Legacy

by Thomas E. Sniegoski

Grabbing on to the burning machine, he fought to stand while a tiny, nagging voice in the back of his head told him over and over again that he wasn’t ready for this.

  That he would probably never be ready for something like this.

  Because he was going to die.

  “No,” he said, dispelling the sudden memory of his mother’s blackened body. After all he had been through, after all he had learned, he wasn’t about to let it end this way.

  Exerting every muscle, he climbed to his feet. The nanites in his blood must have been working overtime to keep him alive, because he suddenly felt ravenous. But the four-course meal he craved would have to wait. The Science Clubs’ goons were at him again, and he could just about make out through his damaged mask what it was they were saying.

  “Finish him off,” one of the security team said.

  “Who is he?” asked another.

  “Probably just another wannabe,” someone with a bit of an accent contributed.

  “We’ll get a bonus for this for sure,” said another.

  They all laughed, probably thinking about how they would spend their bonus money.

  That made Lucas even madder.

  There wasn’t much time for him to waste. He had to do something right away or he was going to end up as a stain on one of the walls. He considered throwing himself at the sentries but decided that feeling the way he did, they probably would kick his butt, then shoot him dead.

  That was when he remembered one of his many instruction sessions and one of the emergency functions his father had described.

  What was it again?

  His father had referred to it as a “last resort.”

  An EMP emitter, installed as an emergency deterrent. From what Lucas could understand, a tiny device was built into his weapons system that would allow him to emit a powerful electromagnetic pulse—just like nuclear bombs did—that would shut down most high-tech machinery.

  Lucas couldn’t think of a better situation in which to use it.

  Swaying unsteadily on his feet, he watched as one of the soldiers aimed his gun.

  “Say hello to my little friend,” the guy said, doing one of the worst imitations of Al Pacino in Scarface Lucas had ever heard.

  The guy deserved the EMP for that alone.

  Just as he was about to be shot, Lucas raised his arm, using his other hand to find the button beneath the heavy fabric of his costume and push it.

  At first he thought that it, too, had been broken by the blast from the cannons, but then the emitter came alive with a high-pitched whine and an electromagnetic pulse surged from the tips of his gloved fingers, throwing the security team backward with squawks of surprise.

  He wasn’t going to get another opportunity like this, so he put everything he had into a race across the warehouse toward the door that had been locked before. Lucky for him, after he’d been blasted, the cannon fire had also torn the heavy metal door from its hinges, providing him with an escape route.

  Climbing over the twisted metal of the door, Lucas was glad he’d paid enough attention during training to remember how to activate the EMP emitter. He hung on to the metal railing and stumbled down the steps. He was having a hard time standing, and the exertion of moving the damaged costume was exhausting.

  But what choice did he have?

  His thoughts drifted to his father and what he was doing to help him out here. A part of him wondered whether the old man was really doing anything. Lucas imagined Hartwell sitting at the mansion, waiting for him to make it back alive, the whole incident chalked up as an excellent training opportunity.

  Lucas made it to the first-floor level and threw himself at a set of chained double doors. At least he had enough left in him to snap the chains, and he spilled out onto the trash-strewn docking area.

  Not sure whether or not he was being chased, Lucas forced himself around the corner of the building, out of the yellowish glare of the streetlights. He hoped to use the shadows of the back alleys to make his way someplace safe, where he could catch his breath and figure out what he should do next.

  That was when he darted into the street and was suddenly bathed in the headlights of an oncoming van. He was too stunned to react. The van hit him head-on, sending him through the air backward to the street.

  And as he lay there fighting to stay awake, his entire body numb, he heard his mother’s voice whispering in his ear.

  Always look both ways before crossing the street.

  Truer words were never spoken.

  Clayton Hartwell again checked the instruments of the control panel to make sure the problem wasn’t on his end.

  All he could hear was a grating static hiss.

  “Dammit,” he said beneath his breath, stroking his chin and moving the swivel chair nervously from side to side.

  It had been close to thirty minutes since he’d lost contact with Lucas.

  His eyes darted to the digital clock above the control panel, watching as another minute ticked past. He knew what he should be doing—sitting back patiently, waiting to see how the boy would react—but at this stage he wasn’t even sure the boy was still alive.

  The Science Club could be quite deadly, given the opportunity.

  Reaching out, he raised the volume on the static, straining to hear if there was anything behind it. But the signal was shot; there was nothing transmitting from the source.

  That was when he made up his mind.

  Clayton Hartwell rose from his chair, leaving his cane leaning against the side of the control panel. He walked from the communications chamber into a much larger room and approached a metal door with a number pad in its frame.

  The older man punched in a code and stood before the door as it slowly opened.

  It was a room filled with Raptor costumes, from the prototype of the very first suit to the latest armored and cybernetically enhanced model.

  He decided to go with one of the less flashy designs, but one of his personal favorites. It was the one he had been wearing when he revealed his true identity to the boy.

  He reached for the costume, ready to suit up.

  It was time for the Raptor to get involved.

  9

  This time there were no dreams, only deep, cold darkness.

  But there was a light, barely visible at first, like a single star in the night sky growing brighter by the second.

