite particularly poor since waking up in your Headquarters."


    "Oh, hey, not my headquarters. Those belong to Charlie. I just work here." He lifted the axe above his head, one hand at either end of the handle, then brought it down behind his back. He stretched, coincidentally flexing his chest as he did so. "So... if you''re not up for drinks or dinner, you want to just cut to the chase and bang? You would not believe the endurance I''ve got. The sorority chicks said it was inhuman."


    Grace sighed. "Mr. Chambers, while I''m sure you''re quite skilled, are you aware what happens when I lose control of my emotions?"


    "You get really freaky? It''s okay, I''ve got the cash to replace the sheets. I''ll just hose the room down if I have to."


    "No, Mr. Chambers." She let just a tiny thread of her pent-up emotion loose. The plane filled with near scalding steam for a few moments before the ventilation fans pulled it away. She looked back at Steve again, watching as the ice crystals in his eyebrows melted and dropped to the floor. "This is what happens."


    He blinked once, his axe slipping free of one of his hands to swing to the floor with a clunk. "Whoa. Ice queen. Freaky." He cocked his head, silent for all of five seconds. "Never done it with an ice sculpture before. First time for everything."


    Midnight cut off Grace''s answer as she strode past. "I told you to secure this thing," she snapped. She grabbed Steve''s axe, twisted it from his hand, and slammed it into a set of clips beside one of the doors. Moments later, she slipped back into the pilot''s seat and pulled back on the yoke. Gravity increased, and the walls outside the windshield slid downward.


    "I just got a text from Widget; Jane is off the highway and headed cross country. It''s pretty clear where we''re headed, and we''re going to try to intercept her after we pick up Widget. Next stop Fort Dix."


    "Are you sure we have clearance to fly there?" asked Jack.


    "I hope so. I really don''t want to get shot at. This is my first time driving one of these."


    "You mean a VTOL?"


    "No. A plane."

 Chapter Fifty-Four - Justice

    Midnight brought the converted Osprey down to a smooth landing, filling the narrow strip between the country lane and the military base fence. Before the hydraulics had time to come to rest, Widget dashed out from beside the neat, circular hole burned through the fence''s links. As the door slid open, she leapt, slipping through the partially opened door and slapping the controls to slide it shut once more.


    She bounced to the front of the plane, the grim seriousness of a child trying to contain her wildly inappropriate excitement. Landing in a crouch next to Midnight, she pointed toward the gap in the fence and shouted, "She went thataway!"


    Midnight looked over at the doctor and said, deadpan, "thataway?"


    "Yeah! She went straight through the fence. Vrowm! Bits of melty metal flew everywhere. I got burned here." She pointed at a patch of skin which showed no signs of a burn, recent or otherwise. "Really, I did."


    "You got burned by molten aluminum and now you''ve got not even a scar to show for it?"


    "I got better."


    The comment reminded Jack of Steve, who had filled the entire trip with lewd comments and rude commentary about their potential opponents. Jack hid a grin when he realized the young man had gone silent the moment Widget entered the Osprey''s cabin.


    "Miss? I think you should buckle in back here, so Midnight can get us airborne. There''s a spot right here." He pointed to the seat behind Steve, across the wide aisle from Grace.


    "I hate you, old man," whispered Steve.


    "That''s not a nice thing to say!" Angie flounced into the seat, her hands working the buckles seemingly without her attention as she continued to harangue Steve about being nicer.


    "Hey, buddy. Seemed the least I could do." He turned away from the pair, ignoring Steve''s death glare, and pitched his voice to carry to Midnight over the muffled sounds of the VTOL''s engines. "Any idea how we''re going to spot her from the air?"


    "Oh, that''s easy!" Widget timed each syllable to a tap on the back of Steve''s seat with one of her feet. ¡°Her hands and feet are all blue and glowy! Her eyes are too, but," she frowned, "I think you might have a hard time spotting her eyes from way up in the sky. Are we gonna be real high up in the sky?"


    "We already are, Angie." Jack turned his attention back to Midnight. "You say you''ve never flown one of these Ospreys before?"


    "Jack, I swear to you on a stack of bibles I''ve never flown a plane before. "


    "You''re doing a real fine job of it. Just wish I knew how you were doing it."


    "Yeah. So do I. It''s really messed up. There are things I don''t want to remember, that I can''t remember, but I wish I could, but then there are these things that keep popping up that I shouldn''t remember." She flipped a few switches, and the smooth upward acceleration shifted, pressing Jack back into his seat.


    "Like what?"


    "Like how to fly a plane. Or Jamil''s personal cell phone number." Without looking from the plane''s controls, she reached over and tapped a sequence into the smartphone attached between two of the Osprey''s readouts.


    Angie took a moment from pestering a glowering Steve to chime in. "Maybe you remember all the stuff I forget!"


    "I don''t think so, Ang."


    "Why not?"Royal Road is the home of this novel. Visit there to read the original and support the author.


    "Because I don''t think you''ve forgotten him," she jerked one thumb back toward Jack, "all kitted up in enough military hardware to start a war, leading a squad of soldiers as they jump out the back of the plane I''m flying."


    Jack''s breath caught. He''d managed to put that night out of his mind for so long, he hadn''t even thought twice about getting into the heavily modded Osprey. Images filled his mind; fire shooting up from the ground, a parachute half failing from melted lines, and a sudden shocking impact with the ground punctuated by the ground-shaking impact of a crashing VTOL.


    "Jack? You still with us back there?"


    Midnight''s clarion call voice shook him out of his fugue. "Yeah. Yeah, I''m here. No way you should remember that, either. You certainly weren''t the one flying that night."


    She didn''t look away from the controls, but he could hear the grin in her voice. "How do you know? Could have been anybody behind that big old visor."


    Even the cadence of her voice matched. Jack shuddered as he replied. "Because he went down with the Osprey. Managed to keep it from landing on any of us as we bailed out, but... the whole thing burned. He burned to death, Drew."


    To Jack''s surprise, Drew laughed. He didn''t take offense. He''d heard relieved laughs once too often. "Thought I was going nuts. I keep remembering things like that. Some of them get..." She paused, searching for words as her eyes scanned across the screens hooked to the cameras on the Osprey''s belly. "They get real graphic."


    Jack shuddered, remembering some of his own nightmares, both sleeping and waking. "I know about that, Drew. I''m here if you need an ear, but you don''t have to say anything."


    "Real graphic? I could stand to hear some more."


    Widget smacked the back of Steve''s chair hard enough to rock his head forward. "Stop being gross, Steve."


    Midnight chuckled. "Yeah, that''ll happen." Her phone chirped, and she pressed a button. "Hey Jamil. You''re on speaker. Tell me you got us clearance to fly here."


    "Yeah. Turns out the Air Force doesn''t take kindly to someone kidnapping one of their astronauts. The Army claims they don''t have Captain Walker, but that facial recognition Widget ran for us saw some guys in uniform bringing him over to some old, unused portions of the base. Both services have boots on the ground headed that way, but I''ve advised them to wait for your group, including Agent Donaldson, to take point."


    "Uh... are you sure on that, Agent Johnson?"


    "Yeah. Two reasons. First one, if she''s supposed to be tracking down Walker, she''s got a reason to be there, and we can deal with her going rogue without the inclusion of guns and uniforms."


    "Point taken." Midnight swept her hand across one screen, gestured, and a pinprick at the center expanded into four glowing blue spheres rapidly approaching a group of utilitarian cinder block buildings. "Your second reason?"


    "Whoever took him expects to keep him there."


    "Yeah, and?"


    "They saw the news footage of Centurion in New York City too, Williams. Whoever they are, they''re armed and ready to take down a blue blood."


    ***


    Jane didn¡¯t hear a way into the building ahead of her, but she saw Walker''s trail, faint blue marked with sparkling white, leading up to the main door. She listened to the exterior walls but didn¡¯t feel or smell anything either. They had the building sealed, either living on stored air or pumping air in from elsewhere.


    Her power carried her forward. Before she reached the door, a loudspeaker mounted to a pole beside the building crackled to life. "Halt and identify yourself."


    Justice screamed its hunger at her, but she didn¡¯t smell injustice on the man speaking. Of course, she didn¡¯t feel him the way she had felt Drew or Jamil over the phone earlier, either. Memory of Jamil sparked other memories, and they provided words. "I am Special Agent Jane Donaldson. A United States Air Force officer has been kidnapped and is being unjustly held against his will in this building." That ought to suffice. "Open this door."


    She felt the sudden guilt in the speaker''s voice, despite not being able to reach him. "I don''t know what... You must be mistaken, Agent Donaldson."


    "I am not. Open this door."


    The whine of approaching turbines almost hid the whine of servos coming from other posts around the building, but Jane heard them. She pinpointed all four guns swiveling toward her, angled her body so none were directly behind her.


    "I''m sorry, ma''am. I''ve called the MPs. I''ll need to ask you to stay right where you are until they arrive."


    Justice echoed in her voice. "And give you more hostages? I think not. I tell you thrice and done. Open. This. Door."


    Silence answered her. She feinted, reaching for the door handle. The moment she did, all four guns opened fire. She spun, her shield stretching out behind her hand until it became a band of echoing blue, bullets sparking from its surface. As she spun, she reached out with her sword, screaming blue light vaporizing the guns and charring the posts holding them.


    Jane''s sword plunged through the door handle. A circular hole big enough to pass a cantaloupe glowed in the night. The door slowly creaked open, the remaining lights inside flickering.


    "Justice will not be denied."

 Chapter Fifty-Five - Back Half

    Midnight set the VTOL down just outside the ring of posts surrounding the cinderblock buildings, slapping the controls to power down the engines with one hand while unbuckling her safety harness with the other.


    "Wait for me!" She barked at the sound of the side hatch hissing open. After locking down the ignition, she slipped her ID lanyard around her neck. "Let me take the lead."


    "Where''s the fame and glory in that?" quipped Steve.


    "Captain Walker is a guy, and he''s probably the only person in here who isn''t a dupe or a bad guy."


    "Oh. Go ahead then." He waved her through the hatch with a mocking little bow.


    "Watch our six, Jack?"


    "Yes, ma''am." He flipped her a little salute, then grabbed up a medical kit and passed it to Angela. She took one look at it, dropped it, and muttered something under her breath. A moment later she stood armored in police issue riot gear. Grace leaned over and picked up the discarded box, cradling it in her arms to handle the weight.


    Drew jumped out of the hatch, ignoring the steps, and landed in a sprint. She''d seen Jane cleave through the outer defenses of the building less than a minute ago and didn''t want to see the same violence visited on innocent servicemen if she could help it.


    Only the Osprey''s landing lights cast any light on the yard in front of the blockhouse. Smoke rose from the tops of the posts and the corners of the building. A faint glow of blue light inside the doorway drew her eye. "Agent Donaldson! Wait for us! Agent Johnson sent us as your backup!"


