“You going to join them?” he asks as he takes another long drink.
I heave a sigh. I have to, I don’t want to. I like Domino... of course, I think everyone likes her. “Once they know who I am it won’t take them long to figure out who’s daughter I am. They took my parents, they’re going to suspect something.”
“I’ve never asked, niña, but… you were six? Are you sure it was them? What if everyone was telling the truth, as painful as it sounds. Mira, it doesn’t seem likely everyone including your family would lie to you, does it?”
I’ve been over that moment in my head a million times. I know the psychological effects of reliving a trauma and how an incorrect memory can seem real. Even more so than an actual memory. Am I crazy? Did I imagine what happened?
I look down at my hands. I remember. I remember him taking them and looking me in the eye and telling me I would be okay. It wasn’t a dream, I wasn’t unconscious, it happened.
“It happened, Carlos, I know it did,” I say finally.
“Too bad you’re not Carlos Dominguez... there's gotta be like, a thousand of me out theresans the good looks, of course. Can you fake your identity?”
It’s a thought, and I've definitely considered it, but Epic says it won’t work. I shake my head. “According to Epic, it won’t hold out for anything past state level. There are sealed databases even he can’t get access to. Once I sign, they will run background checks and it will reveal the truth. Better to go in as me and be ready.”
I wheel back over to the suit. I’ve poured my heart into it. I run my hands along the rough exterior. The only smooth portion is the quarter moon shaped faceplate. I could have made the whole thing smooth and shiny, but it didn’t seem like it would look right. I’m glad I didn’t. The shades of red and white really give it a versatile look. Not too dark, not too light. I grin. Okay, it's badass.
“You admire that thing too much, niña.”
“You could be right. Well, I’m not going to accomplish anything more tonight. Stay for a movie?”
He smiles. “Why do you think I came? Your TV is way better than mine.”
It’s a good movie, sci-fi, one of my favorites. Star Trek never gets old. I can’t focus on it, though. My mind wonders back to the ZPF equation. Without something more, I don’t see how it could work. Obviously their understanding of Quantum mechanics is greater than mine. At the same time, it can’t be. It’s a finite field of study, there is only so much to learn and once you have it all, the only place to learn more would be at a place like Cern with a particle accelerator. I’ve read every book, every paper. This isn’t the first time I’ve thought of zero-point energy.
They did it. Somehow it is possible. If it’s possible for them, by golly it’s possible for me.
Phoenix isn’t exactly a bastion of super-powered criminals. Patrols are four-hour shifts taken twice a day. As a probationary member I must be followed by a full-time member at all times. I accepted a week ago and after the forms I had to fill out relieving them of obligation if I die, and the training videos, I was allowed out on patrol. On today’s patrol it’s Mr. Perfect. He’s a nice enough guy but he talks almost nonstop. Ask him one simple question about his energy constructs and he won’t shut up about his magic. As if hem isn’t another creation of the Wardenclyffe incident. Yet, somehow, he is among a group who claim they aren’t. They’re special, they can do magic. They’re special allright, just the kind you treat with medication.
“When I twist my hand this way, and say Ectal-muhabeny it gets really interesting.” He stops long enough to take a bite of his hot dog. This feels surreal to me. We’re standing downtown surrounded by skyscrapers and he’s sitting on his hover-bike, eating a hot dog while I stand against the wall with my arms crossed.
People stop by every few minutes to have their picture taken with Mr. Perfect. Cars honk their horns at the magical man and drivers wave. A few look at me but I haven’t made the news yet, they don’t even know my name. As he smiles for another shot I can’t help but wonder if he named himself.
“Perfect, Arsenal, we have a possible sighting of Vixen downtown, your HUDS will have the exact coordinates,” central chimes over the radio. Mr. Perfect has an earpiece, I tuned in one of my receivers to the right frequency. A red pip popped up on my HUD. Epic creates a least time route for me instantly. Mr. Perfect acknowledges the call, takes one more picture with a very pretty Japanese woman and then hops on his bike. He blasts off on the anti-gravity tech they used for the members who can’t fly. I put my arms straight down with my palms at a forty-five-degree angle and light off my thrusters.
