Gruefield 18 (Tarnished Sterling Omnibus)

by Robert McCarroll

  "Whatever you do, don't mention Flynn's parents," Ed said.

  "Errol broke your face?" Lazar asked.

  "No," Ed said, "It's just a bloody nose."

  "Then why are you still on the floor?"

  Razordemon offered a hand and hauled Ed to his feet. Over at the sink, Errol continued to wash his already-clean gloves, muttering to himself.

  "I'm starting to think the kid with the scrambled memories is the most normal one here," Lazar said. Kevan chose that moment to come down the stairs.

  "This stuff reminds me too much of the outfits the aliens kept us in as test subjects," Kevan said, tugging at the material of his suit.

  "That's normal?" Ed asked.

  "Relatively speaking," Lazar said.

  "You will be happy to know," Gabe said. "That was the only serious incident so far."

  "It's also only the first full day of the program," Razordemon said.

  "Kevan and Lazar were here all weekend without causing trouble," Gabe said.

  "All right, Kevan, I've brought something for you." Razordemon opened the duffel bag. Kevan reached in and extracted a bronze helmet that looked like it had been carved from a piece of art deco architecture.

  "Retro," Kevan said, a grin spreading across his face.

  "Most of the original costume has gone into a museum exhibit. This is a slightly updated design. The belt is from the original. We have not thus far been able to duplicate it, so be careful."

  "I'll be careful," Kevan said, plunking the helmet on his head. "Is this a gas mask in here?"

  "No, just a respirator. It will filter out smoke and particulates, but not toxic gases."

  "Okay, cool." Kevan pulled the helmet off his head. The diaphragm providing an air seal around the neck nearly pulled his mask off with it. It also made a mess of his hair. "That could get claustrophobic," Kevan said.

  "Be grateful. The original was just bronze plate with no padding or ventilation," Razordemon said.

  "Can I try it all on?" Kevan asked. Razordemon motioned toward the bag. Kevan picked it up and hurried off.

  "So how's this weekday afternoon part going to work?" Lazar asked.

  "For the moment, we are going to evaluate your current ability, so that we will not be sending you into unsuitable situations. Today the focus is going to be on flight."

  "Sir," Errol said, turning off the water. "I never got to mention what any of the supplemental apparel I requested did. I believe it is relevant."

  "Very well, speak."

  "The cameo is enchanted, it can provide flight, within some limitations."

  "And the rest of it?"

  "The armor is, well, armor, and the mask is a more complete disguise. I think it also has a respirator and optics."

  "So what you're saying is, with the supplemental gear, no member of this team would be completely grounded."

  "Yes, sir."

  "For the purposes of our timetable, I will permit you to wear it today," Razordemon said. "This is not an approval going forward. There will be a more thorough investigation before I make that determination. And you will have to have demonstrated the ability to control yourself."

  "Yes sir," Errol said.

  "While we're on the topic of behavior, your outburst has volunteered you to take the first counseling session."

  "Counseling?" Ed asked.

  "If you'd read the informational packet, you'd have seen that it is mandatory. This is a reform program, after all."

  "I understand, sir," Errol said.

  Briar Park had no briars. It had no particular garden features either. It was a plot of grass in the middle of a block that would otherwise have held six more houses. The only thing designating it as an actual park was a sign on a post by the gap in the chain link fence. A gaggle of what looked to be costumed heroes congregating in the middle of the park had already drawn the attention of a curious onlookers. Four stood in a line, facing the fifth.

  Wolfjack was entirely nonchalant, or at least failed to show any emotion through his costume. Ed was pretending to be bored, doing stretches as he checked out the crowd. Kevan's expression was hidden by his art deco helmet, but his his posture betrayed his nerves. He also had on a dark red, double-breasted coat fastened by big brass buttons that ran up to the shoulders. His pants were black trousers with a red stripe along the outseam. His knee-high, laceless boots were polished to a high sheen. Clamped near the ankles were a pair of small outrigger rockets. A broad, bronze belt was cinched about his middle. Lazar kept his hood up and kept checking to make sure his mask was in place, as he looked around for cameras. On the end of the line, Errol stood decked out in his panoply. He tried not to think about what they were about to do, or that it was the first time he'd worn the entire set.

  "All right," Wolfjack said. "Sound off codenames."

  "Ranger Roy," Kevan said, a little too loudly.

  "Earworm," Ed said casually.

  "Birdstrike," Lazar sighed.

  Everyone's gaze turned to the still silent Errol. "I haven't thought of one yet."

  "I have to call you something," Wolfjack said, "And I'm certain you don't want your teammates to pick for you."

  "Taranis."

  "It's taken," Wolfjack said. "He works out of Arizona." Errol visibly stiffened. "Most classical deities have shown up at least once in the record of names. A few are even still taken."