    The light didn''t die down, but it steadied a bit. Drew took that as a good sign and charged forward. Just inside the doorway ragged holes gaped in both walls, the ceiling, and the floor. A trail of glowing blue spots led into the building, turning a corner about five feet in.


    "Agent Donaldson! Are you in here?"


    Blue light flickered around the corner, lingering on Drew before racing across the others following. Jane''s voice echoed through the hall.


    "Doctor Merilyn is with you. Possessed again. Identify yourselves, and do not try to fool me."


    "I''m Drew Williams with the Blue Bloods; my code name is Midnight. Behind me are Axeman, Widget," she paused, searching her memory, before whispering over her shoulder. "What''s your code name again?"


    "I''m made of ice, and I burn things. Frostfire seems to fit."


    "Right. Frostfire, and Jack Hammer holding the door against any intruders. He''ll be interfacing with the MPs from the base when they arrive."


    "Thanks loads," muttered Jack, but his voice held the ghost of a smile.


    "Am I talking to Agent Jane Donaldson?"


    Jane''s voice echoed hollowly through the hall, the light growing stronger as she spoke. "Once I was known by that name. Once I sought the perpetrators of injustice with my poor, imperfect mortal vision. But now, in the pure azure light of justice, I see..." A burbling cough interrupted Jane''s monologue. Anger filled her voice when she continued. ¡°You try to fool me by hiding behind your true names, but you only fool yourselves.¡±


    ¡°Are you injured?¡±


    ¡°Death does not scare me! I¡­¡± Another bout of wet coughs silenced Jane once more. This one didn¡¯t stop, and Drew heard a tiny sound of metal sliding against metal.


    ¡°Blue Bloods! With me!¡± She charged around the corner. Jane, still wearing the remains of Widget¡¯s lab coat, lay on the floor leaning against one wall. Glowing blue blood pooled beneath her. One hand reached out toward a door beyond her, but the globe of light surrounding it flickered and died. The moment the blue glow dimmed the door slammed open.


    The glint of gunmetal spurred Midnight into motion, throwing her through the door, slamming herself against the soldier on the other side. A rapid series of pops drove the breath from her, but she managed to slam one hand into the side of her assailant¡¯s head. He stumbled; his Kevlar cracked by the impact. Before he could regain his senses, she wrenched the gun from him, throwing it beyond Jane, well out of the soldier¡¯s reach. Gasping to pull in a breath, she wrenched the soldier¡¯s arm around, forcing him toward the floor.


    She dangled her badge in front of the soldier¡¯s face while she caught her breath. Once she could speak, she twisted his arm one more time to get his attention.


    ¡°Soldier, did you see my badge?¡±


    ¡°Yes, Ma¡¯am.¡±


    ¡°My name is Drew Williams. You may refer to me as Midnight. I am a contracted law enforcement officer, currently representing the Federal Bureau of Investigation. What is your name and rank?¡±


    ¡°Private First Class Mike Adams. Ma¡¯am?¡±


    ¡°What is it, PFC Adams?¡±


    ¡°Why the hell did that freak blow her way into the compound?¡±


    Midnight stumbled a bit, twisting Mike¡¯s arm further. When his hiss of indrawn breath ended, she spoke firmly and clearly. ¡°Special Agent Donaldson came on base in pursuit of a kidnapping victim she¡¯d tracked to this location. When whoever was manning your guns decided to open fire, she defended herself. Aggressively. Apparently not aggressively enough, since she¡¯s bleeding to death in the hallway behind me. Now, if you¡¯re very lucky, and our field medic manages to keep her alive, you might avoid being put up on charges if you cooperate.¡±


    ¡°Ma¡¯am, I had no idea she was a real FBI Agent. I thought she was just some nutcase trying to bust in. When she started throwing blue light around, I thought we were under attack by one of those¡­ blue blooded individuals with powers, Ma¡¯am.¡±


    ¡°And what about the kidnapping victim we came here in search of?¡±


    ¡°Which one would that be, ma¡¯am?¡±


    Midnight kept the shock out of her voice, if not off her face. ¡°Explain.¡±


    ¡°When I was assigned here, I was told we were guarding two extremely dangerous military criminals, experts in subversion and psych warfare. We were instructed to take our cues from the only remaining soldier from the former detail, and he told us not to talk to the prisoner; our predecessors had, and they were sent off to the ass end of nowhere. Begging your pardon, Ma¡¯am.¡±If you discover this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.


    ¡°Is one of your prisoners a Captain John Walker?¡±


    ¡°I have no idea, Ma¡¯am. Oscar might.¡±


    ¡°You cowardly sonofabitch!¡± A metallic orb followed the scream from around the next corner of the hallway. Reason gave way to instinct, and she leapt toward the tiny bouncing projectile. Before she could swat it back toward the hidden aggressor, she heard another door slam. Instead, she pulled it in, wrapping herself around it.


    ¡°Grenade!¡±


    A door slammed behind her. A giant kicked her in the stomach, and Drew¡¯s world filled with light, heat, and pain.


    ***


    Grace heard Midnight¡¯s shout, but before she could respond Jack pushed past her, slamming the heavy armored door closed. A moment later a dull thump sent ripples through Jane¡¯s pooling blood. Grace set the medical kit down and opened the top. As she did, the sides slid outward to display a rack of equipment and supplies. She reached for the bandages, but a soft hand on her shoulder stopped her.


    ¡°Not yet; she¡¯ll need something sopping the blood from the direct hits or she¡¯ll bleed out internally.¡± Steve¡¯s voice, uncharacteristically subdued, left her reassured, but set her heart racing, nonetheless.


    ¡°Do you wish to do this?¡±


    ¡°You gonna lay smackdown if more gun bunnies show up?¡±


    ¡°They¡¯re soldiers doing their duty, Axeman.¡± Jack¡¯s voice conveyed less disapproval than the content of his statement.


    ¡°Oh. My. Protocol. Proper respect. I so regret not having those. You gonna smack down the duped soldiers, Frostfire?¡±


    Grace rolled her eyes and shook her head. ¡°No. I think not. What should I do?¡±


    ¡°See the tampons?¡±


    Grace didn¡¯t even try to keep the sarcasm from her voice. ¡°I don¡¯t believe her menstrual cycle is the problem.¡±


    ¡°Ooh. You¡¯re feisty when you get riled. Pity about the potential for frostbite. Anyhow, stick them into the bullet wounds. They¡¯ll soak up the blood.¡±


    Grace leaned close to Jane and spoke in a clear, soft voice, ¡°Agent Donaldson, can you show me where you¡¯ve been hit?¡±


    Jane pulled her hand away from her gut, exposing a pair of ragged wounds. When she did, another half dozen small gashes on her arm tore open and began oozing glowing blue at an alarming rate.


    ¡°Ah, shit. Gut wounds suck, and those cuts are gonna bleed her out fast.¡± Steve¡¯s axe clanked to the ground, and then he was there, pushing Jane¡¯s hands aside and stretching her skin out taut. The smell of burning pork filled the hallway, but Steve only winced.


    ¡°Look, blue eyes, I¡¯m all for getting hot and heavy when you¡¯re healed up, but right now that¡¯s burning the shit out of my gut.¡± He nodded to the wounds, and Grace quickly unwrapped and inserted the hygiene products. The moment they were in, he released Jane¡¯s stomach and grabbed at her head, forcing it around to face him. Tendrils of blue light danced over his face and body.


    ¡°Frosty, grab that glue gun and glue those limb wounds shut. You,¡± he shook Jane¡¯s head slightly, causing all the tendrils to wobble, ¡°cut that burning blade shit out. Right. Now.¡±


    The sizzle of burning fat went silent, and Grace applied herself to closing up wound after bleeding wound. Halfway through the process she exerted her will, and Widget¡¯s lab coat became a cloud of dispersing ash.


    ¡°That ought to be a hell of a lot hotter, Frosty.¡±


    Frostfire.


    Grace shuddered as the voice of eternity once more echoed through her head from a million miles away. ¡°Frostfire, please.¡±


    ¡°Sure. Anybody who can mess with the laws of physics that bad I¡¯m not gonna mouth off to.¡± He grinned up at her while he grabbed up a pair of gun style injectors from the medical kit. ¡°Unless it gets you hot. Does it get you hot when I get mouthy?¡±


    You have no idea what I¡¯m capable of, little shifter.


    Grace just smiled back, faint wisps of fog rolling off her as a wave of damp air rolled into the corridor. The moment she finished gluing the last cut shut, he waved her back and rammed the smaller of the two injectors into Jane¡¯s bicep, the larger into the crook of her other elbow. The hiss of injectors competed with the renewed sizzle of burning flesh.


    ¡°I told you, Janey, I¡¯m not into fire play. If that¡¯s the only way you can get off, we¡¯re gonna have a problem.¡±


    ¡°Axeman, knock it off.¡±


    ¡°Hey, you keep a civil tongue when someone¡¯s trying to make haggis out of your guts without bothering to remove them first.¡±


    ¡°Yeah, but the MPs might not get your particular brand of humor.¡±


    Grace looked up from her patient to see two men in uniform standing in the remains of the hallway. One of them looked shaken, but the other stepped forward. ¡°Corporal Rogers, sir. You¡¯re with the FBI?¡±


    Jack and Steve both held their badges out for inspection. Angela fumbled under her armored vest, but then did the same. When the soldiers turned to Grace, she shrugged. ¡°I¡¯m afraid I don¡¯t have a badge, gentlemen.¡±


    Jack glanced at her. ¡°We¡¯ve got to get that fixed. Of course, if it keeps going the way your clothes do, that¡¯s gonna be a problem.¡±


    ¡°Sir, is she supposed to be here?¡±


    ¡°Yeah. She¡¯s a trainee on her first field mission. I¡¯ll vouch for her, but if you need her to, she can stay up here with the wounded. She¡¯s already seen this much.¡±


    The corporal looked mulish for a moment, but after looking at Grace kneeling in Jane¡¯s cooling blood he nodded. ¡°That¡¯ll do, sir. What¡¯s the situation?¡±


    ¡°The servicemen inside opened fire on Agent Donaldson when she attempted to gain access. She defended herself, but they took her down with a mantrap in the corridor here. When we arrived, she was standing them off. We captured one and were sorting out what was going on our own selves when someone just beyond here,¡± he nodded at the heavy steel door, ¡°tossed a grenade. That was about a minute ago.¡±


    ¡°We should wait for backup before we go through, I guess.¡±


    Jack just smiled at the Corporal. ¡°Nah. I took a peek through right after the grenade went off. You¡¯ll want to stay out here until the Doc¡¯s got things copacetic in there, but the situation is¡­ static for the moment.¡±


    ¡°Is it worse than out here?¡± The corporal nodded to where Steve had shifted Jane.