“Epic, let’s shunt power to the Kinetic fields, I don’t want any surprises.”
Affirmative.
The lights on my cannons, life support, and every other non-critical system dim. It would mean I would have to wait a few seconds to charge my IP cannons, but it also gave me 100% shielding.
It might be overkill, as far as we knew her crew was still in lockup. As far as we know.
“Federal Marshals have been notified and have their own agent en route, call sign Bricklayer.” Epic pops up a small window with his stats. Typical fed, all strength.
Mr. Perfect acknowledges them while I focus on flying. We didn’t have far to go, I throw my hands out in front of me to counter my thrust and set the armor down next to a row of tables sitting under the kind of mist sprayer everyone uses to stay cool outside.
I light up my whole sensor suite. The canyon-like walls of the city limit the range I can ‘see.’ But if she’s near, I’ll have her.
“Epic, tap into local traffic cams and see if you can’t spot her.”
He pings acknowledgment on my screen. Hacking isn’t easy for him, it increases the chance of being detected. However, a good first patrol wouldn’t go unnoticed. Also, I wouldn’t mind having a killer like Vixen off the street. The quicker I can get on the main team—
A piece of lead a half inch wide and almost two inches long blasts through my kinetic shields and hits me square in the face plate. My head snaps back and I’m seeing stars as I stumble backward. Pain blossoms in my stomach and I feel like I’ve been punched. I scramble back trying to find something to cover myself. My kinetic shields are offline and my HUD is blinking in and out of existence. The area around me glows with a pink hue. I blink away the stars and I see Mr. Perfect standing over me, waving his hands in complicated patterns forming a shield.
“What the hell was that?” he asks.
I don’t know. My HUD reboots and Epic is back in full control. There is a scratch on my faceplate. Un-freaking-believable.
“Can your shield stop a fifty caliber sniper rifle firing tungsten penetrators?” I ask him.
“Hell no. It can keep them from seeing you. Whoever is firing that kind of ordinance isn’t likely to blind fire.”
I nod. No, not likely.
“Epic, do you have a twenty on the shooter?”
Affirmative. Two miles due east, on the roof of the Park building.
“He’s two miles to the East. Holy hell, who could make a shot like that?” I ask Mr. Perfect. He shrugs.
“Okay, hold the shield, my batteries are recharged. I’m going to take off and hit him. You follow as quickly as you can.” He opens his mouth to argue but stops himself. I can imagine he doesn’t want to get hit by one of the rounds.
I nod and hold up my hand, three, two one. Thrusters blow the debris and dirt from around me as I shoot up into the air through the glass of the outdoor cafe. I hope the Diamondbacks insurance covers that. I don’t want to have to write a check for it.
“Epic, show me the math.”
A string of calculations flash to life in front of my eyes. Whoever made this shot is either the best shooter in the world, or someone with super powered help. I divert all power to the kinetic shielding. No doubt the only reason I’m still alive is because I had full power to them when I landed. Tungsten penetrators? Why would the shooter load armor piercing rounds?
> The roof appears from behind the last building and I can see him; he’s dressed all in black, with a ninja mask and a hulking sniper rifle shouldered. The barrel alone had to be three feet long. He brings it up to bear on me. I don’t want to risk another hit. I swerve hard as fire leaps out of the barrel. I don’t have time to aim, I eyeball with my kinetic lance and fire. The concrete roof in front of him explodes. He flies through the air to land on his back ten feet away. The rifle rolls from his hands to clatter against the pebbled roof.
“Charge IP Cannons, fifty percent.”
They light up green as the man jumps to his feet. He draws two pistols so fast it was like I didn’t see him move. Each one spits out twenty rounds. The shield absorbs all their energy and the bullets drop harmlessly to the ground.
