The speedster reached to his neck and pulled the mask off his face. Christ, he was just a skinny little kid himself. The Maori boy couldn’t have been more than twenty. Dark fuzz peppered his upper lip, and his head was a mop of black curls. His wide eyes darted between them, but they kept coming back to the gun she aimed at him.
“Jesus, lady, take it easy with that thing. I got a message for you from the Blind Man. Information.”
She growled and he looked even more scared. Taking pity on the kid, she uncocked the revolver and let her arm fall to the side. The Carpenter glanced at her and eased up his grip, but he didn’t let go completely.
“Yeah?” the Carpenter said. “How much is he charging for it this time? I got a soul I’m just dying to sell.”
“No charge. Mates’ rates.”
She shared a glance with the Carpenter. “Bullshit.”
“No, really,” Quick-fire said. “You guys have got a common enemy.”
Ah, so that’s it. “The Blind Man’s taken a disliking to Quanta then,” she said. “He wants us to do his dirty work for him.”
Quick-fire nodded. “Something like that.”
“Piss off.”
“No, wait. The Blind Man says it will help you get the boy back.”
She frowned beneath her mask. It smelled fishy, but then everything attached to the Blind Man did. She could see the same thought going through Solomon’s brain. His grip tightened on Quick-fire’s white suit.
“Think I should let him go?” he said.
She tapped her cheek with her free hand and considered it. A dark part of her was enjoying watching the poor kid squirm. But finally she nodded. “Go on, then.”
He let go, brushed the creases out of the kid’s suit, and stepped back. Quick-fire eyed them warily for a few seconds, then he seemed to breathe a bit easier.
“This information,” she said. “How’d your boss come by it?”
“A guy came around looking for new recruits. One of Quanta’s boys. The Blind Man didn’t like that. We got hold of him, and the Blind Man poked his mind to see what came out.”
She couldn’t see a lie on his face, and it seemed like the sort of thing the old man would do. “All right. Talk.”
His gaze flicked over them again, and he took another couple of breaths to calm himself. “The guy, Quanta, his real name’s Morgan Shepherd.”
Niobe grabbed a pen and paper from the table. “S-H-E-P-H-A-R-D?”
“Nah, —H-E-R-D. I think.”
Quanta = Morgan Shepherd, she scribbled. “What else?”
“He’s definitely got the boy you’re looking for. The boss wasn’t sure, but he thinks they’re trying to mess with his brain.”
“His brain? Why?”
Quick-fire shrugged. “Dunno. But Doll Face is the one doing the messing.”
Her heart dropped into her intestines. She’d been blocking out that particular thought, hoping Quanta had some other use for Doll Face. What tortures had Sam already been through? Jesus Christ, he’s just a kid!
“Spook?” the Carpenter said quietly.
She realised her fingers were trembling around her gun. Hot anger pulsed through her in time with her heartbeat. She forced herself to breathe. Getting worked up wouldn’t help anyone.
Did Quanta think he could control Doll Face? Supercriminals had tried it before, and they always regretted it at the end, when the end was a long time coming.
“If we’re gonna stop this guy, we need a location,” the Carpenter said. “Tell me you’ve got that for us.”
Quick-fire’s lips formed a line. “Not exactly.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” she said.
“The boss could only get an image. He drew a picture.” Quick-fire pulled out a slip of paper from a hidden pocket.
Niobe was skeptical about an old blind man’s artistic ability, but when she unfolded the paper, she had to stifle a gasp. The picture could’ve passed for a photograph. It depicted part of the Neo-Auckland skyline. She could make out the Peace Tower standing tall above all the other buildings. But it was far away. The picture had been taken from a fair way south.
Solomon pointed to the other side of the picture, away from the skyline. “Are those chimneys? Industrial chimneys?”
She studied it for a moment, then nodded. There were two bigger than all the others, far in the distance. From their tips, steam rolled into the sky. She’d seen them before.
“The power station,” she and the Carpenter said together.
The Carpenter swept a bunch of documents off the map of Neo-Auckland on the table. He stabbed the point with his finger. The power station was a few miles south of central Neo-Auckland, a little way past the edge of the industrial district. It was a coal and gas station that provided power for most of Neo-Auckland and the surrounding towns.
