Cooper sputtered again. “Wh-what? What’s that supposed to ...?”
Shockwave and Powerhouse exchanged a bewildered glance, but Takayasu got it. “Do it.”
“Wait!” Cooper shouted. “What the hell are you two—?!”
Vortex gestured for him to calm down once more. “Don’t. Move.”
Before Cooper could react or respond, Vortex’s lasers flashed into being, the twin beams shooting from his eyes, through Cooper’s transparent force field, and slicing off Cooper’s right ear.
Cooper screamed, his hands bolting to the side of his head — one of them collided with the ear as it fell, knocking it upward and sending it bouncing against the top and side of his bubble. There was very little blood, but a little smoke sizzled through his fingers.
Cooper’s bubble shrank part way, then blinked out altogether.
Powerhouse and Shockwave descended upon him, but Michael reached him first, slapping a psi-jammer against his forehead. The band snapped into place, pinching his fingers where they clutched at his wound. When he yanked his hand free, the device activated, and Cooper’s whole body went rigid.
“Mark, Lincoln,” Michael ordered, “keep an eye on him. If it looks like he’s—”
Shockwave waved him off. “I got it, I got it, I know the drill.” Powerhouse just nodded.
Takayasu turned back as Vortex completed a somersault from the roof onto the third floor walkway, his cape flaring around him with the same élan as always. As Vortex gripped the railing to repeat the process down to the second floor ...
Heaven forbid he should just take the stairs.
... Michael noticed that he seemed to be favoring his right arm — not that this did anything to diminish the Olympic-quality grace behind the maneuver.
“Should we detain him?”
Michael glanced over as Pendler approached. “Excuse me, Ensign?” he asked, his irritation clear.
Pendler shuffled, uncomfortable. “I mean ... he’s a vigilante, isn’t he, sir? You keep just letting him come and go—”
“Yes, and speaking of coming and going, what the hell where you doing on the upper floors during the fight?”
Pendler averted his eyes and half-shrugged, avoiding Michael’s gaze. “I was, you know, helping the civilians evacuate. I tried to help where I could.”
“Yes, by firing your V9 at a rogue encased in a force field.”
“Well, the regular cops pulled back, so I, uh—”
“Forget it.” Michael looked meaningfully around the courtyard, at the multi-broken fence, the disarrayed pool chairs, the scattering of stucco beneath the damaged buildings. “Let’s try to get this mess under control. Why don’t you see to that, Ensign?”
Downcast, Pendler nodded and scampered off. Michael saw that Vortex had made it to the ground, and they met on the other side of the pool.
“Thanks,” Michael said as they came together. “I was stumped.”
“You would’ve thought of something.”
“Probably. But you ended it that much sooner. I’m glad you thought of the lasers — you usually prefer to use your namesake.”
Vortex shrugged. “I would’ve compressed his ass if I’d had a clear shot. But lasers are light—”
“— and his shield was transparent. Like I said, glad you were here. Though for future reference, it might help if Davison Electronics could design a real-life, hand-held laser gun. You can shoot the stuff from your eyes — how hard can a gun be?”
Vortex chuckled and looked around. The few remaining tenants were starting to come out, and the more enthusiastic among them were pointing at Vortex. “I’d better step away now. Gotta maintain the mystique.”
Michael smirked. “Get out of here before someone tries to sue you for this fiasco.”
Vortex laughed, but he was already backing away toward the courtyard exits. “Hey, I’m not to blame this time. You guys did all this before I got here.”
Michael looked around again. “Yeah, this has not been one of our more subtle assignments.” He waved Vortex away. “Scat.”
Vortex saluted and took off at a run.
THE SHINING STAR
“Verify all ships have fully powered down their prolight cells. Save all the energy we can, Larr.”
“Understood. All prime fields are minimal, prolight cells powered down, Callin. Veils in place, orbit established.”
“Grand Lord Callin, Lord Larr ...”
“Go ahead, Naltin.”
“Spit it out, Naltin.”
“As you requested, I’ve scanned for convert activity. I regret to inform you that I’ve found many readings, particularly in the current hemisphere.”
“ ... damn ...”
“All right ... All right, further analysis: Just how bad is it? How many at Grand level?”
“ ... Numerous spikes indicate Grand converts. One spike is coming through particularly strong right now, from a continent to port.”
“How strong?”
“Three active readings, all Grand Level, within very close proximity. It’s almost certainly a convert altercation.”
“Larr, how quickly can we shift orbit to observe?”
“... Already done.”
“Larr, bring up the image.”
“... Magnifying image ...”
“... Compensating for atmospheric interference ...”
“...”
“... Look there. That one. He’s wearing a cape.”
“A member of their ruling council? A convert?”
“Naltin, we have little to no data regarding these people’s social or hierarchical structure. A cape might just be a fashion statement to them.”
“Yes, but he’s the only one wearing one.”
“True.”
“... And he just ended the fight.”
“True.”
“Curious ... I’m seeing four converts down there, four who we just watched use their enhanced abilities. Correct?”
“Of course.”
“Don’t say ‘of course,’ Larr. Scanners are only reading three converts in the area we’re observing.”