“Who are you?” I demand in my synthesized voice.
“Help me, please,” he replies. Help him? He’s trying to kill me. He drops his pistol and pulls out a grenade. It might cause collateral damage but—he runs straight at me.
My thrusters flare to life and I’m airborne.
“Epic, why did you—”
Below me the man screams as the grenade bursts to life. It isn’t explosive, it’s thermite. A fountain of white fire burns into the air like a kid's firework. The grenade engulfs him in orange flame. His screams of agony fade as the chunk of charred meat that used to be a human being falls to the rooftop.
I guide myself to land. My heart thumps in my chest and my stomach feels like it’s in trouble.
“Open faceplate,” I gurgle. It opens a second before I spew vomit on the roof. I drop to my knees and heave again. I try not to look at the puddle of molten metal and flesh that used to be a man. That could have been me. Titanium melts at three thousand degrees. Thermite burns at four thousand. I vomit one more time, the last of my breakfast coming up. I can’t stop the shaking as I roll over onto my back to look at the sky. The faceplate slides shut a few seconds before I hear the whine of Mr. Perfect’s hover bike.
“Holy shi—what did you do?”
Between the tungsten rounds and the thermite, this sure feels like it was directed at me.
“You sure you don’t want any time off?” Kate asks me. We’re hanging out in her office, not the hidden HQ. She says she prefers the quiet and none of the guys from the California team can hit on her if she’s not there. I’m pretty sure she means Triple Threat. He’s three copies of the same person. The only difference is their powers, strength, speed, and flight.
“No, I’m good, I think. I’ve never seen anyone die before. Let alone as horrible—” I shake my head as the image of him burning to death haunts me. I desperately want to take the armor off suddenly, but I’ve still found no way to do it without my equipment at the workshop.
She’s sipping a diet soda and looking out the window of her office. “I’m really sorry. I can’t imagine how awful it must have been. I don’t know if it will make you feel any better, but I’ve been there. My first year out I was in the field when a F4 strong man beat up his girlfriend. We had more members back then. It took the whole team to subdue him. You think an F4 is only a little more powerful than a F3 like Luke, but no. It’s exponential. The coroner’s office had to scrape her up with shovels.” She shivered as she spoke.
She’s not the only one, I can’t make my hands stop shaking. I still can’t understand. Why he would kill himself as a last ditch effort to kill me? I’ve put exactly one person in jail, and I’m pretty sure Rhino wasn’t behind this.
“Any ideas why he was trying to kill me?”
She cocks her head to the side and raises an eyebrow at me. “What? Oh, no honey he… was a psychopath. All Deadman wanted was to kill every person with powers he could get his hands on. He’s murdered dozens of F1’s. You just happened to be there. He could have just as easily gone after Pierre.” Something about her theory didn’t sit right with me. If any super would do, why load armor piercing rounds? Why have a thermite grenade? He carried practically the only two weapons on Earth capable of hurting my armor.
“What’s an F1, anyways? I thought it didn’t start counting until three?” I ask.
“Normally we do. F1’s can’t do any real property damage. They have passive powers or useless ones. Since the Wardenclyffe incident in 1903 there have always been those who aren’t as… blessed as you and I.”
“Kate, I’ve told you, I don’t have super powers.”
She smiles like I’m trading an inside joke with her. “Well until you get out of the armor, the boys in the lab aren’t going to believe you. They all think you’re mentally controlling the metal, or you’re some kind of sentient construct.”
I would say those things are crazy, but we live in the kind of world where all of it is possible.
“I’ve heard of people with powers who are super intelligent, able to craft things no one else can,” she says looking sideways at me, “There aren’t many, but a few.”
I’m taken aback enough to freeze. It never occurred to me my intelligence could be a super power. But… no, I shake my head. “I worked for it. I didn’t wake up one day and build this suit. I’ve scraped, clawed, and struggled for every inch. I did the same things every other engineer has done, I just did it four times faster.”
Crap, did I give too much away?