    ¡°Different, that¡¯s for sure.¡± He looked over to Widget, who stood frowning. ¡°You ready to go in, Doc?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m as prepared as I can get. For the life of me, I can¡¯t seem to summon up anything to block my vision. I believe I¡¯m getting a firmer grip of the limitations of that ability.¡±


    The corporal pursed his lips. ¡°She¡¯s going in blind?¡±


    ¡°Yes, corporal, I am. Beyond this door lies something which has tested the control of greater men and women than I. Last time I used a welding mask I had lying around, but I don¡¯t have anything convenient at the moment.¡±


    Gauze ripped where Steve knelt on the floor next to Jane. ¡°Yeah. I got half a roll of this left after wrapping her so the plugs don¡¯t fall out. She needs surgery, stat.¡±


    ¡°You hit her with the stabilizer and the blood replacement serum?¡±


    ¡°Yep. No protein shake though. I¡¯m not into unconscious chicks.¡±


    Jack reached down, took the gauze, and then slapped the firefighter on the back of the head. ¡°Keep a civil tongue when we¡¯ve got guests, Axe.¡± Unspooling the bandage, he wrapped it around Doctor Merilyn¡¯s head several times and then tied it off. ¡°Will that do?¡±


    Widget twisted her head left, right, up and down, and then nodded once. ¡°Good to go.¡±


    With that Jack slipped the door open just wide enough for the doctor to slip through, careful to keep his back to the door and his body between the opening and the MPs the entire time. When she got through, he pushed it nearly shut, leaving an opening just wide enough for them to hear her fumbling exploration of the hallway.


    ¡°It appears PFC Adams got lucky. The blast knocked him unconscious. Some bleeding, but his pulse is steady. We¡¯ll want to drag him out of here as soon as is feasible; I think he¡¯ll be waking up soon.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s lucky?¡±


    The MPs whisper must have carried through the door. Widget¡¯s reply held the cold, clear detachment of a professional medical practitioner. ¡°It most certainly is. From what I¡¯m feeling, Midnight suffered no major cuts or lacerations, even at the point of contact with the grenade.¡±


    The MP let out a low whistle. ¡°I¡¯d heard you guys were tough, but¡­ damn. How did they get her?¡± He nodded to Jane.


    ¡°We¡¯re not all tough. She¡¯s more of a mortar than a tank.¡±


    ¡°Right. Well, we¡¯re good to go in then, right?¡±


    Jack stopped him with an upraised palm just as Widget¡¯s voice echoed through the door. ¡°Not really. Two other things I should note. First, the next door appears to be jammed, since they haven¡¯t unlocked it and opened fire. Second, I need to get Midnight tougher armor.¡±


    ¡°God, tell me she¡¯s not naked again,¡± groaned Steve.


    ¡°No. Not really,¡± temporized Widget. ¡°After all, the back half of her body armor survived.¡±

 Chapter Fifty-Six - Flying Underground

    Drew shifted, stirred, and her eyes slid open. Jack relaxed; even via a camera he¡¯d been distracted by the constant rise and fall of her chest. He keyed the microphone on the table in front of him. ¡°Midnight, could you slip that uniform blouse on and come in here please?¡±


    She sat up, the blankets falling away, and swore. Behind him, he heard Walker choke off a curse. ¡°She¡¯s looked like that since the meteor?¡±


    ¡°Yeah. Since the Rain of Fire.¡±


    ¡°How does she not start a¡­¡±


    ¡°Goddamit! Why does this shit keep happening to me?¡± On the screen, Midnight shrugged out of the remains of her leather jacket and pulled on Jack¡¯s camouflaged uniform blouse. She pulled the web belt he¡¯d left around her waist, and with that minimal covering stalked down the hallway.


    ¡°I swear, I¡¯m gonna find that asshole Oscar and tear him a new one. I liked those leathers.¡±


    As she reached for the handle, Jack stepped out of the security alcove and pushed the door open. ¡°Can¡¯t let you do that, but you and I do need to get some answers out of him.¡±


    Behind him, he heard Captain Walker shift, and Midnight¡¯s gaze snapped to the astronaut. ¡°Oscar?¡±


    ¡°No, this is Captain Walker.¡±


    Her frown never wavered, but she stuck out a hand. ¡°Good to meet you. Glad to see you¡¯re out of your cage.¡±


    ¡°Glad to be out, ma¡¯am.¡±


    Before the conversation went any further, Doc Merilyn¡¯s voice sounded over the speaker on the desk. ¡°Jack, I need you down here. Is Midnight awake?¡±


    ¡°Yeah.¡±


    ¡°Bring her down as well. ¡°


    Now it was Jack¡¯s turn to frown at someone he couldn¡¯t see. ¡°We were going to conduct the interrogation on Oscar.¡±


    ¡°That can wait. I think you guys should see this. Now.¡±


    Jack led the other two down a set of steps then past the heavily armored cell he and Angela had found Walker in. At the end of the concrete hallway a simple elevator stood open, waiting for them. They stepped in, and Jack hit the button to go down to the lower level.


    ¡°Please present your right eye for retina scan.¡± A small panel slid open, and ocular extended from the hidden compartment. The cell phone hanging in front of it lit up.


    ¡°Retina scan this,¡± Widget¡¯s phone chirped. The doors slid shut, and the elevator started down.


    ¡°So, what do you do?¡±


    Walker paused half a moment, shrugged, and then answered. ¡°I can survive in space. I can¡¯t be poisoned. I can fly, although it¡¯s sort of exhausting in atmosphere.¡±


    ¡°Huh. Sorta useful for a astronaut. Better than this anyhow.¡±This narrative has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. If you see it on Amazon, please report it.


    Nearly a minute later, the elevator stopped.


    ¡°If they were keeping him,¡± Midnight nodded to Walker, ¡°under one layer of concrete, who the hell are they keeping down here?¡±


    The door slid open, and screams filled the tiny elevator car. Before Jack could move, Midnight was out of the car, dashing down another concrete hallway. Her hands scrabbled a moment for guns and identification. The moment before she went through the door at the end of the hallway, her whole posture changed; she slid through the door sideways, her hands clenched into claws.


    Jack exhaled, working himself into the mental state he¡¯d been in the last time he¡¯d been able to get airborne. A moment later he slid into the hallway, six inches separating him from the ground. In this case he wasn¡¯t worried about the floor collapsing, but the massive mantrap on the floor above had him nervous. Midnight hadn¡¯t set anything off, but she¡¯d barely touched the ground.


    ¡°Weird.¡±


    Jack could barely hear Walker¡¯s comment above the ongoing scream. He turned, and saw Walker gliding along behind him, moving backward to keep eyes behind them. Glad he had a teammate who knew to watch their six, he turned about and kept moving forward.


    ¡°What¡¯s that?¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s easier to fly here. I shouldn¡¯t be able to get my wings open, but I¡¯m getting a better grip on the dirt around me than I do in air.¡±


    ¡°That kinda makes sense. Dirt is denser than air.¡±


    ¡°Huh. I guess I¡¯ve got too much pilot in me.¡±


    Jack got to the end of the hall. The screams were almost forming into coherent words now. ¡°How¡¯s that work?¡±


    ¡°Pilots aren¡¯t generally encouraged to fly underground.¡±


    Jack chuckled, despite the horrible, protracted screaming echoing down the hall. He passed through the door, entering into a simple sound studio. Through the glass, in the recording booth proper, Angela and Widget stood over a hospital bed. A young man, a soldier by his hair cut and fatigue tee shirt, lay in the bed. His back arched, his eyes closed, and his mouth worked in an endless howl.


    After a moment looking, Jack found the master volume control. When he slid it near the bottom, he could finally make out words in the scream.


    ¡°She comes! She comes! She comes!¡± Over and over, the young man screamed out his fear of whoever was incoming.


    With the volume low, he heard Midnight and Widget as well.


    ¡°Can you sedate this poor bastard?¡±


    Widget just rolled her eyes. ¡°He¡¯s already under sedation. They¡¯re pumping enough into him to kill a horse, and he¡¯s still like this. Do you want to be in here when I turn it off?¡±


    Jack leaned over and pressed the intercom. ¡°How do I shut it off?¡±


    Midnight glanced over at him, and then turned back to Widget. ¡°Get out of here. Take a look at the recordings. Jack, get back upstairs and find out what you can about this guy from Oscar. Captain Walker, you¡¯re familiar with electronics?¡±


    ¡°Yes, ma¡¯am.¡±


    ¡°Help Widget out.¡±


    Again Walker hesitated, but then replied with a simple, ¡°Yes, ma¡¯am.¡±


    Jack simply turned and hovered back to the elevator.


    ***


    Jack slipped into the room and closed the door behind himself. Oscar stood and puffed out his chest.


    ¡°I¡¯m not afraid of you, alien. I am a sovereign citizen of the United States of America, and you have no power over me!¡±


    Jack shook his head. ¡°Son, I don¡¯t know who¡¯s been filling your head with crap, but the closest I¡¯ve been to space is when I was stationed at that launch site in Russia as a guard.¡± Before Oscar could say anything, he interrupted himself, ¡°Well, I wasn¡¯t really a guard. But the guy I was pretending to be on that op was stationed there.¡±


    Oscar stopped halfway through opening his mouth, as if stunned at the admission. ¡°You¡¯re some kind of alien spy?¡±


    ¡°No. I was a mercenary for a while. I¡¯m originally from Wilkes Barre, though.¡± Again, right before Oscar could speak, Jack interrupted him, glancing back at his watch. ¡°I need you to hurry up with this. It¡¯s almost time for dinner, and Midnight gets real cranky if she misses a meal.¡±


    Oscar¡¯s eyes went wide, and then he fell back onto this bunk. ¡°Yer too late, alien. Way too late.¡±


    Before Jack could reply, Walker ghosted straight through the floor up into the room.


    ¡°Gah! How the hell did you do that?¡±


    Walker shrugged. ¡°Your comment about flying through dirt struck me. The metal reinforcement was tough, but the concrete? Not so much. Not important right now though.¡±


    ¡°What would be¡­¡±


    Oscar interrupted, cackling as he spoke. ¡°You¡¯re too late! The Sovereign Citizen¡¯s Militia will take New York City, and there¡¯s nothing you can do to stop us!¡±

 Chapter Fifty-Seven - Crash

    At Angela¡¯s gesture, Drew tossed over her phone. She pressed a few buttons and JJ¡¯s face jumped from the tiny phone screen to cover the stark white wall.


    ¡°Can you hear me okay, Agent Johnson?¡±


    ¡°I can, Midnight. We¡¯ve got a major situation. Is Mr. Morgan available?¡±


    Widget leaned in, as if to adjust the projection. Off camera, she jerked her head in a quick negation.