“That can’t be right.”
“See for yourself.”
“... Huh.”
“...”
“So ... do we move on?”
“... We’ve come a very long way already, and paid a high price doing so.”
“...”
“If we keep going, on the vague hope that our next stop might prove better ... how much longer will the stasis fields hold? They’re on the verge of breaking down as it is.”
“...”
“How much longer?”
“Not long ...”
“So what do we do? Pick a good spot and land and hope for the best?”
“...”
“... Naltin, keep a visual lock on this one. The one with the cape.”
“Why him?”
“Why not? He arrived last but put an end to the conflict in short order. He’s the only one we’ve seen who wears a cape, which might mean something to these people — how can we be sure it doesn’t?”
“Callin, I’m not sure what you’re—”
“I’ll go down, alone, and approach this individual one-on-one.”
“Grand Lord—!”
“Alone? Surrounded by converts on an alien world, which has no record we can locate of formal first contact with another race? ... With due respect to the Grand Lord, have you lost your mind?”
“Lord Larr, Chief Naltin, I am perfectly capable of defending myself. But if either of you have any other suggestions, I am willing to listen.”
“...”
“Naltin, maintain geosynchronous orbit. The veil should protect us from detection, but if any converts launch into the upper stratosphere, you are to withdraw the fleet beyond the planet’s natural satellite.”
“Yes, Grand Lord. Should we wake Della or Charl?”
“... No, not yet.”
“Yes, Grand Lord.”
“
Larr, if you would accompany me to the airlock?”
“Of course.”
“...”
“Larr, truly, do you have anything else to suggest?”
“... No, I don’t. I still don’t like you going down alone, but I guess we’ve been left with precious few options ... I wish Jere was still with us.”
“... Yes ...”
“... Here, don’t forget this. Try not to fry it on the way down.”
“Thank you, Larr. How much will I be able to count on it?”
“Prudently. We’ve been recording and analyzing nonstop since we arrived, studying the native broadcasts, cross-referencing them with older signals we picked up over the last seventy light-years and closing. But I wish we had more time for syntax breakdown. They have many different languages, and you just now selected this particular region, so—”
“I understand.”
“Here, let me help you ...”
“All right ... Larr, I ... I hope I can make this work. Without Jere, without my father ...”
“Grand Lord Callin Lan, you are the Shining Star. And I will follow wherever you lead.”
VORTEX AND SHINING STAR
Driving the same nondescript grey sedan he always used when heading out as Vortex, Steve made his way back to Davison Electronics, where he still lived behind his dad’s— that is, his business office (he’d never gotten used to that concept). He insisted on driving himself for these missions, never letting Alan or Ardette come along, so that if he were ever officially nailed for his vigilantism, they could not be held culpable, courtesy of plausible deniability (and to avoid explaining how he got his cybernetic eyes, the unspoken plan was to pass himself off as a paranormal — not a far-fetched concept). The sedan was just an ordinary car, except for one indulgence: As he drove through the streets, any and all traffic lights along his path would cycle to green when he got within a quarter-mile of them, thanks to a signal emitted from the base of the radio antennae.
Steve had removed his mask and psi-band (which offered partial protection from psionic attacks) and pulled a khaki long coat over his Vortex uniform, his Davison Electronics ID on the lapel. His right shoulder was hurting again; he knew he shouldn’t have somersaulted down the apartment railings, but since people had seen him by then, he’d felt the usual need for some dazzle. Maybe he would have Walker take another crack at it once he was out of uniform. At least he hadn’t come home with any new injuries; Alan would’ve had a field day with that.
The sun was setting as Steve drove up to the grounds entrance and rolled down his window. The guard at the western gatehouse recognized him and prompted the sliding, electrified fence to open — Steve slipped his gloves off so he could return the guard’s friendly wave.
He pulled the car around behind the two buildings where he slept and where he trained. Shutting off the engine, he collected his mask and gloves and stepped out of the car. He had just beeped the lock when a pulse of light from above brightened the area; it was faint, but his eyes detected it right away. He looked up into the early-evening sky for the source, but—
“Regards.”
Steve practically jumped out of his skin! He whirled around, backing into the car so hard the door handle dug into his ass, and went into a fighting stance.
A young man stood not ten feet from him, a man who had not, could not have been there when he parked the car not fifteen seconds ago.
Where the hell did he come from?!
To add to the enigma, the man was wearing a costume, a full-on superhero-looking uniform — and, Steve had to admit, a pretty damned awesome one at that. His body was covered in a form-fitting, shimmery, vibrant silvery-white material; it looked semi-metallic, not unlike Steve’s own uniform. Flowing around and off his shoulders was a deeper-silver, kick-asscape, and he wore gloves, boots, and a belt that matched that color, though not the cape’s luster — the cape looked almost as if it were metal, except that it rippled in the gentle breeze.
He was also wearing what Steve initially took as very dark skiing goggles, but then he realized they were too thin, molding to the stranger’s face a little too perfectly. Were they made of fabric, or even latex? Maybe it was supposed to be a mask—
Oh, shit! I’m not wearing my mask! And his Vortex uniform was plainly visible through his open coat! Shit!