Solomon looked at the picture again, then back at the map. “The land’s flat there. You can see those chimneys for miles around.”
Damn it, he was right. She glanced back at Quick-fire, who stood forgotten in the corner. “This is all he’s got? He can’t pinpoint it more closely?”
Quick-fire shrugged. “Sorry, lady.”
She put a hand on her forehead and tried to think. “It’s no good. There’s too many places for him to hide.”
“When he was yakking to us on the radio,” the Carpenter said, “there was all that noise, and that echo. A factory, or a warehouse maybe.”
A warehouse. Something dim sparked inside her head. She snatched a pile of documents off the floor and started rifling through them. Where was it?
“Spook?” the Carpenter said.
“Daniel O’Connor was involved in a raid back in the late fifties before he joined Met Div. A kidnapping. There were these three low-level supercriminals doing ransom jobs. They got busted, and their hideout was a warehouse in the industrial district. They’d outfitted it for holding captives. Just the place for a budding supervillain.” She dropped the stack and moved to another. Where the bloody hell was it?
Her hands seized the report. “Got it.” She scanned the page and flicked through the summarised case notes. “The coppers seized the warehouse. It doesn’t say what happened to it, but after the trial it would have had to be returned to the owners or auctioned off to a private party.” Maybe O’Connor himself bought it. He’d get it for a song, and who would be better placed to know it was available?
“Private party, eh?” Solomon tapped the address of the warehouse. “I think we just scored ourselves an invitation.”
Her heart was doing a trapeze act in her chest. She matched the address to the map and circled the spot with her pen. “We have to move. No telling how long he’s going to stay there.”
The Carpenter nodded, his face split with an infectious grin.
Quick-fire hadn’t moved. She put her hand on his shoulder and firmly directed him towards the door. “Thank the Blind Man for us.”
“Sure.”
“One more thing,” she said as she pushed him into the hallway. “Tell him the next person he sends to my house gets returned without kneecaps.”
The boy’s eyes widened. Niobe shut the door in his face. She heard a rush of air as he streaked away.
“Poor kid,” Solomon said. “Sounds like he’s running fast enough to set the stairs on fire.”
“They’ve gotta learn somehow.” She pulled off her mask.
Solomon folded up the map and shoved it in his pocket. “Meet you downstairs?”
She nodded and put the note with Quanta’s real name on the table. We’re coming for you, Morgan Shepherd.
Solomon opened the front door, checked outside to see if Quick-fire was gone, then turned back. “Hey. Good work, mate.”
She smiled, and it felt good. “Yeah, you too, partner.”
He tipped his hat and disappeared into the hallway.
Gabby was standing when Niobe went back into the bedroom. The tearstains on her cheeks were gone, but her eyes were still bloodshot and r
immed with pink. For a moment, they stared at each other. Niobe’s excitement deflated when she saw the lines straining Gabby’s face.
—It’s okay, Niobe finally signed. It was a friend. Kind of. We’ve got a location on the kid. She tried another smile, but it was harder this time.
The corners of Gabby’s lips twitched upwards as well, just for an instant, but her eyes didn’t match the smile.
—Tell the police. Stay.
—Gabby….
“Stay,” Gabby said.
Niobe’s heart dropped into her toes.
—I can’t. The kid’s a meta. Maybe a powerful one. If Met Div gets their hands on him…. Her hands fell. She pictured McClellan lying stretched and dead in the street, his baby in the hands of those arseholes.
Gabby took her by the front of her coat and pulled her close. “Please don’t go alone.”
“I’ll have Solomon with me.”
“That’s not what I mean.”
Niobe tried to kiss her, but Gabby turned her face away. God, she felt like such a piece of shit. She settled for giving Gabby a peck on the cheek. No reaction.
Niobe sighed, took her holster from where it hung on the bedpost, and strapped it over her shoulder.
—I’ll be back soon, she signed.