“There’s a pool you know, in the main clubhouse.”
“I don’t swim.” When you can’t kick your legs, water is terrifying. I shudder just thinking about it.
“No, silly,” she laughs, “A betting pool. On what you are. Care to give me a hint? I’ll happily split the winnings with you.” I think about it for a minute. I like her, I really do and she seems to like me. I don’t want to let any of these people in, but equally, I don’t want to learn that she’s involved. Can I know for sure? She is only six or seven years older than me which means she couldn’t have worked for Cat-7 when it happened. At the same time, she’s worked with them since she was eighteen years old.
I inhale sharply and push off from the wall. I take the seat next to her.
“Open faceplate.”
The shield slides up revealing my face. I know what she sees, an ordinary girl with brown eyes and the slightly dark skin from her Hispanic mother.
“You’re—just a kid?”
“Close faceplate.” It slams shut. I don’t know why my heart suddenly hurts, but it does. I see her face fall as she realizes. She’s an empath after all.
“I’m in my twenties, hardly a child.” I slide up and head for the door. This was a mistake. Stupid, stupid, stupid.
“Wait, wait. I’m sorry, I just—you weren’t what I expected.” She’s up across the room with a hand on my shoulder. “Please, stay and talk.”
I look down at the floor for a moment. My whole life, since the day of the accident, even when I was recovering in the hospital and they told me I would never walk again, I had one goal. One purpose. Find out the truth. My Uncle never believed me and everyone else thought I was delusional, Carlos never really knew me then, being alone is who I am. If I could have my parents back all would be right. In the meantime, it would be nice to have someone else.
But, not today.
“Maybe some other time.” As I walk toward the skylight, Epic wirelessly signals it to open. I hit the thrusters and in seconds I’m sailing away into the air. Flying always clears my head. With the sun going down I have about two hours of sustained flight time. I angle up and slow down to half speed.
The altimeter rolls past ten thousand feet and I try to switch to hover. It isn’t easy.
I let the calm of the air and the quiet of the altitude settle my mind. I am focused. I’ve worked hard to find the truth. Every piece of evidence has led me to this moment. It also has left me alone. For the first time in years my heart aches for something I haven’t ever had. I do need to be careful, but it sure would be nice to have a girl for a friend.
I wish I could trust all of them. The ECM master alarm tells me I can’t. They’re still tr
ying to track me to my home. Well, time to show them a little something I’ve been working on.
“Epic, stealth mode.”
The HUD changes color from blue to a soft green. The internal lights dim and the sound bafflers kick in. I’m limited to a hundred miles an hour in this mode. I also can’t keep it on forever, I have heat collectors obscuring my trail and at some point I need to dump all the heat. The coup de’grace is my kinetic shields. I’ve tinkered with the frequency, and for a short time, and at a tremendous energy cost, I can project kinetic energy into a wedge which deflects the radar waves around me and not back to the source.
I head home.
The window to my workshop is open when I arrive, a sure sign Carlos has been there. If it were anyone else my security alarms would have triggered an alert. I manage to glide through the window and plant my feet on the floor. The reinforced boards hold. I’m tired, my arms hurt and I’m so ready for bed. The pull bar I have in the center of the room is perfectly angled with the suit’s storage vault.
I reach up and grasp the bar. The magnetic field in the vault overrides the suit’s and as one piece it flings itself at the wall. My chair drives itself over and I lower myself down. It feels good to sit in the flesh, even if it means I can’t walk.
A light breeze blows through my room and clears out some of the hot Phoenix air.
“Oh crap,” Kate says. I spin around and she’s standing three feet from me with a pizza in one hand a six-pack in the other.
“Well, this is a little awkward,” she whispers.
“I’m really sorry,” Kate says for the umpteenth time of the evening. I roll over to the window and slide it shut. As soon as it’s sealed the AC kicks in and the room drops ten degrees in a few seconds.
Arsenal (Full Metal Superhero Book 1) Page 5