  "Just call him Eros until he comes up with something," Ed said.

  "Dude, are you cruising for another beating?" Lazar asked.

  "He's not going to hit me again, at least not so soon after being threatened with getting tossed out."

  "Do you want to get thrown out for not being able to shut your yap?" Wolfjack asked. "Because as I heard, you're already skirting that line."

  "I don't care what you call me, sir," Errol said.

  "Fine. The first thing we're going to do is hover. I'm going to set an altitude, I want you guys to try to match it." Wolfjack lifted off the ground without moving a muscle. He drifted straight up until he was well above roof level, them just stopped. Ed stiffened up as he took off, flying upwards. Lazar kicked off the ground and shot skyward. He overshot the height and let himself fall. As he passed them again, he caught himself and fought to keep a consistent height. He ended up bobbing up and down past the level he was aiming for. Touching the cameo, Errol quietly said the command word and sparking white wings sprouted from his back. At first, he was uncertain how to control his flight, but simply willing himself to go up triggered the downbeat that sent him skyward. He glided into an easy hover at the correct altitude.

  "Oh, man," Kevan said, the fear in his voice drowning out everything else. He twisted the dial on his belt and tapped the control that started the rockets. When he wasn't gaining altitude, he twisted the dial further, until he began to lift off. Wobbling, he flopped onto the ground and tapped off the rockets. Seeing everyone looking down at him, Kevan stood up and tried again. His stance had a great deal of effect on the stability of his flight. Keeping his center of gravity directly above the rockets seemed to be the key. It wasn't as easy at it sounded, and he wobbled dangerously several times. Keeping a steady altitude involved nudging the setting on the dial until his weight was perfectly canceled out by the rockets. It was proving just as finicky as staying upright.

  "Who has to catch Ranger Roy if he falls at this height?" Ed asked.

  "Anyone who can," Wolfjack said.

  "This... ain't easy," Kevan said.

  "Indeed. From what I gather the belt was made using materials not native to Earth, though this was not known at the time. It projects a field which dampens the effects of gravity. My abilities are quite similar," Wolfjack said. "Contrary to appearances, I am not actually flying. I am in geosynchronous orbit at this altitude. I have t
he ability to manipulate the way gravity effects me or an object I am in direct contact with. I can't actually fly, and I have to take into account the motion of the Earth when I try to emulate it. Each of you has a different means to moving about in the air which requires different considerations. Birdstrike apparently has a great deal of trouble maintaining a particular altitude. Ranger Roy needs near-perfect balance."

  "Oh fuck!" Kevan said as he toppled backwards. He arrested his fall by snagging Ed's ankle. With his reduced weight, he didn't drag Ed out of the sky, though they did sink ten feet.

  "Clearly, some practice is required," Wolfjack said. "Under the circumstances, I don't think I'll report that expletive."

  Part 6

  So far from the taller towers of downtown, the Riverside Housing Projects loomed over the district of Southport. With the next tallest buildings at a mere three or four stories, the sixteen-story concrete slabs dominated the area. Their brutal architecture and chain-link encased balconies seemed to be draped in gloom, even in full sunlight. A miasma of despair spread in their shadow, swamping the neighboring streets. An oppressive hopelessness pressed down from the stark towers. Second Street South was barely outside the projects proper, running parallel to first street. Esposito pulled over to the side of the road and parked.

  "That garage over there belongs to one Trey Jaxon Rance," Esposito said, pointing at a blue cinderblock building with two parking bays and a white door. "Better known as TJ Rance. Ex-con, finished parole two years ago. His mother still lives in Riverside."

  "So the chances are good this is the Rance Jerome was talking about," Razordemon said.

  "I wouldn't bet against it."

  "You're still lead, Detective, how do you want to approach this?"

  "You're going to stay outside as backup," Esposito said. "I'm going to go inside and ask a few questions. If Rance cooperates, you were never here."

  "Got it."

  Esposito stepped out of the sedan and walked down the street. He was the only white man in sight on Second Street South, and the looks he got made it clear the locals knew he was a cop. He boldly walked up to the door of TJ's garage and stepped inside. The yellowed vinyl floor tiles were cracked and peeling off the concrete floor. It stank of tire rubber from the wheels stacked high along the wall. A warped Formica countertop split the ill-lit room in two. Two doors exited the room on the far side of the counter. One went to the parking bays, the other opened into a cramped office. Through the open doorway, Esposito saw heaping piles of loose paperwork, scattered tools, grease-stained rags, and automotive parts in various states of disrepair.

  The sad jangle of a half-crushed brass bell alerted the sole occupant of the back room to Esposito's arrival. TJ Rance was big, standing a head taller than Esposito. His arms were as thick as legs, and he had an impressive gut. The wrench he casually rested on his shoulder easily weighed fifty pounds. A bright pink scar ran from the inside corner of his right eyebrow, down his nose, and mangled his nostril. His breath had an eerie whistle to it. "What?" he asked.