Then the young man spoke again, and it was weird enough to distract Steve from his panic — the man’s mouth moved, but the words that followed were out of sync with his lips. “I saw you in the opposition earlier,” he said in an otherwise perfectly normal male voice. “I would want to learn about you. Please.”
Okay ... so maybe there was little point in Steve’s trying to hide his face now — especially since he had just been standing there with his mouth open (or, as Shockwave would put it, “like a dumbass”). Plus, did he really know who Steve actually was? It wasn’t like he had a famous face or anything.
So Steve relaxed his stance and did his best to roll with the situation: “Ah. You saw the fight, did you?”
A moment passed before the stranger replied in that same, out-of-sync way, “Yes, I did. I was enraptured, as rapidly and clipped you finished the battle. I resolved, you could be the best person in order to help me, to offer me instruction and the guidance.”
The stranger’s speech was accented, too; it sounded sort of Eastern European, or maybe Russian? So his translator, however it worked, fell short of perfect in more than just its odd grammar and syntax. Steve thought he spotted it, too — a small, flat, grey device was hooked at the collar of the young man’s tunic, looking too droll to be a fixed part of the guy’s otherwise spectacular suit.
Furthermore, something about the young man’s face didn’t seem quite right. He looked for the most part like a young Caucasian, but his features — hell, his whole head, really — were too narrow, too angular. And his dark hair was kind of wacky, lying flat as if it were thinning, yet still too dense to show any scalp.
But then, judging from his magical appearance, he must be paranormal, and he certainly wouldn’t be the first paranormal who physically changed when he got his power. Poor guy.
Steve realized he had been staring long enough to be rude. “Well ... I, uh, I guess I can try to help you, depending on what exactly you want. But I have to say, I don’t appreciate your dropping in unannounced like this. I wear the mask for a reason, you know.”
He paused to let the guy explain himself, but the stranger just did something with his head that might have qualified as a nod.
Who is this guy?
Not knowing what else to say, Steve asked, “How did you sneak in here, anyway? Can you turn invisible? Teleport?” Then he smiled and added, “Or did you just fly in?”
The guy answered, “Yes, I fly in.”
Jeez, I should know better than to make that joke these days.
“You’re lucky,” he said. “There’s been a lot of talk about our installing aerial security around the property, for cases just like this. You might’ve gotten yourself zapped out of the sky.”
“I please ask forgiveness,” the stranger said, “if this was an improper action from my side. I was not confident, as it is still further to proceed. I will seek a review of the best way to act, that we work together on this road before us.”
Okay ... okay, this is happening too damn fast. I just got back from my second rogue fight of the day, I’m sore, I’m tired, I’m hungry, and now a total stranger with a high-tech translator has flown onto our company-cum-government property and sounds like he might want me to, what, help him become a superhero? This is weird even by my standards. Thank God Alan isn’t seeing this or he’d probably shi—
“Steve?”
Steve closed his eyes. Oh, thank you, Murphy’s Law.
“Steve? Are you still out here?” Alan appeared around the corner of the office building. “Ah! Why haven’t you ...?” Alan was pleased to see he had returned, but the smile dropped from his face when he spotted the mystery guest. “U
h, Steve?”
Steve kept most of his attention on the stranger and strove to maintain a light, casual tone. “Alan, you might want to keep your distance ...”
But, of course, Alan overreacted, fumbling in his jacket pocket until he pulled out a V9, which he had taken to carrying everywhere since the attacks on the property last year.
The stranger may or may not have known what a V9 was, but he recognized it as a weapon: His stance tightened as he turned sideways and pointed his flattened right hand, fingers forward, at Alan — it was reminiscent of Shockwave’s familiar method of attack.
Steve jumped between them. “Whoa! Whoa! Chill out, both of you!”
Alan reluctantly began to stand down, then tensed up again as he stammered, “Ste— Vortex, you— you’re not wearing your mask, Ste— Vortex!”
“Alan,” he said, exasperated, “you already called me ‘Steve’ three times as you walked out here, so you might as well drop the ruse.”
“But, you— your mask!”
Steve shrugged. “It’s not like I was expecting company, Alan. He just showed up.” Then he added, meaningfully, “He flew in here.”
Alan looked back to the stranger, who had remained still and quiet during their exchange. Realizing the gravity of the situation, Alan lowered his stun gun.
“Okay,” Steve said to the stranger. “His weapon’s down. Will you please lower your ... hand?”
A few more tense seconds passed, and Steve worried that he was about to face his third fight of the day. But the stranger finally dropped his arm.
“I do not value that weapons pointed at my person.”
Alan retorted, “Well we don’t ‘value’ unannounced guests dropping in out of the sky and—”
Steve cut in, “Why don’t we all try to relax and move forward. Okay?”
The stranger still looked a little affronted, but he did his strange possible-nod again.
Alan glanced at Steve, who shrugged and said in a low voice, “I’m still trying to figure the guy out.” Then, louder, he said, “Our new friend here watched the fight with the rogue back at the apartment complex, and it sounds like he wants me to be his mentor. I think.”
Paranormals (Book 2): We Are Not Alone Page 9