Gabby turned away and put a hand across her eyes. All Niobe wanted to do was take her in her arms, pull her close, kiss her, tell her she was sorry, she’d stay, she wasn’t going anywhere. She reached out a hand…
…and let it drop. She had a job to do.
“I love you,” she said, knowing Gabby wouldn’t hear her with her back turned. “More than anything. I’ll get you out of this place. I promise.”
She slipped her gun into its holster and went out of the room.
20: Packaged and Delivered
Grim
Real name:
Kang Shen
Powers:
Danger sense, luck.
Notes:
The most controversial member of the Wardens. Claims to have become metahuman in 1941, a full three years before Robert Oppenheimer became Dr Atomic. Whether he was actually metahuman or not was hotly debated. During the battle against the Nagasaki Horrors, Grim developed a reputation amongst Japanese civilians as an infallible good luck charm. When mandatory metahuman registration began, he fled the country, always escaping pursuing police officers by minutes through improbably lucky circumstances.
—Notes on selected metahumans [Entry #0556]
It rang once, then he picked up. “Senior Sergeant Wallace.”
“Do you know who this is?” Niobe said into the phone.
There was a pause. “Vigilante bitch.”
“Spare me.” Niobe leaned against the wall of the public phone box and stared at the rows of chimneys billowing smoke into the evening sky. “How are those metas we took out for you? Any of them squealed on Quanta yet?”
Silence.
“Didn’t think so,” she said. She cradled the phone against her shoulder, put a Pall Mall between her lips, and lit up. “Look, I didn’t call for a pissing contest.”
“Could’ve fooled me. Want to turn yourself in?”
“Not particularly. I’ll send you a cheque for that window I broke when all this is done. Then we can call it even.”
The grunt he gave was probably the closest he ever came to laughing. “What about the light bulb you shot?”
“Add it to my tab.”
Neither of them said anything for a moment. The Carpenter was leaning on the car, a pair of binoculars pressed to his eyes. Nothing moved at Quanta’s warehouse, but that didn’t mean nobody was home. Old shipping crates and a simple chain-link fence surrounded the building. Unlike the rest of Neo-Auckland, the industrial district didn’t take much design advice from Flash Gordon.
“We’ve got a common enemy,” she said. “Quanta.”
“That right? Here I was thinking you two might be good friends.”
“I don’t care if you believe me or not.” She took a long drag on the cigarette. “But if I were you, I’d want to come pay a visit to thirty-three Hakea Avenue. I’d want to bring a lot of guys.”
He grunted. “I’ll find you, vigilante.”
“Until then, Senior Sergeant.” She hung up.
A few more puffs of the cigarette, then she stubbed it out half-finished and pulled her mask back down. She made her way back to Solomon and the car. Gabby had done a fine job on the Ford. It ran better than ever. Niobe wished she’d remembered to thank her properly.
“Met Div will be here in twenty,” she said. “See a way in?” She adjusted her goggles to get a better look at the warehouse in the darkening evening. The main warehouse had a handful of smaller buildings attached to it, all painted a horrible not-quite-pine-green colour that had never been fashionable.
He lowered the binoculars and pointed. “There’s a couple of roller doors there, the kind you back a truck up to. And when we were driving past, I saw another entrance that you could get a forklift through. I don’t know about you, but I’m not too keen to try opening any of those.”
She shook her head. They looked like they were locked down tight, and besides, Quanta and his goons would poke them full of holes the instant they went in. “What, then?”
“You see there, on the south-west corner?”
She adjusted her magnification. Just peeking around the corner she could see…. “Stairs.”
“I figure it’ll take us up to an office,” he said. “Maybe even a switchbox if we’re lucky. Then we just do a top-down sweep. Easy-peasy.”
She drew her gun, checked the rounds, and tugged her bowler hat down. “Still remember how to do this, old man?”
He grinned and brandished his freshly-grown quarterstaff. “Kids these days. No respect, I tells ya.”
They broke into a run, sticking to the shadows. Solomon led the way down the side of the chain-link fence, taking them away from the road. Nothing else moved.