    ¡°No, he¡¯s not.¡± After a moment¡¯s nervous hesitation, Midnight continued. ¡°I guess I¡¯ll do as a company rep though. What did you need?¡±


    ¡°There¡¯s a situation in New York City. It¡¯s bad, and it¡¯s getting worse.¡±


    ¡°One moment, JJ,¡± Drew leaned over and touched Walker on the arm. ¡°Captain? Could you go get Jack for me? I have a feeling this is an all-hands-on-deck kind of situation.¡±


    On the screen, Johnson shook his head, frowning. ¡°That¡¯s an understatement. Someone, and I suspect it¡¯s the same someone who suborned that soldier down there at Dix, managed to get a bunch of idiots calling themselves the ¡®Sovereign Citizen¡¯s Militia¡¯ into a couple National Guard Armories. They¡¯re moving into New York City to ¡®restore domestic tranquility¡¯.¡±


    Drew blinked, her mouth dropping open just a touch. ¡°Uh, isn¡¯t this the kind of thing you¡¯d get the National Guard to deal with? Or have they all thrown in with the militia?¡±


    ¡°No. Thank God. For what it¡¯s worth, the National Guard units have retaken the armories, mostly with personal weapons. Thing is, for all the idiocy of their politics, the militias have someone smart making the tactical calls. By the time they lost the Armories, they were mostly empty buildings anyhow. Just a few guys at each putting up a big show.¡±


    ¡°Uh, so they¡¯re not chasing them down because?¡±


    ¡°Because they¡¯re outnumbered and outgunned. If they follow now, they¡¯re going to get taken apart.¡±


    ¡°What about the Army? Or the Marines?¡±


    Johnson¡¯s face closed down. ¡°For the most part, they¡¯re unavailable. The ready units will be there and able to deploy in just under twenty-four hours, but by then the city will either be fortified, ruined, or both.¡± He shook his head again, this time ruefully. ¡°Y¡¯know, I almost wish I could see what happens when the militia runs into the local gangbangers the police have been dealing with.¡±


    Midnight scrambled, trying to think of anything which might mitigate the news she was hearing. ¡°What about¡­ uh¡­ the Air Force? Or the Navy?¡±


    ¡°Oh, either one could bomb the city flat if we had to, but right now most of the country still sees New York City as, well¡­ New York City. There¡¯s been a big natural disaster, but that¡¯s about it.¡±


    ¡°Have they been paying attention?¡±


    ¡°Not really. You guys may not realize, being stuck in the middle of it, but every city in the world got hit by the Rain of Fire. The suburbs actually fared better than most; the more tall buildings in a city, and the taller they were, the harder it got hit.¡± Jack walked into the room, and JJ nodded to him. ¡°You grew up near Philly, Jack. You¡¯ll be glad to hear it¡¯s currently one of the most functional cities in the world right now.¡±


    ¡°So why doesn¡¯t anyone but us realize how hard New York got hit?¡±


    ¡°Because right now you Blue Bloods are the first group outside of myself, the President, and some folks at the NSA who did the math to know about the concentration. As far as anyone else in the world knows, New York City got hit just about as hard as anywhere else. In reality, with the exception of a few places like Hong Kong, it got hit harder than anywhere else in the world.¡±


    ¡°Why are we now among the chosen few, Agent?¡± Midnight hadn¡¯t even noticed Grace slip into the room, but she¡¯d asked the question Midnight hadn¡¯t dared give voice to.


    ¡°Because the President of the United States has asked Blue Bloods, Incorporated to aid in the arrest of the persons inciting civil unrest in the city of New York.¡±


    ***


    Jack stared at the back of Midnight¡¯s head. He hadn¡¯t taken this job to go back into combat. He¡¯d known there would be fighting, but he¡¯d expected it to be breaking up fights, maybe catching bad guys resisting arrest, not dropping into a full-on war zone. Now he found himself strapped into an Osprey barreling toward the worst kind of warfare, an urban insurrection. He still had nightmares about the last time.


    ¡°ETA, Midnight?¡±


    ¡°We¡¯ll be on the ground in five, Widget.¡±


    Widget spun her seat around to face the rest of the gathered Blue Bloods. ¡°Okay. I know I said this before when we stopped at headquarters, but this really is the last time any of you can back out. Is everyone sure they¡¯re ready for this?¡±


    ¡°Ready and willing to go kick some militia ass.¡±


    ¡°Good to know, Axeman, but we¡¯re not going there to ¡®kick ass¡¯. We¡¯re going to disarm or disable any ¡®rioters¡¯, protect the civilians who are trying to evacuate, and see if we can find whoever started this thing and put them behind bars.¡±


    Steve just shook his head and grinned at her. ¡°And you think they¡¯re coming quietly?¡±


    ¡°They will if I ask them to.¡± Katarina Wells¡¯ voice echoed oddly through the interior of the plane. The hair on the back of Jack¡¯s neck stood up, and he felt the rest of him trying to rise from the five-point restraint.This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.


    ¡°That¡¯s what I was hoping for, actually. Have you decided on a new code name yet?¡±


    ¡°The voice thing is pretty distinctive, and from what I¡¯ve seen of the news coverage, I¡¯m not the one who needs a new identity. I thought I¡¯d stick with Siren.¡±


    Widget nodded. ¡°Okay. Siren it is. Damien?¡±


    ¡°Angel.¡±


    She tapped at her phone once more, taking notes. ¡°And are you both ready to do this?¡±


    The pair nodded. Damien slipped on his mask, one of the simple ones Midnight had sewn for prospective team members.


    ¡°Flex?¡±


    Jesse¡¯s head snapped forward from where she¡¯d stretched her neck to look out through one of the windows near the rear of the plane. ¡°Yeah, boss?¡±


    ¡°Are you sure you want to do this?¡±


    ¡°Oh. Yeah.¡± Jesse went back to her sightseeing.


    ¡°Frostfire?¡±


    The tiny Asian woman cocked her head, staring past Widget. Before the doctor could ask again, she held up a hand, asking for patience. After a minute of silence, she asked a simple question.


    ¡°Are there people in trouble?¡±


    ¡°Yes.¡±


    ¡°Do you believe I might be able to help them?¡±


    ¡°Yes.¡±


    ¡°Can anyone else do so?¡±


    Widget shrugged. ¡°I¡¯m sure someone else can, but I¡¯m not sure anyone else will.¡±


    Grace shook her head. ¡°To simplify; will my presence mean fewer people will be harmed?¡±


    Now it was Widget¡¯s turn to look thoughtful, but only for a second. ¡°I believe so.¡±


    Frostfire sighed, and steam filled the cabin for a fraction of a second. ¡°Then I have no choice. All that is required for evil to triumph is for good men to do nothing. I do not know what I can do, but if all I do is hold one bandage, it may save a life. Again.¡±


    Widget nodded, and then turned to face Jack. ¡°You in, Jack?¡±


    He¡¯d been dreading this moment. Worse than the thought of saying ¡®yes¡¯ was the thought he might not be able to force the word out. The sound of his own voice shocked him; it ought to be as uncertain as Grace¡¯s, but instead it came out strong and sure. ¡°Yes, ma¡¯am. Someone¡¯s got to keep you all safe if we¡¯re really going into a war zone.¡±


    Widget smiled. ¡°Thank you, Jack. Captain Walker?¡±


    The astronaut looked over at her. He¡¯d tagged along since the bunker, but as far as Jack knew, he hadn¡¯t been officially added to the Blue Bloods roster. Now he cocked his head as if listening for something. A moment later he responded.


    ¡°I took an oath to defend the United States. I never thought I¡¯d be doing so on the ground, but if that¡¯s where I¡¯m needed, that¡¯s where I¡¯ll go.¡±


    ¡°Excellent. Do you have a code name?¡±


    The astronaut smiled. ¡°I think I¡¯ll just go with Walker. Jack seems to be fine using his real name.¡±


    ¡°Okay then. I don¡¯t think we¡¯ll need you on the ground per se, though. We¡¯ll need recon, and you¡¯re our only reliable aerial resource.¡±


    ¡°I find them, Siren convinces them to surrender, and we all apply zip ties and handcuffs until the local police can take them off our hands?¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s the plan.¡±


    ¡°Speaking of plans,¡± Midnight interrupted, ¡°we¡¯re making our final approach. Be ready to deploy when the wheels touch down.¡± She flicked a control, and the muted sounds of ¡®Smoke on the Water¡¯ vibrated the deck of the plane.


    ¡°You sure that¡¯s wise, Midnight?¡±


    She turned around, grinning at him. ¡°We¡¯re a bright blue Osprey with upgraded, and therefore noisier, engines. Ain¡¯t nobody don¡¯t know we¡¯re coming, Jack.¡±


    With her head turned toward him, Jack saw the warning light milliseconds before she did. Klaxons screamed through the plane. Midnight slammed the control yoke to one side, rolling the plane nearly on its side as she slapped at a button on the panel. A hideous metallic scream sounded from the port wing, and the world started spinning.


    ¡°Shit! Surface to air missile just took out the port engines. I¡¯ve still got the rear, I think I can set it down safe, but you guys need to get out!¡±


    Everything slowed down as a scene from Jack¡¯s nightmares played itself out moment by moment. Air rushed from the cabin as the main cargo door slid open. His seat spun itself one hundred eighty degrees, and then he fell through the hatch, his chute opening automatically a moment after he hit clear air. For a second, he thought he might be dead; there wasn¡¯t a way for the chute to deploy fast enough.


    Strong, glowing hands grabbed him, pulled him into a cluster gathered around Angel. A moment later, the whole group settled into an upraised palm; Jesse spun to interpose herself between them and the crashing aircraft, setting them safely on the ground.


    ¡°Where¡¯s Midnight?¡± called Widget.


    Axeman shouted back. ¡°She didn¡¯t get clear!¡±


    Jack¡¯s gaze snapped back around to the plane, clawing its way sideways toward the center of the park. Just as its ravaged port wingtip scraped against the ground, two more missiles hammered into it from close range. Long buried reflexes threw him to the ground, dragging Frostfire and Widget with him, ignoring the burn of instant frostbite on his arm as much as the tiny instants of burning heat as shrapnel rained down from the sudden fireball.


    ¡°Sonofabitch!¡± screamed Axeman, unlimbering his fire axe and charging at the small group of men pinpointed by the vapor trails of the rockets. By the time Jack regained his feet, the young idiot got in among them, flipping his axe at the last second to smash the side against the shoulder of one of the two guys holding rocket launchers.


    ¡°Put down your weapons and surrender!¡± Even at the edges of Siren¡¯s power, Jack wanted to do just that. The gang members on the street, on the other hand, ignored her completely. Instead, they turned small arms toward the group and opened fire.


    The idiots also opened fire on the axe wielding psychopath in their midst, doing more damage to each other than Steve. His coat jerked and flapped as bullets hammered home, but whether through adrenaline, healing, or just plain rage he tore through the ones with the heavy weapons, beating them down with the flat of his axe.


    A second later a wall of blue flesh slid up behind the last row of attackers. Jesse¡¯s face slid into view, and then a pair of arms twisted out to hammer into six different knees at once. They fell, enveloped immediately into a pile of Jesse.


    Angel stood between the rest of the group and the enemy, his glowing hands slapping down bullets as fast as they came in. Siren stood back-to-back with him, mouthing the word ¡®plugs¡¯ and pointing at her ears.


