by JD Cole
“This is a matter of global security-”
“Well, that certainly carries more water than ‘national security’, doesn’t it?”
“Yes, it does, so could you please take this seriously?”
“Serious went out the window when you staged a rape. How messed up are you people? You come into my city wasting my time when there are people who actually need my help. If you really want me to take this serious, I can throw you all off the roof and get back to work.”
“You’re not that good,” the leader replied. And he was right. With surprise on his side, Derek could take down five soldiers, three of them in powered armor. But they weren’t cops or standard infantry. Derek knew full-well these guys were trained killers. He’d have to be willing to kill or cripple them to even have a chance of winning a fight, and he wasn’t quite ready to do that until they gave him good reason. For one thing, he wasn’t a murderer—killing the men who’d executed Ashley Benton didn’t count in his mind. For another, the heat would only get more intense if he started killing and maiming government agents. Derek sighed. He was going to have to get home soon before his parents noticed he was missing. What to do, what to do…
First and foremost, he needed to get that crap off his uniform. No way was he leaving it here for them to trace back to R-Tech. He might want to “do business” with that company again someday, and he’d prefer if they weren’t keeping an eye out for him. Unfortunately, the uniform was not exactly machine-washable, and the isotope wasn’t a stain he could just bleach out. He wanted to scream and punch these men for adding yet another headache to his life. He knew there was a possible answer for this, but it took several moments for him to yield to the decision. And when he did, boy did it grate.
“Undine,” he whispered softly.
The soldier’s heads all snapped to the left as the white Hood vaulted herself over the edge of the roof to join them. A white mask covered her face below her eyes. Her hood had an opening at the back of her neck to allow her long, orange hair to sway weightlessly with her movements. She walked briskly to Derek’s side, keeping her brilliant blue eyes on the men, her look warning them to remain as they were. She stood regally next to the Hood. “Master,” she whispered.
Derek took a deep breath. You caved, man, you just totally caved. He wanted to tell her “don’t call me that,” but now was not the time discuss personal preferences and offer even more intelligence to the agents. He jammed the soldiers’ radios before addressing Undine. “I need these men unconscious, but unharmed. Emphasis on unharmed.”
“Certainly.”
“Hey, wait a minute!” One of the soldiers protested and took a step forward.
Without another word, Derek discarded the rifle and rushed at the nearest man, the leader. Jumping up, he crashed his knee into the man’s forehead, knocking him out cold. Landing in a crouch, he spun and engaged one of the unarmored soldiers, but that fight lasted only long enough for Derek to jump kick the man into unconsciousness.
Behind him, Undine was engaged in her own dance of fury with both of the remaining armored men. Derek took hold of the second unarmored soldier, locking him in a sleeper hold as he watched the Lady of the Lake twist, parry, kick, jump, spin, and essentially mirror Derek’s fighting style as she engaged her opponents. The man in his arms passed out, and Derek let him fall as he watched Undine —what is she, the White Hood, the Hoodette? A proper hero name escaped him at the moment— finish off the first man. A solid uppercut into his stomach curled the soldier into a ball even as he was lifted from his feet. She slapped the back of his head on his way down, while lifting her right leg behind her to swipe her heel across the last man’s face.
Turning all her attention on him now, she blocked a punch with both of her hands, using them to lock his elbow and wrist. She then pulled his arm out straight before her, shoved her palm into his armpit, and launched the man over her head into an involuntary somersault. He crashed down onto his back, and a swift kick to his temple ended the fight before she released his arm.
Derek stood frozen in place, amazed. “Wow.”
Undine looked at him, no sign of any strain in her eyes, no heaving breaths of air. “I thought you wanted them unharmed, Master?”
“Unharmed, as in, not crippled.”
“I assumed that, when you began the attack. But you really should be more specific. I was readying a hibernation spell so that you could use your sleeping gases on them.”
“Oh. I thought of asking you if you had anything like that, but it looked like they were getting ready to jump us.”
“Understandable. There is no reason for anyone but you to know of my true nature, and obviously these people want to learn as much about you as they can. I am happy to remain a mystery and confuse them.”
“Yeah. And doing it this way was more gratifying, anyway.”
