I forced myself back to the present and continued. "The thing is, none of it would have happened if someone hadn't put together who Dad was with his secret identity, and then that secret got out. And the ones who paid were my mom and a five-year-old boy. What you do isn't a game. It's life and death. And not just for the heroes."
Fae looked pale and frightened, her previous mirth evaporated. I let her ruminate on the matter.
"I didn't know you'd actually seen it happen," Jack said from the doorway. He'd changed into civilian attire at some point, but he'd practiced enough to do it quickly.
"I try not to think about it."
"I must have seemed heartless," Fae said.
"Not so much. Most people just don't fully realize what a big deal it is."
Fae threw her arms around me. "I'm sorry," she cried.
I held onto her for a while, not sure what the best course of action was. All the usual thoughts in my head argued with each other, but my real attention was on the memory. The blood splatter striking my face, the dying gaze of my mother, the monster crushing Jeremy with a backhanded swipe. The worst part was he didn't look like a monster. He was dubbed Michelangelo by the underworld not just because he looked like a living statue, but because he was a living work of art. He was probably one of the most beautiful creatures in existence, but with that blood dripping from his hands, I could envision no more evil thing either.
The clock chimed three.
Sunshine woke me. I was still on Jack's couch. I'd fallen asleep while waiting for Fae to compose herself and slept sitting up. Fae was still leaning on my chest, an arm draped over my shoulder. She grumbled when I shifted. She was asleep, so I woke her.
"What time is it?" she groaned.
"Approaching noon."
"Did I just sleep on you?" she asked.
"Looks that way."
"That's probably a bit too forward. We just met." She stood up and shambled off towards the bathroom. Since I was still in my costume, I put my mask back on. There was little point in preaching the sanctity of the secret identity if I didn't practice it as well. I should probably stop calling Jack by his real name when he's in costume. But damn, does he make it hard when he picks names like Monoman.
"Oh, you two are up?" Jack murmured, not quite together yet. "If you don't have spare civvies on you, I have a cache in different sizes in case of, well, something like this. Not this exactly, but you know, possibilities."
"I know, 'Prepare for the unexpected' is one of those pearls of fortune cookie wisdom my dad keep giving me. I'm not surprised you follow the same philosophy."
"I told you, I don't philosophize."
I laughed. "Let no one say you're not consistent-- unless they're talking about your name."
"Why does everyone laugh at this name?"
"Well, it sounds silly. And there are those who ask why you named yourself after a disease spread by kissing."
A look of shock and horror spread over Jack's face. "Why didn't anyone tell me?"
Part 4
I filed my BA-38 form to officially become Shadowdemon with a bit of trepidation. My Mom had come up with my whole cover identity and outfit when she'd agreed to let me be a sidekick. Back then, I'd been practically enthusiastic about the life. Changing the name seemed like a bit of a betrayal, but I reminded myself that she'd known from the beginning I'd outgrow "Shadowboy." I just wish there was a form to fill out to change case workers. Ms. Reece still got on my nerves. So cheerful, so ignorant of what it was like. I got home before Nora did again.
Our house looked nothing like the one that had been demolished in the fight with Michelangelo. It wasn't even in the same neighborhood. I hadn't bothered to get to know the neighbors. I knew of them, and knew their routines well enough to avoid their notice. From what I gathered, they thought I was odd. What I couldn't help seeing was how the house was only wood frames and drywall. It would be easy for a powered criminal to tear it apart. But hiding a fortress in a residential neighborhood wasn't easy, and Dad insisted we try to make a normal life for ourselves. It was, after all, something Mom had wanted.
I couldn't help but feel I failed.
My phone rang. By habit I checked who it was before answering. "Yes, Jack?" I said.
"Can you believe they let the Greelers go?"
"Yes, Jack," I said. "Statements of a hero, without corroborating evidence, are inadmissible."
"What?"
"All the prosecutor had was the word of one guy who can't take the stand that they'd tried to shoot another guy who can't take the stand. If we testify, we have to unmask, remember? That's why we collect other evidence."
"Well crap, I was ready to be miffed at them."
"We didn't have anything for them to act on."
"All right, all right. Just keep this coming Wednesday clear."
"That's tomorrow."
"Crap, is that the eighteenth?"
"Yes, Jack."
"Well, that's when I scheduled your party. It's not a surprise anymore because I botched it, but everything else is still set up."
"Did someone smudge your cheat sheet to make the five look like an eight?"