    ¡°Jack, could you distract them for a moment? And let me up?¡±


    The tension in her spine told him how much it cost her to keep herself from slipping into what Steve called ¡®Mega-Moppet¡¯. He lifted himself into a crouch, spotted what he needed, and charged over to a tree knocked over by the Osprey¡¯s explosion. With one smooth motion he wrenched it free of the ground and sent it flying through the air. It hit the gangbangers like a blunt scythe, knocking them over and, in most cases, disarming them. He shook his head at the poor weapons discipline, and then dropped back to the ground at the sound of more projectiles flying through the air.


    ¡°You¡¯re sure this won¡¯t injure them?¡± Grace stood, hefting one of Widget¡¯s gun shaped medical devices.


    ¡°Bruises and nicks only, Frostfire.¡± The doc took aim, fired, and one of the remaining gangbangers slumped bonelessly to the ground. ¡°After what they did to Midnight, I can live with that.¡±


    Her comment reminded him of the young policewoman¡¯s sacrifice, so similar to the one from his memories. Eyes tearing up, he looked to the crash site just in time to see a final explosion send the passenger door of the plane flying off into the night.


    ¡°Goddammit!¡±


    The explosion combined with the scream to shock everyone on the battlefield into sudden silence. An angel of fire and wrath stalked from the burning wreckage, making a bee line for the biggest of the gang members, who had a glowing blue syringe held ready to plunge into his own thigh.


    She stopped with her face inches from his, the flames in her hair licking smoke from his jacket. Inexorably, she reached out, gripped his hand, and pulled the injector from him as he stared in an unmistakable mix of lust and horror.


    ¡°Give. Me. Your. Goddamned. Clothes. Now.¡±

 Chapter Fifty-Eight - Snipers

    ¡°You got fire powers now too, Midnight?¡±


    Grace looked up at the sound of barely controlled jealousy in Jesse¡¯s voice. Her inspection of the holes in her new uniform would have to wait, despite the bizarre novelty of knowing she¡¯d been shot without being harmed beyond damage to her clothing.


    ¡°Nah. Diesel burns a treat, and it¡¯s a bitch to put out.¡± Drew shrugged into the gang member¡¯s leather jacket, windmilling her arms for a second before continuing. ¡°We have a bigger problem though, folks.¡±


    ¡°What¡¯s that?¡± Widget looked up from where she¡¯d finished putting restraints on the last of the stunned gang members.


    ¡°These guys. Their weapons. They¡¯re from the Armory.¡±


    ¡°So?¡±


    ¡°Remember what JJ said about when the militia runs into the gang members?¡±


    ¡°Oh, hell.¡±


    Grace walked over to her friend, touched her lightly on the elbow for attention. ¡°Pardon, but I do not understand.¡±


    ¡°Simple enough. We¡¯re not just facing the militia. These gangs are in on it.¡±


    ***


    Walker drifted through the sky; wings stretched out to catch the updrafts coming from the burning city below. An old pair of binoculars dangled from one wrist as he scanned for new outbreaks of fire.


    ¡°Where are you, Walker?¡± By now he didn¡¯t even think about how he could hear the signal from Jack¡¯s radio; he just replied.


    ¡°Hovering over Central Park, Jack. If I get too close to one of the buildings, they pick me out and start shooting.¡±


    ¡°Are you hit?¡±


    ¡°Not yet, but with the weight of fire it¡¯s just a matter of time if I¡¯m in close to the buildings.¡±


    ¡°What about SAMs from the park?¡±


    ¡°I didn¡¯t say how far above the park.¡± A sudden burst of sparks lit up the night, and he swung the binoculars up to his eyes.


    ¡°I¡¯ve got a contact about four blocks ahead of your current position. Just so you know, there¡¯s an arc to the West of you that¡¯s slowly gone dark. Too dark to tell if it¡¯s the gangs putting everyone else down, or the National Guard moving in.¡±


    ¡°Too early for the Guard. I¡¯ll let Midnight know which way we¡¯re going. Stay on watch, stay safe.¡±


    ¡°Understood. Walker out.¡±


    With that Walker returned to his vigil in the sky.


    ***


    Drew¡­ no, Midnight stalked through the streets of New York City like an avenging goddess. The Blue Bloods followed her, subduing gang members who escaped her wrath and applying zip ties to their wrists. Widget watched it all through Mega Moppet¡¯s eyes, observing yet unable to act.


    Not being able to act wasn¡¯t the same as not being able to influence events, and having nothing to do but observe left her plenty of time to do just that.


    Ambush ahead; a few militia members on the third-floor ledges covering the gang members hidden in those wrecked cars.


    ¡°Midnight! Snipers on the ledges, and a gang in those cars!¡±


    Inside the privacy of her own head, Widget winced. The ambush hadn¡¯t seen them yet, but they clearly heard Mega Moppet¡¯s yell. One of the snipers began working himself around so he could face the new threat, but halfway through his turn a hail of tranquilizer darts hammered home. Most of them hit body armor, but at least one penetrated. He fell, crashing through a sapling before he landed with a thump on the hard concrete below.


    We only have a limited number of darts.


    ¡°Stop spraying, Frostfire! One shot each!¡± The Moppet followed her own advice, taking the other sniper out with a single shot to the buttocks. He slumped, his rifle pointing at the sky.


    Pain blossomed in her chest, and her viewpoint slewed toward the sky. A tunnel of grey haze obscured the world, a brilliant blue light in its center. One hand shoved at the pavement, and a high-pitched cry of rage and pain left her throat.Unauthorized tale usage: if you spot this story on Amazon, report the violation.


    Get up! Move! You¡¯re a stationary target!


    Before she finished the thought, her viewpoint spun as the Moppet whipped herself into a spinning leap to her feet, followed by a tumble to her right, the dart gun cradled to her body to avoid damaging it.


    ¡°More snipers!¡±


    Geometry and physics danced through Widget¡¯s mind, a conclusion coming by the time her body came to rest behind a parked car.


    They¡¯re on the far side of the street, as well. They thought we¡¯d be coming down the cross-street.


    ¡°Far side of the street!¡±


    Bullets flew. One hit Midnight square in the forehead, flipping her backward. She bounced off her hands and landed on her feet.


    ¡°Dammit, that hurt!¡± The goddess wiped one hand across her forehead; it came away smeared with blue blood and grey lead. The Moppet gaped, stunned at the sight.


    ¡°Midnight! You¡¯re¡­ Bleeding!¡±


    The goddess herself whipsawed between shock and rage. Another bullet slammed into her gut, staggering her. Rage won out as glowing blue trickled down her exposed stomach.


    ¡°Sonofabitch!¡± Midnight grabbed at the bumper of one of the pile of cars the gang had used for cover and pulled. The stack toppled into the nearest building, the bumper and shreds of the car¡¯s frame and body coming loose in her hands. She spun, wrenching the ungainly hunk of metal around, releasing it to fly in a low arc to slam into the sniper ledge on the far side of the street.


    ¡°Shit! It¡¯s the fucking bots again!¡± A moment after the scream rang out from the far side of the alley; the gang members shifted most of their fire to the street.


    Sparks flew as bullets hit metal, and a robotic voice echoed through the urban valley. ¡°Drop your weapons and lie face down on the ground.¡±


    Half of the gang members fired faster, unleashing a waterfall of lead on the street. The other half slammed their fists into their thighs, screaming as they convulsed. Widget stared at the pack strapped to the leg of the thug nearest her. Understanding came when a thin trickle of glowing blue leaked out from beneath the pack.


    They¡¯re injecting themselves with haematochromic blood.


    ¡°Uh, what?¡±


    Blue blood. They¡¯re injecting blue blood into themselves!


    ¡°They¡¯re injecting blue blood!¡±


    Each of the men with a pack blurred into motion; most charged into the street, but three turned toward the Blue Blood team. One swept past Widget, taking her legs out from under her in passing before circling Jack, landing punch after punch. Another darted past Frostfire, shoving her aside to get to Flex.


    The gang member fighting Midnight spun around her, swings coming in too fast to see, but none of them landed. She leaned just in time with each one, until finally her hand just happened to be in the right place to snag her opponent¡¯s wrist. When he tried to pull back, instead he forced himself into Midnight¡¯s incoming forehead. He bounced away, landing limp on the ground.


    Flex took a flurry of hits before ballooning out into a wide sheet, then engulfing the bad guy. When she constricted all the way around him, all motion ceased except for a slight quivering.


    Jack tried his best to repeat Midnight¡¯s maneuver, but his partner moved too fast. Before Widget could react, glowing blue-green leaked from his nose and a cut on his lip. The Moppet unleashed a torrent of darts, but the hopped-up gangbanger dodged all of them, even taking the time to flip her off as he did. Jack staggered, dropping to one knee.


    Before the guy could finish him, a form materialized beside the dueling pair. A young man with dark hair, vaguely Asian features, and a white uniform mostly hidden by gleaming white and silver armor dropped something with a blinking red light, then disappeared again. For once the Moppet¡¯s reactions, honed by far too many action shows, matched up perfectly with Widget¡¯s.


    ¡°Grenade!¡± She ducked and covered even as she screamed the word.


    Jack collapsed and rolled. The explosion lifted him and threw him into a car, leaving a Jack-sized dent in the quarter panel. The gang member either hadn¡¯t heard the warning or hadn¡¯t believed it, and he¡¯d been blown almost straight upward. Before he landed, the young man returned and fired a heavy, thick barreled gun at the falling target. A thick layer of goop covered the gang member; he bounced slightly when he hit the ground, then lay still.


    ¡°Who the hell are you?¡±


    The newcomer flinched at Midnight¡¯s shout, disappearing and reappearing behind her. Before she could react, he slipped his arms around hers, pulling her into a Nelson hold. She pulled away, and the distinctive whine of electric servos filled the air as the young man held her in place. She swung one leg up until it slammed directly into his face. She hooked that knee around the back of his neck, used that as leverage to swing her other leg up and hit him again.


    At that point Widget finally got a good look at the young man¡¯s armor. A small badge on the left breast portrayed a simple turreted tower. It took only a moment to make the connection.


    Tell Midnight to stand down! He¡¯s a friendly!


    ¡°Midnight! Stop! Don¡¯t hurt him!¡±


    Midnight froze with her legs locked around the newcomer¡¯s neck. ¡°Gimme one good reason?¡±


    The young man flickered, as if trying to get away the way he had before, but Midnight lifted one hand, and he went still.


    He¡¯s a member of Gerard¡¯s Chessmen.


    ¡°He¡¯s one of the Chessmen.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s right. I¡¯m Rook. Identify yourself.¡±


    Midnight stared at him. ¡°Really?¡±


    He blushed. ¡°I¡¯m being recorded.¡± He tapped a glassy spot on one of his shoulders. ¡°If you would, for the record?¡±


    ¡°Midnight. Blue Bloods. Why are the Chessmen in the city?¡±


    ¡°The mayor contacted Mr. Gerard. Hired him to come in and¡­ oh, no you don¡¯t!¡± Rook tapped at his left forearm, shouting ¡°Pawns! Contain confirmed hostiles!¡±


    Before anyone could react, a wave of skinny humanoid robots swarmed into the area. Each one sprinted to one of the downed gang members, falling apart as it reached them. One by one, they reformed around their downed foes.