  "Detective Esposito, Metro PD," Esposito said, showing his ID.

  "Got a warrant?"

  "Do I need one?"

  "If you want to be on this property. I don't do cop cars, so fuck off."

  "That's most unfortunate, Mister Rance," Esposito said.

  "Most unfortunate," Rance said in a mocking tone. "Last cop I didn't tell to fuck off railroaded me into five to ten. I ain't making that mistake again. Fuck off."

  "All right," Esposito said. "But you should know you've been implicated in a drug operation. I was hoping to hear your side of the story. But, you want me to leave."

  "Whoever said I deal drugs is a damn liar."

  "That's what I thought. I thought 'If TJ Rance is into anything, it's stolen cars.' But they insist that Rance is the man to see about Lucid Blue."

  Rance's eyes narrowed. "Don't talk to me about that shit," Rance said.

  "Then who should I talk to, TJ? Yours is the only name that came up. And they were quite insistent that you knew how to hook a man up. Give me a name and I'm gone."

  "I don't name names."

  "Now that's a shame. You see, since yours is the only name I've got, I'm going to take it to a judge. I'm going to ask for a warrant to toss this place for Lucid Blue. Now, this stuff can fit in tiny containers, and we don't have dogs that can sniff it out yet. So, we're going to have to take apart everything to make sure you haven't got any stashed away in here. Even your spare parts. Probably your lifts too. Assuming you're telling me the truth, how long are you going to be out of operation when we're done? Days? Weeks?"

  "You're a fucking asshole."

  "A name, Rance, that's all it will take to get rid of me. But, if you want to run the risk that some of these parts that fell into your hands happened to be stolen and you didn't know about it. What's going to happen when we check them all out while we're looking for the Blue?"

  "I run a clean shop."

  "But do your suppliers? Your customers?" Esposito asked. "To be honest, I don't care what kind of petty stuff your associates are into. I care about the stuff that's dropping gang bangers on to Fourteenth Street. But if I have to put the pressure on you to run it down..."

  Rance muttered a few choice profanities. "Sammy Sham."

  "Does he have a real name?"

  "Beddle. Sam Beddle. Lives with his Grand-momma down at the bottom of Southport. He's the one you want to ask about this Blue shit."

  "Thank you, TJ, you have a nice day now." Esposito turned to leave, but paused. "You'd better be telling me the truth."

  Rance glared at Esposito's back as he left.

  "You shouldn't have left my car," Esposito said.

  "Why? Oh." Razordemon looked back at the sedan. Someone had sprayed the words 'cop car' on it in bright yellow paint, multiple times. Esposito opened the door and looked inside.

  "Used to be they'd take the radio too."

  Errol tried not to fidget as he sat in the waiting room. The room was dominated by soft beiges, polished chrome, and glass. The main exceptions were the white ceiling and the pale wood of the reception desk. He loosened his tie and looked around again. The Mercer Clinic looked more like an upscale office park than a mental health facility. Errol had expected a rathole like the office the social worker had before his grandfather took custody of him. A dark-haired woman in her mid-thirties with black-framed glasses and a gray pencil skirt came out of the back.

  "Mister Rickard?"

  Errol fixed his tie and stood up. He was still dressed in his Leyden Academy uniform. The woman headed down an unremarkable corridor and opened a nondescript, pale wood door. She motioned inside with a clipboard. Errol stepped through and she closed the door behind him. Inside there were two beige couches and two beige chairs arrayed in a rectangle along the diagonal of the room. One of the walls of the room was glass and looked out onto a courtyard with a fountain and a small pond. In the chair furthest from both the glass wall and the door sat a mostly bald man. Short, dark hair ringed the sides and back of his head. He wore a lime green sweater vest over a pastel green button-down shirt.

  "Good afternoon, I am Doctor Lindenbaum, but you can call me Carl. Take a seat anywhere."

  "Is this a group session?" Errol asked.

  Lindenbaum looked over the empty seats. "No, it's just us today." Errol sat on the couch nearer the door, in the corner further from Doctor Lindenbaum. "Before we begin, do you have any questions?"

  "When you report, who hears what goes on in here?"

  "I want to make this as clear as I can," Lindenbaum said. "When I make a report, it is in non-specific terms about the sort of progress made. I do not, and cannot, give details of what is discussed. After all, I'm here to help you, and I can't do that if you're afraid to be honest."

  "I understand,
sir."

  "Call me Carl."

  "I can't do that."

  "And why not?"

  "It's disrespectful to be overly familiar with your elders."

  "How old do I look to you?"

  "You've earned a doctorate, that makes you my elder in terms of achievement if nothing else."

  "I see. Even if I've asked you to use my name, it's disrespectful to do so?"