"I think so. Worse, I think it was me."
"All right, Jack, I'll see you tomorrow." I hung up and tried to find something to distract me from the aches running up my entire body. I'd discovered some nasty bruises in the shower, but they were only the most visible symptom. I fished my laptop out of the space between the couch and the end table and powered it up. I established a secure connection to the Community Fund and brought up the internal page. "Slow news day," I said upon seeing my name change as the lead story. News travels fast in our circle, and someone at BHA leaks all the name change filings to the community anyway. I logged into the page to see if I had any messages.
The one I did have, I almost deleted. It was from "NewUser8852" and the subject was "Team-up?" It looked like spam, but this was the Community Fund's internal messaging system. "NewUser" and the last four digits of the BHA identity code was the default for someone who hasn't filed for a codename yet. I opened it.
"Sorry about the overcharge the other night, I'm still learning how my powers work. I really didn't mean to sound like an elitist. It's just that the way you moved I could have sworn you had enhanced reflexes or something. Either that, or I just move slow. Anyway, Cupric said I could benefit from spending time with someone who doesn't have any powers to fall back on. Since you have a class-three license, I figured I might start with you. It will be odd to be a sidekick who's older than the hero, so I won't get offended if you say no. -- Signed... Somebody."
Part of me read the bubbling enthusiasm for the life I'd had as a small child. He was too eager to get out there and fight the "bad guys." I sat there trying to think of a wording which wouldn't sound too rude. Someone with a class-three license usually doesn't set out on their own right away. They'll work as backup for either their mentor or someone else in the community for a while. They certainly don't train a brand new sidekick.
I composed a response. "Make a name for yourself first, quite literally. 'You there, take left and wait for my signal' doesn't work all that well. And I'm not sure Cupric meant 'right this instant,' you're still very new at this. You can learn faster from your current instructor than by bouncing around the community. --Shadowdemon."
My cursor hovered over the "send" button. I didn't like the tone, so I deleted the content and started over.
"How about this: If Cupric wants me to tag along with you two, I will. But at this stage, you really should be learning from your primary mentor unless there's a particular facet of the job you can learn better from someone else. Last week I was a sidekick, I'm not ready to teach one." I signed the message and sent it off.
As I logged out and disconnected, I heard a car pull up in f
ront of the house. Moving to the side of the door, I peered out the window. It was a battered brown sedan. Ben got out of the driver's seat, then helped Nora out of the other side. I wondered if I should tell them. They looked so mockable heading up the walk, each thinking the other was not only unpowered but not part of the community. My own speech came back to mind. If I exposed their identities, I'd be forcing everyone into a position of trust, even entrusting Ben with Dad's identity. That's not something I could spill, no matter how funny his expression would be.
I pretended to not be paranoid as Ben let Nora into the house. Part of me said I'd screw up keeping their secrets if I stuck around while the two were together.
I told myself I wasn't on patrol, that I'd just gone for a walk to think, and to get away from Ben and Nora. If that was the case, why was I suited up and traveling by rooftop? And why did I come back to the ill-lit intersection of Fifth Street and Avenue C? There was May's Diner, one building down from the corner, its brightly lit interior a shining beacon in the night. Caution tape blocked off the booth Jack had destroyed, and a few seats down, Cupric was having his free coffee. Staring down at it, I realized how stupid we'd been to take up such an exposed position. With the lighting effectively making the windows one-way mirrors, anyone on the street could have launched a potentially fatal first strike against us before we had any idea what was going on.
A van trundled through the intersection, turning north on Avenue C. It was white and bore the logo of Technomation Ltd. It was a stylized "T" formed from an airplane transforming into a dragon mid-flight. I always thought it was a stupid logo, especially since they had to make the leading edge of the plane wing turn into part of the tail to force it into a T shape. If it were any other time of day, when there was actual traffic, I might not have noticed. And I might not have noticed the Quebec license plates. Technomation was a local company, it didn't even have offices in other states, let alone other countries. None of its vehicles should have Canadian plates.
Of course, if I had noticed this before the van was driving away, I might have tried to get a better look. Instead, it trundled off north. With me on foot and on the roof, keeping up with a panel van wasn't practical. I'd all but tripped over something suspicious, and it got away. I shook my head. Making my way down to street level, I crossed Avenue C. The flickering light of a fire barrel down an alleyway on Fifth Street graced the plot of ground where I'd fought the night before. The remnants of my curiosity must have still been with me, because I looked in on the gang.