    ¡°The hell? You¡¯re armoring them?¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s powered armor. Unless I unlock it, they¡¯re stuck in place. Heck, I can even line them up and have them march back to our holding area, once they get the idea that wrestling with the Pawns is futile.¡±


    ¡°Neat trick,¡± muttered Midnight.


    ¡°Powered armor? That¡¯s so cool.¡±


    Widget saw the thought forming in the Moppet¡¯s head. Struggling against it only thickened the curtain of grey separating her from the world. As the words left her lips, she cringed inside, hoping no one would be hurt too badly in the ensuing fracas.


    ¡°I wish I had cool powered armor.¡±

 Chapter Fifty-Nine - Chisel

    Grace had time to register the phrase ¡®I wish¡¯ before two hundred odd pounds of fireman knocked her sprawling behind the nearest cover, the remains of a corner newsstand. By the time she recovered, pushed his shivering body off of her, and peeked over the thin plywood wall, the world already bent and twisted in on itself, centered on a white enamel crown hovering over Widget¡¯s head. Widget stood on tiptoe below it, arms flung back to let her lab coat slide to the ground.


    The moment the coat fluttered free, the crown unfolded, each piece slapping into place against Widget¡¯s unitard. Within a second thin strips of white enamel bracketed each of her limbs, with slightly thicker strips across her torso connecting them all. A set of thinner enamel lines extended outward from each of the strips, leaving Widget encased in a form fitting grid of white. Just before she settled back to the ground, a thin monocle extended down from the crown to bracket her left eye.


    A tiny mutter sounded from the helmet, too quiet for Grace to make out the words. Widget replied with ¡°You come with weapons, too? Neat!¡± A long, thin carbine shape folded out from one arm, only slipping free when Widget grabbed it with her other hand. ¡°Midnight! Look! I got a new gun!¡±


    A thin whistling filled the air. A few moments later, Jack screamed ¡°Incoming!¡± and dove for cover. The world dissolved into a chaotic hurricane of fire.


    ***


    ¡°This is Walker calling Jack Hammer. Jack Hammer, do you read? Jack Hammer, what is your condition? Over.¡± For the third time in as many minutes, Walker repeated his call. A surface to air missile arrowed up from one of the rooftops below, and without thinking he slid to the side to dodge it. Without a strong heat signature or any large metallic objects to track, it kept going. Part of John worried about where it would eventually land, but most of him focused on the inferno below.


    The glare from the incendiary mortar rounds still lit the night from below, turning the former city streets into a horrifying hellscape. Again, he brought his wings in, dropping to get a closer look, and once more the updraft pushed him away. He contemplated just furling them entirely and seeing if he could survive a landing from a few hundred feet, but even if he could, nothing said he would survive the firestorm on the ground.


    ¡°Mr. Walker? Are you there?¡±


    The childlike tone coming over the radio told him who had finally responded to his call. Forcing himself to ignore years of training, he softened his normally crisp tones. ¡°I¡¯m here, Widget. Are you okay?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m okay, and Gr¡­ Frostfire is okay, and Midnight is really mad and a little woozy and kinda naked again, but Jack and Angel and Siren are burned. Flex is crisp around the edges and littler, but she says she¡¯s okay. I don¡¯t know where Axeman¡­¡± She petered off with a sob.


    ¡°I understand. Where are you?¡±


    ¡°We¡¯re all in a subway station. Mr. Walker?¡±


    ¡°Yes, Widget?¡±


    ¡°What should we do?¡±


    Walker shook his head. While he was new to the team, the chain of command was clear. ¡°Can you put Midnight on the radio?¡±


    ¡°Uh¡­ sure. Midnight?¡±


    ¡°What do you want?¡± Even through the radio, the brunette¡¯s sultry contralto reached out and grabbed Walker¡¯s attention.


    ¡°Could you¡­?¡± Static rustled through the connection.


    ¡°Midnight here. Who is this?¡±


    ¡°This is Walker. I¡¯ve identified the launchers that hit you with those incendiary rounds.¡± Another surface to air missile zoomed up from the top of a building. Instinctively he batted it away with one of his wings. It spun wildly, finally detonating when it hit the surface of the lake in the middle of the park.


    ¡°Where are they?¡±This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.


    ¡°Times Square. They¡¯re burning down Harlem. They¡¯ve started two blocks around your last known location burning already, and they¡¯re working on a third.¡±


    ¡°The hell?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m not sure, but my guess would be they decided the area was lost anyhow, so they might as well take the Blue Bloods and Chessmen out of the picture by saturation bombardment.¡±


    ¡°Why would the National Guard even have incendiary rounds?¡±


    Walker shrugged, despite knowing Midnight couldn¡¯t see him. ¡°I don¡¯t think they do. They shouldn''t have surface to air missiles either. There¡¯s no telling what they¡¯ve been able to jury rig¡±


    ¡°What about the people in the buildings?¡±


    He blinked, stunned at his own oversight. He¡¯d paid so much attention to the tactical situation he hadn¡¯t even thought about the human cost. ¡°I¡­ I¡¯m not sure. I think I can get close to the blocks that are on fire, but I don¡¯t know if I can do much there.¡±


    ¡°Okay. Here¡¯s the plan; Jack, Angel, and Siren will work their way underground to the basements of the buildings. If you can get the people to evacuate to the basements, they¡¯ll guide them through to Yankee Stadium. The structure¡¯s still mostly intact after the Rain, even if the seats and field were trashed. Flex, Widget, Frostfire and I will head south via the subway to Times Square. If that¡¯s where they¡¯ve got their big guns, that¡¯s where the leaders will be.¡±


    ¡°Yes, ma¡¯am. Jack Hammer, Angel, Siren and I will evacuate the buildings which are on fire via an underground route while you engage the enemy command.¡±


    ¡°Arrest the perpetrators. Not engage the enemy. Other than that, that¡¯s the plan. Everyone on your team is a little rattled, and you¡¯ve got the best view, so I¡¯m putting you in charge.¡±


    ¡°Yes, Ma¡¯am. Good Hunting.¡±


    ¡°Good Luck, Walker. See you at Yankee Stadium.¡±


    ¡°I look forward to it, Ma¡¯am.¡±


    ***


    ¡°Why not just punch through here? Based on the map, it¡¯s the closest point.¡±


    Jack shook his head. ¡°There¡¯s a structural member here. We need to go around it, or the building is gonna collapse.¡±


    ¡°The building¡¯s on fire, and the fire departments have mostly evacuated. Isn¡¯t it coming down anyway?¡±


    He looked at Siren, raised an eyebrow. ¡°Probably, but I think we want to get the people inside out first, right?¡±


    ¡°Oh. Right. Sorry.¡±


    Angel stepped up beside her, one arm going around her shoulders. ¡°So, what do we do?¡±


    Jack paced off three long strides down the subway tunnel, then scratched two lines on the wall. ¡°This spot is a little thicker, but if we go through here, it shouldn¡¯t bring the building down.¡±


    He took one last look around for any tools. He didn¡¯t expect to find anything, but he really didn¡¯t want to do too much collateral damage. Finding nothing, he squared his shoulders, balled up his fist, and set himself. Before he could swing, Angel laid a hand on his shoulder.


    ¡°Let me.¡±


    Jack shrugged and stepped back, putting himself between the excavation and Siren.


    The first thing he noticed was a dim blue glow just inside the lines he¡¯d drawn. A soft scratching echoed through the tunnel. The light grew slowly brighter, and the scratching became a continuous scraping. Dust drifted out from the blue glow, thicker by the moment. In seconds, he could no longer see Angel, and the ongoing screech of tortured stone filled the corridor with a wall of sound.


    ¡°Angel! Can you breathe in there?¡±


    He barely heard the words inside his own head. A fist-sized chunk of rock shot out of the cloud, only to be caught at the last minute by a glowing tendril of blue. Despite himself he took half a step back, arms to his sides in a protective gesture he knew already would be useless if another chunk of rock flew out.


    Petite hands slipped over his ears, and the cacophony of the tunnel disappeared. ¡°Angel¡¯s fine, Jack. He¡¯s keeping an area around himself clear. We might want to step back though.¡±


    Careful to keep himself between Siren and the ongoing demolition, Jack backed away. After a few minutes, Siren spoke again, her voice clear and crisp despite the ongoing chaos around Angel. ¡°If he moves that whole section out, is it gonna hurt anything?¡±


    ¡°It shouldn¡¯t.¡± Aware of the ongoing construction noise he could no longer hear, he shook his head.


    ¡°Let¡¯s go up. Anybody on the far side is going to be shocky.¡±


    They walked forward, Jack still in front of Siren. She slipped her hands off of his ears; other than an ongoing low screech of stone against stone, the noise had died down. Siren shouted a single word, ¡°Clear!¡± and the dust rolled away from them.


    ¡°How do you do that, miss?¡±


    ¡°No idea, really. Stuff just moves when I shout at it. Sort of like Angel¡¯s telekinesis, only I have to speak.¡±


    The clearing dust revealed Angel walking backward, a huge stone plug nearly half the width of the tunnel coming along behind him. As the back end of it cleared the opening he¡¯d created, a figure in blue stepped out of the gap.


    ¡°Took you guys long enough. Are the tunnels clear to the stadium?¡±


    ¡°Axe! How did you get in there?¡±


    Steve shrugged. ¡°Charlie grabbed me when the artillery hit. Dragged me into the building and got me organizing the evacuation from inside.¡±


    ¡°Charlie¡¯s here? I thought he was still down for the count.¡± At another shrug from Steve, Jack continued, ¡°Good to have him back in charge. Where is he?¡±


    Steve threw his hands up into the air in histrionic frustration. ¡°How the fuck should I know? I got a couple basements packed with civilians who need to get the hell out of here before the air runs out. Is the tunnel clear or not?¡±


    Two impacts of stone on stone rattled the hallway once more. Angel hefted the remains of the massive stone plug, one end now hacked into a blunt chisel. ¡°If it¡¯s not, it will be.¡±

 Chapter Sixty - Armor

    Angie slipped along the tracks of the abandoned subway tunnel, her feet inches above the ground. Her new armor kept her from touching the rails. Even when she nudged the third one now and then, sending a soft ringing echoing through the darkness, her armor soaked up the electricity and didn¡¯t complain.


    ¡°This must be what flying feels like!¡± she whispered. It hardly echoed at all, but Flex still nagged her.


    ¡°Keep it down, Widget,¡± she snapped from the knapsack on Angie¡¯s back. ¡°We¡¯re supposed to be sneaky, remember?¡±


    ¡°Okay. Sneaky as a mouse.¡± She raised one finger to her lips, invisible in the pitch black of the darkened tunnel. Her armor showed her the floor, walls, and ceiling, just like a video game, but she didn¡¯t see herself, because it made her invisible. It also had arrows pointing over her shoulders to each of her friends creeping along the darkened subway tunnel behind her.