“No doubt.”
“Wait, you can make people hibernate?”
“No, I can momentarily lowers someone’s body temperature to an extreme, usually shocking them unconsciousness for a brief period.”
“That… sounds incredibly useful-”
“I can also hold the spell longer and kill them.”
“-and that sounds incredibly harsh. But magic is why I summoned you. I want… I need a favor.”
“Anything.”
Derek walked over to his uniform. “They spread a chemical on my uniform. It lets them track me. Can you sense it?”
Undine knelt beside the black and gray pile, looking over it. “Yes. I can remove the offending stains, if you wish.”
“Every last bit of it?”
“Yes, Master. Every last drop.”
“Could you… put the chemical onto something else?”
Undine’s smile was easy to see even through her mask, and especially in her sapphire eyes. “What did you have in mind?”
Derek looked at the service stair overhang on the identical rooftop next door. His microphones could hear a group of slumbering birds nested inside of it. He pointed. “There are pigeons under there, three or four. Spread it on all of them if you could,” he pointed. “And if there are any other birds nearby, put some on them, too.”
Undine let out a full, rich laugh, and held her hand over the uniform. She then raised her other hand in the direction of the other rooftop, palm facing outward. “It is done,” she informed him, still smiling. “Let these men chase them all tomorrow.”
Derek picked up his uniform, scanning it. She was right; the isotope was gone. “That’s… unreal.” Derek tuned his audio transmitter to a frequency that no human could hear, and pinged in the direction of the birds. Within moments, they had scattered fearfully in several directions. He looked at Undine. “Thank you.”
The smile in Undine’s eyes faded. “That was hard for you to say. You do not need to thank me, Master. Call on my power as you wish. I am your servant.”
“Look,” Derek rubbed the back of his helmet as the uniform began crawling back over his armor. “I don’t know what to think about any of this, okay? But it would help if you stop calling me ‘master’.”
“I will address you in any manner you wish.”
“Just call me by my name. Or if I’m in uniform, just ‘Hood’. Okay?”
“Of course, Hood.” She bowed her head.
Derek sighed. “I… I gotta’ go see to the other, the, um, the woman. Get some answers out of her…”
“You are saying I am dismissed.”
“Look,” Derek stuttered. What was it about this girl, this not-alive-elemental, that tied his tongue up in his mouth? I am not crushing on a deceitful little A.I. No matter what she looks like or how awesome she kicks ass. “How do we do this? I’m still pissed at you, but I’m not trying to be rude. I mean, you did just help me out.”
“You want a procedure for summoning and dismissing me?”
“No, I-” Derek grunted and slumped against the door. “I’m not gonna’ get into the habit of using you.”
�
��But… I am here to serve at your whim. I am just a tool, a thing.”
“You are… and you aren’t.” Derek looked away. “I don’t know what you are.”
The elemental held out her hand, a thin chain dangling from her gloved fingers. The pendant attached to it was in the shape of the weapon she guarded.
“What is that?” the Hood asked.
“This is Veylsa. I gathered you do not wish to carry a sprite sword around with you. I can alter the weapon to fit my masters’ needs, another talent the other guardians lack. If you have Veylsa in your physical possession, you will not need to summon me to use my magic.”
A shake of the head. “I’ll pass.”
Undine inclined her head in a subtle bow. “It is too soon. I understand. Call if you need me again, Hood. I will always aid you.” With that, she scampered across the roof and disappeared over the edge.
Derek let out a deep breath, then returned to where he’d left the woman. “Now, what do I do with you?” he asked, standing over her unconscious form. The obvious thing would be to get Undine back in here to read to see if she could read her mind or something else magical, but he was not going to start relying on that. That’s what the elemental wanted. Maybe that was even how the binding would become irreversible, if he slowly became dependent on her magic every time he hit an obstacle.
Still, he conceded that magic would make some nights, like tonight, a lot easier. Derek hefted the woman in his arms, and once again traversed the neighborhood rooftops. He called up a stored phone number and dialed it. He got an answer on the third ring.
“Eddie’s.”
“Chuck, this is Mr. Riley.”