Only they weren't there. The fire barrel was burning, but the alley looked devoid of people. The overturned row of trash cans spilling their contents to the ground was a new development. I approached the barrel, trying to figure out what exactly bugged me about the empty space. Something crunched between the sole of my shoe and the pavement. That wasn't unusual, but the nagging feeling of wrongness in the back of my mind made me glance down. It was a barbed dart from an electroshock weapon, trailing a length of wire towards the street. Picking it up I could see no blood or fibers on the barb, so it was probably from a missed shot. If it had been there for any length of time, the exposed copper knot that connected the trailing wire to the dart would have started corroding. This was fairly recently fired. My mind went back to the Technomation van with the foreign plates. All I had was suspicion, but it was screaming rather loudly.
Something shifted in the spilled trash. I dropped the dart and hurried towards the motion. A figure started to rise out of a cascade of refuse. Before I could identify who it was, she swung a machete towards my face. The swipe was slow, disoriented. I caught Pam's wrist and helped her to her feet. "Are you all right, miss?" I asked.
"No, I'm not all right," she snapped, pulling away from my grip. At least she didn't take another swing. "Don't you have another hero to have a throwdown with?"
"That's not our primary vocation... Pam, was it?"
"What's it to you?"
"Something happened here, and it doesn't look good. I'm guessing something with electroshock weapons, and not a police raid."
"Oh, you must be a detective. Police leave more flashing lights and uniforms crawling around the neighborhood."
"Could you tell me what happened?"
"Why?"
"I might be able to help."
"What happened was Jorge was in the middle of telling how he once almost became fish food when the bubble head and white coat brigade bursts into the alley faster than a SWAT raid. Within a minute I've been knocked senseless, and they're already dragging everyone away."
"Bubble head?"
"Not exactly a bubble, more like a steel hood with round eyepieces. But they had long white coats and moved fast."
"Like a lab coat, or more like a trench coat?"
"Neither, really, it buttoned all the way up to the chin and had a high collar all around. If they had chins. Those helmets didn't exactly have too many facial features."
"How many rows of buttons?"
"Like I saw that."
"Any emblems, logos or the sort?"
"Not that I saw."
"So not someone you or your gang has crossed before?"
"Dude, freaky dressers like that, I'd have noticed."
Given the fashion sense of most people I hung around with, I declined to comment. "Did you see where they went?"
"Got into some sort of van and drove off. You must have just missed them."
"North on Avenue C," I said.
"What?"
"I saw a suspicious van turn north on C not long ago. If I'd known, I would have pursued it." Not that I really had the means to do so, but Pam had just calmed down. I didn't want her to get angry at me. Pam hooked the machete on a steel loop on her belt and fumed. I wasn't sure how wise it was to have the exposed blade that close to a thigh with only leather pants to protect it.
"Right, to get them back I'll need muscle. That's you. And I need to figure out where they went. Avenue C leads right into the wharf, and it's riddled with places to hide. Assuming that's even their final destination," Pam said
"Do any of them have cell phones?"
"What do we look like? Of course we do."
"We can get a general idea of where they are by what cell towers their phone is talking to, I'll need to know a number and get in touch with someone who can pull off that information."
"Why not just ask the phone for the GPS coordinates? It would save leg work."
"Like we have access to that data," I said
"You do if the owner already installed an app to tell their friends where they are. Your chatter about cell phones reminded me. I don't tend to need it."
"That works."
Pam pulled her phone out of the inside pocket of her jacket and fiddled with it for a few moments.
"Eighteenth Street, by the river. And you were right, it looks like it's a compound owned by Technomation. Or so the 'Technomation Development Center' tag on the map says."
"I think we should get at least one more person before going after them."
"You sound like you have someone in mind."
"I do, and he's right around the corner."
When we burst into May's diner, we got a glare from the proprietor, but she didn't say anything. We hurried over to where Cupric was drinking coffee. He glanced up with only mild interest before taking another sip.
"It's a bit soon to start expecting help from me on demand," Cupric said.
"I figured once we pitched our case, you might decide to help on your own."
"All right, what's the crisis?"
"You know the Fifth Street Gang?" I asked, pointing a thumb towards Pam.
"Yeah, they're harmless."
"Thanks," Pam said, her tone so dripping with sarcasm it practically soaked me.
"Well, while you were dr
inking coffee, someone abducted them."
Gruefield 18 (Tarnished Sterling Omnibus) Page 9