    ¡°I still wish I could fly,¡± she muttered.


    ¡°This unit is capable of sustained flight but maintaining flight with cargo while in stealth mode will rapidly drain this unit¡¯s power.¡±


    ¡°Cool!¡±


    ¡°Keep it down!¡± Flex shushed her again.


    ¡°I wanna fly!¡± she whispered to her armor.


    ¡°Flight in confined spaces is discommended. Are you certain?¡±


    ¡°Yes!¡±


    ¡°No!¡±


    Flex¡¯s strangled shriek came too late. Widget rocketed headfirst down the middle of the tunnel, hands spread to the sides, feet extended behind her. She drew in a breath to shout, but caught herself before Flex could chide her.


    ¡°Woo hoo,¡± she whispered, the sound barely echoing at all. Up ahead dim lights glowed on the left side of the tunnel. She edged to the right to get a better look.


    Her hand barely brushed the side, but it sent her into a spin. The world tumbled around her, sparks flying whenever her armor hit concrete. She tried to catch a glimpse of the lights, but nothing made sense. She cartwheeled into an open space lit by dim fires. Her leg struck something yielding, which spun her chest into something else. Metal scattered across the floor, and wood snapped.


    ¡°Flight mode disengaged. Power low; please refrain from sidearm use.¡±


    The world spinning around her, Angie pushed herself to her hands and knees, breaking more wood beneath her doing so. While she closed her eyes and waited for them to adjust to the flickering light, the grumpy old lady spoke in her head.


    There are injured people here. May I?


    Angie decided it was a good time to lie down and take a nap.


    ***


    Widget stood over the crumpled forms of the militiamen she¡¯d crashed into. She¡¯d sedated both of them after ascertaining they wouldn¡¯t die any time soon. Looking around, she realized why they¡¯d been stationed at the exit to the tunnel. Refugees crowded the subway station, huddled around cell phones, glow sticks, or whatever meager light they could cobble together. The largest group stood near the dim glow from the stairs to the street above, but they shied away as the sound of boots echoed down the stairwell.If you encounter this tale on Amazon, note that it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it.


    ¡°What was that noise?¡±


    Another voice answered from the far end of the tunnel. ¡°Not sure. I saw some sparks down near Phil and Gary. Guys?¡±


    Widget didn¡¯t wait for the two at the far end of the subway station to grow impatient. She took careful aim with her dart gun, noting the old-fashioned light enhancing goggles strapped to each militiaman¡¯s head as she did so, and then squeezed the trigger. The single dart flew, tumbled, and ricocheted off the wall behind the pair.


    ¡°To hell with it.¡± She hosed the pair down, using up the last of her injector darts in the process. They slumped to the ground, guns clattering when they hit the floor.


    Gunfire erupted into the crowd from the top of the steps. Screaming people scattered into the darkness. Widget flipped her armor¡¯s sidearm out with a gesture she remembered Angie making. Her eyepiece lit with a targeting reticule, familiar alien characters dancing around the bullseye.


    ¡°Warning; sidearm use discommended.¡±


    ¡°Does this thing have any area suppression settings?¡±


    The reticule changed, showing a meters wide swath, dark red in the middle shading out to a dull orange-yellow at the edges. ¡°Warning; area fire option will fully deplete armor energy stores.¡±


    ¡°Let¡¯s hope this takes them out, then.¡± She squeezed the trigger, and a pair of tumbling thumps echoed down the stairs. Wall tiles cracked, and every poster within the target area pulled itself from the walls, fluttering to the floor a moment later.


    Two shadowy figures lay tangled at the bottom of the steps, but as Widget watched they shoved each other upright, untangling their guns as they did. Barely able to see them in the suddenly renewed darkness, she took a step toward them and stumbled. With its power drained, her armor weighed more than she did. Only its even distribution let her stay upright, still stumbling awkwardly and loudly toward the pair at the base of the stairs.


    They leveled their guns at her. She tried desperately to lurch to the side, as much to keep any civilians out of the line of fire as to dodge. Thunder echoed, sparks flew, and something punched her square in the gut. Somehow, she stayed on her feet. She prayed for the curtain of blessed gray dust, but nothing happened. Angie was out of action for the duration. Soon another bullet would find her, or she would just bleed out on the subway floor.


    A wall of shadow swept over her attackers, smashing them to the floor. The thunder of guns muffled as Jesse engulfed them. A few seconds later the pair flew away, and Jesse reformed, a submachine gun in each hand.


    ¡°Are you hit?¡±


    ¡°Yeah,¡± Angela wheezed, ¡°gut shot. Not sure how bad.¡± She twitched her legs, and they responded. ¡°At least my spine¡¯s okay.¡±


    Widget brushed a hand across her belly, trying to assess how much damage the bullet had done. She jerked her hand away, swearing.


    ¡°What¡¯s wrong?¡±


    ¡°Burned my hand. The bullet is smeared across my belly armor.¡± She shoved herself to her feet, wincing as her bruised abs brushed against the cool, hard inside of the mesh across her belly.


    ¡°Do we go up or do we wait for the others?¡±


    ¡°Just a second.¡± She muttered a command under her breath, and a faint image appeared in front of her left eye. ¡°I¡¯ll have enough power to keep my armor active by the time they get here, I think.¡±


    ¡°By the time who gets here?¡±


    Widget jumped, her armor brushing against her bruised stomach once again. ¡°Grace! How did you get here so fast?¡±


    In the dim light of the tunnel, Grace nodded to the ice coating the floor beneath her. ¡°I seem to have a knack for ice skating.¡±


    Midnight slid to a stop, hopping from Grace¡¯s ice to the cement floor smoothly. ¡°Attention! Everyone begin moving down the tunnel as quickly as you can. Be careful of the ice.¡±


    The crowd milled toward the edge of the platform, two falling before they managed to get down to the tracks. Someone shrieked when the crackling ice touched the rails and exploded in a shower of sparks.


    ¡°Shh! What is that?¡±


    ¡°What¡¯s what, Midnight?¡±


    ¡°I hear it too,¡± whispered Grace, ¡°a diesel engine. Heavy machinery, moving around at the top of the steps.¡±


    ¡°They¡¯re going to close off the street access! Blue Bloods, let¡¯s go!¡±


    Midnight charged up the steps, Jesse close behind. Grace and Widget looked at each other, shrugged, and ran up the steps behind them. They caught up as the forward pair hit the closed gate at the top of the steps. Jesse shouldered it aside, and the four of them charged out.


    Widget noticed the incoming rocket too late to even scream a warning.

 Chapter Sixty One - T Square

    Charlie shoved himself from the hospital bed, only to collapse to the floor. How he kept holding his time he had no idea, but he held it. He kept holding while he pushed himself to his feet, pulled on a pair of boxers, grabbed the printout he¡¯d been trying to read when he saw the feed from Widget¡¯s camera, and staggered down the hall.


    ***


    Charlie had no idea how much subjective time had passed. Beneath his mask, sweat and snot poured down his face, ran across his soaked body, only to leak out through the vents in his boots. He sipped from the integral camelback, hoping he wouldn¡¯t run out of water again. Last time he¡¯d had to let enough time slip to fill it, and the image of an anti-tank missile splashing into Midnight filled his vision the entire time.


    He didn¡¯t know how far back he¡¯d thrown himself. He¡¯d been drifting in and out of consciousness when the image seared itself into his memory. He only knew he had to get to New York in time to prevent the deaths of his friends.


    ***


    The incoming mortar round hung in the sky; an enigma Charlie couldn¡¯t figure out no matter how hard he tried. Harlem ought to be burning, but the mortar round held the only flame in sight. Charlie trudged up to it, wondering if he should let it fall, so he didn¡¯t break causality. Midnight would be pissed if he broke causality.


    The thought of his friend snapped him back to crystal clear focus. If the first mortar shell hadn¡¯t landed yet, he could still save them. With adrenaline born energy he scanned the street corner turned battlefield. A simple fire wouldn¡¯t hurt Frostfire or Midnight. He¡¯d seen Widget and Flex storming the militia bastion in Times Square. Jack had Angel in one arm, Siren in the other, and he hung halfway into the subway entrance on the corner.


    That left Axeman. The firefighter lay near Grace, almost directly under the falling mortar round.


    Charlie pulled a length of cord from one of the pockets sewn into the inside of his costume. Widget told him it could hold the weight of two full grown adults; today he¡¯d find out if she¡¯d been right. He looped one end around Axeman¡¯s wrist, pulled it snug, and staggered over to the manhole in the middle of the intersection. It took three tries, his gloves slipping from his sweat coated fingers, but he got the manhole cover off.


    After panting for a few moments, time trying to slip from his grasp, he leapt feet first into the open hole. The moment he felt the cord go taut, he let his time fly free.


    ***


    Charlie staggered up to the pair of militiamen with the missile. One standing where he¡¯d wind up a crispy critter from the backblast, the other aiming directly at the steps down to the subway platform. Clutching at his time, he stumbled into the guy with the missile launcher, letting go the moment his shoulder hit the guy¡¯s chest. The missile fired, spiraling off into the sky. Charlie sighed in relief. Then the sky lit up, a single writhing winged figure backlit by the blast.


    ¡°Fuck.¡± Rewind, try again.


    ***


    As Charlie let go of his time, he shoved the loader into the guy with the missile launcher. That guy stumbled forward into the other, and they went down in a heap. But not before the missile fired, skipping off the ground, then looping around to plunge straight into the subway steps.


    ¡°You gotta be kidding me.¡± Rewind. Try again.


    ***


    Charlie knelt, weeping, clutching hit time to keep it from slipping. He¡¯d tried. He¡¯d tried hitting them with two by fours. He¡¯d tried shoving them. Punching them. Grabbing at the launcher. Hitting the launcher. He¡¯d even broken down, stolen a gun, and shot them. Every single time, no matter what he did, somebody died. One of his friends, one of his companions, one of his Blue Bloods, died.The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.


    Every. Single. Time.


    Crawling forward, Charlie wished he could send some kind of message. Wished he could jump back even once more, just long enough to leave a voice mail. But he couldn¡¯t. The edges of his vision sparkled, and the two guys wavered in front of him. Fate said somebody had to die here. He¡¯d founded the Blue Bloods with the idea that he¡¯d be the man behind the scenes, making the hard calls, able to do everything logically and rationally, with plenty of time to think over even the most urgent of decisions.


    But here at the end of the line, that¡¯s not who he was. Here, at the very end, he realized. He wasn¡¯t the chess master who would sacrifice pawns. He smiled when he realized that Jessie had got it right all along. He pushed himself to his feet and stumbled forward, grabbing at the missile launcher when he stumbled. Clutching to his time with an iron grip, he dragged himself upward, pulled himself around until he dangled from the front of the launcher. He hooked his legs around the militiaman¡¯s knee, wrapped his arms around the launcher itself.


    Then he took a deep breath and let go of his time one last time.