The Carpenter sped up to a sprint, raised his quarterstaff, and thrust it onto the concrete in front of him. The wood bent like a pole-vaulter’s pole for an instant. Then something in his eyes flared, and the staff snapped straight. She got a last look at him launching himself over the fence, cape flying behind him, before she sucked in a lungful of air and slipped into shadow.
She went through the fence and kept moving for the stairs on the warehouse’s exterior wall. The concrete shuddered as Solomon landed behind her, hatchet and staff at the ready. A moment later, she exhaled and came out of the shadow, gun aimed up the metal stairs, scanning for threats. Clear.
She glanced at the Carpenter and jerked her head. He nodded and silently backed towards her, guarding their rear. A floodlight cast the side of the warehouse into sharp relief, which wasn’t doing it any favours. The green paint was faded and peeling, and the concrete bore half a hundred dried oil stains. Nothing fresh, though. It didn’t look like anyone had bothered to show up here in a decade. Is this really Quanta’s hideout? It had to be.
She led the way up the stairs. The door at the top said NO ADMITTANCE in scratched red. She put her ear to the door. Voices. A lot of them. She couldn’t make out what they were saying. Oh yes, this is the place.
The door was locked. Her picks saw to that. Out of the corner of her eye, she watched the Carpenter bounce on the balls of his feet. Her stomach was doing a similar dance. For a moment, doubt crept into her heart. Gabby was right. They shouldn’t be doing this alone. In the old days, they’d have half the Wardens along to deal with someone as crafty as Quanta and his band of metas. Avin and Screecher were classically trained. God knew how many others were pros. It wasn’t quite a suicide mission, but it wasn’t far off.
Then she thought of Sam, of the chill that ran through him when O’Connor elbowed him in the throat. She thought of him sitting alone in darkness, at the mercy of Quanta. Screw the old days. She wasn’t a hero anymore, but she still had a job to do. She could still save this one kid, do this one last good
thing, before she left Earth. Frank had fucked up. She couldn’t.
“Remember the old oath?” the Carpenter whispered. “We are the masked, the hidden, the endless watchers. We are the strangers who guard the world through the night.”
We are every man, the words came automatically.
Their fate is our fate.
So we will stand,
And we will hold back the storm,
Until the light shines through,
Or the night takes us.
She glanced at the Carpenter. He grinned and gave her a thumbs up.
“Shut up and fight.” She cocked her gun and threw open the door.
Morgan closed the false wall in the rear of the warehouse and turned to face the stacks of crates and rusted industrial shelving. He wiped his forehead with a handkerchief. It was done. All the pieces were in place, bar one, and that one would come to him eventually. Sam was looking even worse this time. It wouldn’t be long now.
He stretched his arms above his head. The level of chatter in the warehouse was low. He could hear Tinderbox in the corner boasting about his part in the prisoner extraction, and by the sound of the laughs, he’d attracted quite a crowd. They deserved time to relax after a hard couple of days. Perhaps he’d skip dinner and get an early night himself. Yes, that’d be just the ticket.
A muffled sound came from the other end of the warehouse. Darkness struck the room like a club.
In an instant, Morgan had formed his blade. He used it like a torch, holding it ahead of him to guide his path in the thick blackness. Shouts echoed around the warehouse.
“Standard units,” he yelled as he ran. “Check your targets before you attack. Tinderbox!”
“My lord.” His flames flickered as he trotted towards Morgan, three other metas in tow.
“The main switch bank is in my office. Get these lights back on.”
Tinderbox nodded. “Come on, you lot. At least try to look fearsome, you sacks of meat.”
This wasn’t a power outage. Navigatron had built generators. Those wouldn’t just break down. Morgan’s heart pounded as he moved.
Two cracks echoed, and he thought he caught a tiny muzzle flash on the upper balcony before the darkness swallowed everything again. His people responded with lightning and fire. Someone heavy—Knuckles, maybe—leapt a full story through the friendly fire towards the attacker. He came crashing down on the catwalk above, his shadow flickering against the steel wall. But the attacker was gone. A moment later, the gun barked again from somewhere else, and Knuckles staggered backwards, slumping against the wall. Lightning crackled again, and purple afterimages blinded Morgan for a moment.
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