  Lucas realized that this light … this star … pulsed with each beat of his heart. He found himself drawn to it, as if pulled by its gravity. But the closer he got to the throbbing light, the more uncomfortable he became.

  He wanted to stop and retreat to the safety of the cold shadows, where the pain could not reach him, but the star had other plans, refusing to let him go.

  And eventually he gave in, allowing himself to be pulled within the body of the star.

  He tried to keep his eyes open, but it was just too bright. He tried to lift his hands to shield his vision but found he could not. His hands were bound—handcuffed—and it wasn’t a star that floated above his head. It was only a lamp.

  He was lying on a small cot, hands and feet bound together.

  “Where am I?” he croaked. He lay on his side, looking around at the cramped space.

  Somebody was across from him. A teenage girl, dressed in a baggy sweatshirt and jeans. She was typing on a computer.

  She looked briefly over her shoulder at him, her hornrimmed glasses slipping down her nose.

  “He’s awake!” she called out, then turned back to the computer and continued her work.

  Lucas tried to maneuver himself around to glimpse the person she was talking to, but couldn’t.

  “Who are you?” he called out, nearly certain now he was a prisoner of the Science Club, but the girl just ignored him.

  The suit’s strength enhancers were probably damaged, but this didn’t prevent him from trying to break free of the handcuffs that bound him; he did have nanites in his blood. With a grunt, he yanked on the chain. Excruciating pai
n shot through his body and Lucas let out a scream, falling back breathlessly on the bed.

  The girl turned in her chair and watched him.

  Is that a look of concern on her face? he wondered. Why would the Science Club give a rat’s behind if I hurt myself?

  His thoughts were interrupted by the sound of footsteps and he turned his head to see who was coming.

  It was a man who walked with crutches, his legs looking almost useless as he struggled to stand before Lucas. One half of his face was badly scarred.

  He simply stood over Lucas, leaning on his crutches, staring.

  “What did you do to me?” Lucas asked finally.

  The man smiled and shook his head. “We haven’t done anything. It’s the nanites that are causing the problem.”

  Lucas was surprised. How can this guy know about the nanites?

  “They’ve used up all the biological fuel in your system to heal you from your run-in with the Science Club.”

  “And the van,” the girl added.

  The man rolled his eyes. “And getting hit by the van,” he repeated. “So the little mechanical bugs have started to look for other food … like muscle and bone. I imagine it can get pretty painful.”

  “If you’re not from the Science Club, who are you?” Lucas managed to ask. “Some other villain looking for revenge against the Raptor?”

  The man laughed, looking over at the girl sitting at the computer. She was smiling as well, and Lucas noticed how cute she was.

  Bad timing or what?

  “No, we’re nothing like that,” the man said. “Believe it or not, we’re the good guys.”

  Lucas just stared at the man, not believing a word.

  The girl got up from her chair and walked out of view.

  “If you’re the good guys,” he said, watching her go, “then why am I handcuffed?”

  “Only as a precaution,” the crippled man said. He reached into his shirt pocket and produced a key. “We weren’t sure how you’d react once you came to.”

  He leaned in, first undoing Lucas’s wrists and then his ankles.

  Part of Lucas wanted to lash out and fight his way free, but another considered that maybe these guys really didn’t mean him any harm.

  The girl returned with a plate of sandwiches, and Lucas felt his stomach lurch and grumble in anticipation. He sat upright on the cot, his only thought at the moment of filling his belly.

  He had to feed the nanites.

  “Here ya go,” the girl said, handing him the tray.

  Lucas hesitated, staring at the food. His body was telling him to eat, but …

  “What’s wrong?” the girl asked. “Not into PB&J?”

  “No, it’s just that …”

  The girl laughed. “You’re afraid we did something to them, right?” She helped herself to a random half of a sandwich from the tray and took a big bite. “Better?” she asked through a mouthful of bread, peanut butter, and jelly.

  More at ease, he took the tray from her and snatched up a sandwich. In two bites it was gone and he was moving on to another, eating so fast he could barely taste them.

  The handicapped man pulled the computer chair over so that he could sit down across from Lucas, while the girl leaned against the wall with a smile. “Hungry much?” she asked, wiping a stray bit of jelly from the corner of her mouth.

  “It’s no joke,” the man said. “When the nanites need fuel, they can be pretty aggressive.”

  Lucas slowed down just long enough to ask a question.

  “How do you know so much about the nanites?”

  The man looked to the girl, and she nodded.

  “Now’s as good a time as any, I guess,” he said. “Does the name Nicolas Putnam mean anything to you?” He stared intently at Lucas, waiting for his response.

  Lucas was eating another half of sandwich as he shook his head. “Is that you?” he asked through a mouthful.

  The man nodded. “I can’t believe he didn’t mention me,” he muttered.

  “Who?”

  “Hartwell,” Putnam snarled. “The Raptor.”

  Lucas decided to play dumb. “I don’t have any idea what—”

  “Cut the crap. I know all about Clayton Hartwell and his other identity. I used to be his sidekick,” Putnam said with pride. “I used to be Talon.”