A moment of silence as the man on the other end searched his memory. “Oh, yeah, yeah, Mr. Riley! Haven’t heard from you in awhile. How can we help, you, sir?”
“Is my usual driver available tonight?”
“Yeah, Zeke’s out and about, I can check his status for you.”
“Please do.” Derek continued moving as he waited on the dispatcher.
“Yeah, Mr. Riley, Zeke just got done with a fare. You want me to send him to your office?”
“No, I’m not there.” Derek gave him an address for the cab to meet him at.
“Okay, Zeke’s close to that, he should be there in about fifteen minutes.”
“Great. Thanks, Chuck.”
“Thank you, Mr. Riley. Have a wonderful night, sir.”
Derek grinned. Eddie’s Taxi Service was known in unscrupulous circles for their discreet, “I-don’t-know-nothin-officer” drivers. While employing a small fleet of self-driving vehicles, they charged a “premium” for unusual fares requiring human drivers who skillfully avoided law-enforcement types. Derek gave them a temporary pass on their drug trafficking because they provided the Hood valuable extraction options. As far as Chuck or Zeke knew, “Mr. Riley” was a successful businessman who took occasional trips out to the ‘burbs at odd hours to visit his mistress, and used a cab so that he could leave his car at the office. The special fee made sure they kept quiet so “Mrs. Riley” never found out, and drivers stayed alert for potential private eye tails. Derek made sure his fee was always generous to keep them happy with his patronage. “Mr. Riley” was probably the least illegal premium client they had, and the money ensured they never took closer looks at why he bothered with a cab service in the first place, satisfied that he was simply a Big Important Person with lots to lose if caught philandering. They probably assumed he’d be running for congress someday, too.
It made Derek feel like a hypocrite every time he used them, but he’d investigated these guys and not found them guilty of any violence against people. Selling drugs was bad juju, but the Hood had gradually come to ignore that particular crime. Drug use was a crime of self-infliction, something the Hood had come to care less about than infliction-on-others. The cops could handle drug busts; the Hood took care of more immediate problems. Drugs were the root of many violent crimes, true, but the Hood was only one person, and he’d established his priorities. When anyone at Eddie’s crossed the line he’d chosen to draw, the Hood would act. Until then, he’d take advantage of what they could offer him. There was a morality question in there somewhere, but Derek refused to look for it.
Finding a bench near a closed wine shop, Derek dropped into a nearby alley. He gently laid the woman down, commanding his uniform to assume the Riley disguise. He removed his helmet, holding it as he waited for the change to finish. He was no longer the Hood. Part of the uniform fell to the ground, becoming a small, unzipped sports bag. A rich, heavy-looking raincoat was layered over a shiny business suit and tie. The layers were all extremely thin, hiding the fact that he had full body armor underneath. The hood on his neck crawled up onto his head and became a black fedora. The nanomachines that had previously made up his mask now crawled over his face as a thin layer of fake skin, giving him a slight tan and aging lines around his mouth and eyes. A thick goatee sprouted around his chin and beneath his nose… and the disguise was complete. The pants melted around a small compartment on the armor, and Derek withdrew some cash. Closing the compartment again, the pants sealed themselves back up. Derek put his helmet in the bag and sealed it, then carried the woman with him to wait on the bench, seating her to appear asleep in his arm.
The facial disguise would not hold up under scrutiny. He only used it at night, and avoided well-lit areas. But in the shadows, it sufficed well enough, and his driver was usually stoned, anyway. The woman’s head rested on his chest as he held her, and the few pedestrians passing by paid no heed to either of them. It wasn’t long before a beat-up Chrysler slowed and stopped by the curb. The passenger-side window slid down, classic Morgan Heritage lazily breezing from the stereo, and the driver called out to Derek.
“Yo, Riley!”
“Ezekiel.”
“Greetings, me bruddah! You got da’ miss wit you tonight, huh? Hyeha!” When he saw Derek stand and pick her up, he got out of his car, smoke pouring into the night air and screaming “stereotype”, and he opened the rear door for them. His long dreadlocks dangled from under the obese, rainbow-dyed Rastafarian cap on his head. Zeke’s eyes took a couple of trips from the woman’s face to her feet and back. Then he looked at Derek. “Dat her? Not bad, rasta, not bad.” So said his mouth, as he sucked another drag from his joint. His eyes said: All da wimmen in da city you can cheat wit, mon, and you picked dat one?