    ***


    Midnight charged up the steps, Jesse close behind. Grace and Widget looked at each other, shrugged, and ran up the steps behind them. As the forward pair hit the closed gate at the top of the steps, Jesse shouldered it aside, and the world exploded. Something hit Jesse square in the chest and knocked her back down the steps. As she tumbled past Grade and Widget, Angela recognized the object as the horribly mutilated remains of a human body.


    ¡°Grace! Go with Midnight!¡± Widget spun and leapt down the stairs following Jesse. She slid to a stop on her knees, rolling the body off and checking Jesse as her friend blinked and started to sit up, smaller than ever but still apparently unharmed. Then, as if drawn by magnets, her gaze went back to the body she¡¯d rolled off. To the loose fitting, tattered armored costume she¡¯d made herself. It hadn¡¯t rolled like a body. It rolled like a body bag full of soup.


    Fluid, made colorless by the dim light in the subway station, leaked from the facemask. Something whispered in her ear, the armor Mega Moppet had wished up. She ignored it, trying to think, trying to fight back the wave of gray dust, trying to imagine anything she could do for someone who¡¯d been¡­ pulped. A line of text in an alien script flashed in front of her eye, her armor trying to get her attention.


    Text in a very familiar alien script.


    ¡°I wish I had that sarcophagus!¡±


    ***


    Grace followed Midnight out of the subway station into a makeshift military encampment she almost didn¡¯t recognize as one of the most famous intersections in the world. The buildings surrounding Times Square were in sorry shape; most showed signs of fires, and all the famous billboards and signs had fallen away in whole or in part. Some of them had been used to create barricades across the roads that led into the square, but most had simply been shoved to the side, covering the entrances to the ravaged buildings.


    Midnight had already leapt into the fray. Grace couldn¡¯t even properly follow her as she leapt, darted, and even slid from one group of militia and gang members to another, leaving a trail of broken weapons and broken men in her wake. She literally had a wake, too, as she picked up almost half of the opponents she came in contact with and threw them at the nearest horizontal surface, where they either lay still or curled up and groaned.


    Grace still heard the sound of large engines and, more importantly, the tracks of a construction vehicle; if the others were to join them via the subway tunnels, she had to be sure the criminals they¡¯d come to apprehend didn¡¯t block off the subway entrances. Several of the engines she heard were in what looked to be military vehicles with little stubby tubes sticking out the top. Some of those had tracks, but most had six fat bellied tires beneath them. Regardless, none of them were moving.


    She closed her eyes and focused on the sound, turning away from where she¡¯d last seen Midnight leaping towards the military trucks. When she opened her eyes, she flinched involuntarily as the unmistakable front of a tank nosed its way through the nearest barricade. A quick glance showed her its gun moving to track Midnight. The earlier explosion, right in the middle of the encampment, told her that the criminals weren¡¯t likely to hold fire just because their own men were in danger.


    Grace froze. Then, helpless before her own gallows humor, chuckled, as a sheen of ice covered everything nearby. She laughed again as she imagined what she¡¯d look like trying to face down a tank in the middle of Times Square. Memories of the famous picture from an entirely different square rose unbidden in her mind, and the voice of eternity spoke to her, whispered intimately into her ear from a million miles away.


    And now we answer the call.


    Frostfire walked calmly over into the tank¡¯s path, turned to face it, and looked straight into a barrel that seemed larger around than her head.

 Chapter Sixty Two - Pizza

    ¡°It looks like an anti-tank rocket just exploded in the middle of Times Square! I¡¯ll¡­ wait¡­ Midnight is engaging the militia in Times Square. I don¡¯t see any of the others.¡±


    Walker hadn¡¯t heard back from the group moving refugees to the stadium for a bit, but Jack Hammer¡¯s last reply had been, ¡°keep the info coming, we¡¯ll be along as fast as we can.¡±


    So, he kept up his stream of information, hoping that the rest of the Blue Bloods or maybe the Chessmen would use it to help bring the ill guided insurrection to an end. ¡°Frostfire just emerged from the same subway tunnel. She¡¯s moving to¡­ Holy Mary, mother of God, they¡¯ve got an Abrams.¡±


    He watched, helplessly, as the tiny ice woman stepped in front of the main battle tank. It drove forward until it bumped into her, at which point it just¡­ stopped. He pulled up his binoculars to get a better view, and a grim chuckle forced its way out of him as he realized the tank¡¯s treads were spinning in place, scraping across frozen ground as it pushed against the seemingly immobile ice sculpture.


    The tank reversed course, pulling back until it could lower its main gun to point directly at the tiny woman. Walker screamed into his radio, ¡°somebody get down here, fast! Frostfire, do not¡­¡±


    The tank fired. A cloud of smoke and vapor obscured the front of the tank. Walker glanced around the rest of the square, spotting Midnight as she flipped another of the mortar trucks on its side. She hadn¡¯t even reacted to the tank entering the fray until it fired, and even now she didn¡¯t bother to do more than glance over, then leap to the far side of the mortars to continue her one-woman assault on the terrorists lighting the city on fire to ¡®liberate¡¯ it.


    When he looked back at the tank, a wedge of¡­ something¡­ covered most of the tank and the area behind it, starting with where Frostfire had been standing. The smoke in that area was just gone. The tank itself had a patina of frost across its carapace. Everything in the area seemed hard to see. Dark, almost like someone had lowered the lights. Red tinted, and Walker tried not to think why that might be.


    Then something like a tiny cyclone sucked the remaining smoke and steam into itself, spinning around Frostfire where she stood, one foot half a step in front of the other, leaning forward just a touch as if she¡¯d been screaming at the tank. The hatch atop the tank sprang open, steam blasting outward from it as it did. Before the obstruction cleared, strobing flashes lit it up from within. Sparks flew as bullets ricocheted off the tiny ice woman for a moment.


    Then the whole area in front of her ignited. When the smoke cleared again, the remains of the tank collapsed, huge sections of armor sloughing off to reveal the inner workings of the armored vehicle just missing.


    ¡°Holy Mary, mother of God. What¡­ what did she do?¡±


    ***


    Midnight¡¯s ears popped again, and she leapt atop the mortar carrier she¡¯d just flipped up on its side. A quick scan showed her most of the militia starting to break, the ones further away from her finally realizing that most of the vehicles in Times Square had been flipped, smashed, or in one case tossed into one of the surrounding buildings. She didn¡¯t even remember doing that, but she¡¯d been a little pissed off. Maybe she did need those anger management courses after all.Stolen content warning: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.


    ¡°Hey! Frostfire! You okay over there?¡±


    The little Asian woman¡¯s voice sounded odd, an echo sliding around it, sometimes seeming to precede her words. ¡°I¡­ I am not sure. I¡¯ve never killed a man before.¡±


    Midnight shook her head, then shouted at the remaining militia, ¡°our newbie, a musician, just took out your tank. Lie down with your hands behind your head and I won¡¯t kick your ass.¡± Without looking to see if they¡¯d take the advice or not, she leapt over to where Frostfire stood, frozen. ¡°Hey, you gonna be okay?¡±


    ¡°I¡­ I do not know.¡±


    After a quick glance at the remains of the tank, Midnight shook her head. ¡°Honestly, I don¡¯t think you killed him. Not sure what you did, but I heard some gunfire then an explosion. Almost like he set off some kind of grenade or something. Not like you have any explosive powers.¡± She paused. ¡°You don¡¯t have explosive powers, do you?¡±


    Frostfire blinked, then her whole posture shifted. Bits of cloudy, cracked ice flaked away from her, revealing a Grace perfectly formed from clear ice underneath. She smiled sadly, and the echoes returned with reinforcements. ¡°In the end, I have only the one power. Like most of us.¡± She chuckled. ¡°She said, speaking with one of those exceptions with two.¡±


    ¡°Uh¡­¡± The woman standing in front of her looked like Grace, sounded vaguely like Grace, but didn¡¯t move like her, didn¡¯t hold herself with the subtle tension of a woman ready to flee at a moment¡¯s notice. Midnight barely remembered a course she¡¯d taken on dealing with people who¡¯d had a psychotic break. De-escalation. That was the key. ¡°Okay. Uh, I think they¡¯re mostly surrendering.¡±


    Frostfire nodded, and then nodded again, this time to indicate something behind Drew. ¡°I agree.¡±


    Midnight turned, ready to deal with whatever new threat had appeared, only to see a wave of the Chessmen¡¯s Pawns swarm over the remaining militia, enveloping them and locking them down. She took a deep breath and let it out, trying to let go of the worst of the rage that had gripped her, while not letting go so much she¡¯d pass out or miss some last minute forlorn hope last stand by the militia and gang members.


    ¡°Would you like to get a pizza?¡±


    She turned back to Grace. ¡°What?¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s been a long time since I had pizza. I wonder if any of the places around here are still open.¡±


    Midnight shook her head. ¡°Sure Grace. Let¡¯s go find some pizza.¡±


    ***


    Jack flew down the subway tunnel right behind Angel, who still had that big wedge of stone hovering in front of him. Not long before they¡¯d all heard an explosion. They¡¯d done their best to double-time it since then, Angel flying ahead, Jack right behind him, the others lagging further behind as they navigated through the last of the refugees and an inexplicable thin coating of ice all over everything. Okay, not entirely inexplicable, but Jack couldn¡¯t figure out why Frostfire had coated everything.


    When they came out into the station, Angel nodded to Widget and Flex in passing before flying up the stairs. Jack stopped and asked, ¡°what¡¯s the situation?¡±


    Widget looked over at him, distracted, shaking her head as she muttered and poked at the controls on the big sarcophagus thing she¡¯d summoned up again. Flex, who looked smaller than he remembered, perched atop the sarcophagus. ¡°She¡¯s trying to get it to work. I think the armor she summoned has some of the same tech, and some kind of AI translation, maybe?¡±


    It only took Jack a second to catch on. ¡°Who?¡±


    ¡°Charlie. He¡­ I¡¯m not sure how, but I think he took a hit for us.¡±


    ¡°How bad?¡±


    She shuddered. ¡°Bad. I¡­ I don¡¯t know why she¡¯s even trying.¡±


    ¡°Because the regeneration chamber has settings to heal anything short of complete disintegration. If there¡¯s DNA remaining, it can fix it.¡±


    ¡°Holy crap. That¡¯s¡­¡±


    ¡°Not Terran tech. Given what I¡¯ve deduced from a few things Captain Walker didn¡¯t say, not to mention some similarities between the meteorite Axeman recovered for me, my armor, and the regeneration chamber, I suspect it belongs to whoever¡¯s driving the asteroid that bombarded us.¡±


    Jack froze, staring. ¡°Does that mean we¡¯re at war then?¡±


    Widget just shrugged. ¡°No idea. That¡¯s somebody else¡¯s call.¡± She nodded to the big sarcophagus looking thing. ¡°Maybe Charlie will have some input on that. But one thing I can tell you.¡±


    Jack waited, then said, ¡°what¡¯s that?¡±


    ¡°We¡¯ve got just under a year before that thing loops around the sun and comes back around.¡±