  Lucas’s eyes widened in surprise. “Talon? You were actually Talon?”

  Putnam nodded. “I certainly was.”

  “But I thought you were dead.” Lucas vaguely remembered the stories about the Raptor and Talon and how something really bad had happened to the team, leaving only the Raptor alive.

  Putnam snarled. “He probably wishes I was, but no such luck.”

  “And I’m Katie,” the girl said with a quick wave.

  “Hi,” Lucas said, returning the wave before turning back to Putnam. “I don’t get it. Why would he want you dead?”

  The man’s eyes became very dark. “Isn’t that what a murderer does?” he asked. “Wish people dead?”

  “What are you talking about?” Lucas asked, starting to feel uncomfortable. “Are you talking about my … about Hartwell?” He caught himself.

  “Don’t worry, I know all about him being your father,” Putnam said. “And yeah, that’s exactly who I’m talking about.”

  Lucas set the half-empty tray of sandwiches down on the cot beside him. “I don’t like where this is going. If I were you, I’d explain myself really quick.”

  “He killed my father,” Katie blurted out.

  Lucas felt as though he’d been doused with freezing water. He could see the emotion in her eyes, the hurt on her face, but before he had a chance to question her more, a series of alarms began to blare.

  “It’s too late for this now,” Putnam said, glancing over at the computer.

  Katie went to the screen, leaning in to the keyboard. “It’s him,” she said, looking back to them.

  “I figured we’d have only so much time,” Putnam said. “The whole business with him sending you into the Science Club’s hideout provided us with the perfect opportunity to meet you. I wasn’t about to look a gift horse in the mouth.”

  “You knew I was going to be there?” Lucas asked. “What, did you follow me or something?”

  “Or something,” Putnam said, straining to lift himself out of the chair. “We keep an eye on whatever Hartwell is doing.”

  Katie was still at the computer, her fingers flying over the keys. “He’s homing in on a signal still coming from the costume,” she said. “I think we’ve got to drop our guest right here, now, before it’s too late.”

  Putnam grabbed Lucas by the arm and hauled him to his feet.

  “If you value your life, I don’t recommend you mention this little meeting,” he said.

  “Are you threatening me?” Lucas asked, feeling a spark of anger.

  Putnam shook his head. “Not at all,” he said, escorting Lucas down the cramped hall until they reached a door.

  Up until this point, Lucas had believed he was inside a building of some kind, but he suddenly realized he was actually inside an RV.

  “I just think you’d be smart to keep your mouth shut until you’ve heard all the facts,” the man said. He leaned over and pulled on the latch, and the door swung open.

  “And what if I don’t?” Lucas asked, stepping outside.

  The RV was parked on the side of a dirt road, not too far from the waterfront. Lucas could smell the ocean in the air.

  “Then I can’t be held responsible for what he does,”

  Putnam said, ready to slam the door on the buslike vehicle. “Just give me a little time, and I’ll find a chance for us to talk again.”

  “And when will that be?” Lucas asked.

  “I’ll be in touch,” the man said.

  Katie suddenly appeared in the doorway, holding his damaged mask in her hands. She bounded down the steps to hand it to him.

  “Don’t forget this. And don’t let him see this,” she added,
handing him a folded piece of paper.

  “I don’t—” Lucas began.

  “We gotta go, girl,” Putnam said, and she turned away and jumped into the RV. Lucas could still hear the sound of the alarms blaring inside.

  “All I’m asking is for you to trust us,” Putnam said before he closed the door.

  A moment later, the tires spun out in the dirt as the RV drove quickly away, heading back toward the city.

  Lucas watched the vehicle until it was out of sight; then he turned his attention to the folded piece of paper in his hand. He unfolded it, his curiosity getting the better of him.

  On the paper were nine names.

  He wasn’t familiar with any of them.

  Lucas flinched, suddenly bathed in a blinding light from above. Shielding his eyes against the glare, he looked to the sky to see his father’s stealth copter silently hovering over his head.

  Just like the whole conversation he’d just had with Nicolas Putnam and Katie, he hadn’t seen it coming.

  The ride back to Hartwell Manor was filled with questions: the ones from his father and the ones bouncing around inside his own head.

  Is it possible? Lucas asked himself as the craft made its descent toward their sprawling home. Is Clayton Hartwell a murderer?

  He chanced a look at the man as Hartwell dropped the chopper to the landing square at the back of the manor. He had to admit, he’d been a little surprised to see his father in full costume.

  “Something wrong?” Hartwell asked as they touched down with a gentle bump.

  “No,” Lucas responded. “Just surprised to see you all dressed up is all.”

  “Didn’t know what I might be up against,” the older man said, climbing from the craft. “Let’s get down to the nest and check you out.”

  Lucas climbed stiffly from the passenger’s side. He was amazed at how much his body still ached, even after the sandwiches. The Science Club must’ve really done a job on him.

  “I told you I was fine,” he said. “I just need a hot shower and a good night’s sleep.”

  “That will come later,” Hartwell said, stepping into the elevator. “I’m going to run a complete diagnostic on you, as well as on the costume, and then you’re going to tell me exactly what happened, beat by beat.”