“It’s her sister,” Derek explained. Having an unseen mistress would still come in handy in the future. “Same address as usual.”
“Whoah, t’reesome dat one, huh? Irie, mon. Dat’s no problem. You want I should get you dair fass?” He closed the door as Derek seated himself in back with the woman. Derek answered when Zeke had climbed back into the driver’s seat.
“Fast as you can, yeah.” Derek produced four hundred dollars’ worth of fifty-dollar bills. Cash was quickly being phased out in favor of electronic currency, but remained popular for transactions like this.
“Cool, Iya,” the driver laughed. “You want summa dis for da party?” he waved a bag of pot in the air, unconcerned at anybody noticing.
Derek shook his head. “Not tonight, but I’ll let you know.”
“It’s good shit, mon. Me give you discount when you want it, or anyt’ing else me idren need, rasta.”
Yeah, Zeke was a dealer. Nice guy, but a criminal the Hood could possibly have a run-in with sooner or later. Derek had long ago decided that Zeke would suffocate if he was forced to breathe anything but burning weed. He also admitted to himself that riding this cab home had calmed him on many stressful nights. There was no accounting for why the legal status of tobacco and marijuana wasn’t reversed. Still, drugs and alcohol were crutches Derek thought himself above using, no matter the reason or legalities. And the fact was, they were no good for kids, period. Zeke seemed to think so, too, and had mentioned to “Mr. Riley” that he “don’t sell dat shit to kids.” Derek had decided to take his word on that for now.
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nbsp; Zeke blew out a huge stream of smoke. “You believe all dis shit, rasta? Focking ter’riss, mon, coming ‘eer and killin all dem people. Focked up shit, mon, Me hope de solja boys kill alla dem comyoonis’ pricks.”
“I heard it was the government,” Derek replied, just to see what kind of response that would get.
“I an’ I hear dat, too, mon, but me no t’ink so. Dem politricksters is stupid, but not dat stupid. You hear what me say, rasta? Dis not no Banana Republic. De guv’ment man, if him shoot at de people, de people shoot back!” A handgun was produced from somewhere in the front seat, and Zeke waved it for emphasis before stowing it again. Another laugh, another drag.
“Somebody else said it was aliens,” Derek tried.
“Oh, mon. De alien story, yeah?”
“You think it’s possible?”
“No way, rasta. If it’s aliens, why da ‘ell them attack Boston and not touch Trenton?” Derek laughed. “Me tell you what, if there be aliens them want to kill us, da first t’ing them would hit dat sorry bumboclot, no good-”
“What do you got against Jersey?” Derek chuckled.
“Me ex-wife live dair, mon. You ain’t seen skank till you seen dat t’ing. Her still suing for alimony, getting ready to divorce another, him probably going to be paying alimony, too. Why you t’ink I always smoke dis shit?”
~
Zeke took several shortcuts and back roads, keeping his speed up where he could, and backtracking randomly to make sure they weren’t followed. Derek had expected the drive to take longer than usual with all the roads that were still closed and check-pointed. But Zeke got Derek to his destination in just under thirty minutes, having memorized even more of the closed routes than Derek had been able to. Derek gave him an extra fifty bucks in appreciation, then looped the woman’s arm over his neck and lifted her high enough to appear like a stumbling drunk.
“Aiya, rasta, you need help carrying her inside?”
“Nah, I got her.”
“Take it from I an’ I, mon, you better divorce before her find out what you got on da side. You be broke an’ ungry, drivin’ cabs so you can buy ramen when her get done with you. Dem leeches just suck da green from your wallet, trust I. They talk dreams of love and ‘appiness, then run away wit everyt’ing you own.” Derek raised his eyebrow, and Zeke waved the fifty-bill he’d just earned. “Dat advice was free, no worries. Me not no psychic hotline, mon. Ha! You call Ezekiel when you need another ride, yeah?”
