On the top of the bus, Temper and Firststrike were still holding on for dear life.
"Oh, fine,” Temper said. The wind was whipping her hair wildly around her face as she hugged to the metal of the bus roof. Light streamed up through bullet holes in the skin of the bus and almost outlined her.
"Very fine,” Firststrike added in a voice that might have been describing grass growing. He was slowly inching toward the side of the bus using the bullet holes as finger grips. His footwear was simple memory plastic moccasins, like diving shoes, and it allowed him to use his toes for purchase.
Temper looked down through one of the bullet holes, and saw a Raider aiming up at her. One of the children, a pigtailed blond girl of about nine grabbed his arm. “Don't shoot anymore,” the girl yelled. The Raider shook the girl off and turned to shoot her.
Temper pulled a small dart from her collar with her teeth, and using one hole to sight, spit the dart through another bullet hole.
The dart caught the Raider in the side of the neck and he went down paralyzed with a synthetic nerve toxin.
Captain Mephisto saw his man go down. “Will someone please shoot those people on the top of the bus for me?"
At that moment, Firststrike swung in through an open window on the left side of the bus, landing behind Mephisto. He tapped the techno pirate on the shoulder.
"We're not up there anymore, hotpants."
Mephisto spun and shot a jet of flame out of his bionic arm. Firststrike ducked and the flame went harmlessly out the window.
All the children were crouched down in their seats now, but had not stopped screaming for a second.
Temper popped up on the other side of Mephisto, and tapped him on the shoulder. When he turned, she slammed an open palm strike into his face, knocking him forward towards the driver.
Mephisto stumbled forward, regained his footing and looked out the windshield. He saw the storage tanks behind the wire fence coming up fast to the left of the careening bus. “Go there!” he screamed at the driver, and yanked the wheel sharply to the left.
The bus swerved and crashed through the wire fence, heading right for a tank.
Firststrike dove for Mephisto, but the erratic movements of the bus made him miss. The bald criminal was able to slam his prosthetic arm into Firststrike's back and propel the already off-balance Exceptional so that he smashed out the open front door of the bus
Firstrike turned his fall into a diving roll. He hit the ground and was able to roll out the velocity of his hit. He escaped with only some minor bruising and scrapes that he ignored.
Goldstrike sped up towards his brother, throwing his bike into a power-sliding circle. Firststrike jumped up, leapt forward and landed on the back of the bike and the two of them chased the bus into the complex.
Mephisto saw Temper at the back of the bus and grabbed one of his men. “You can't possibly miss her now, shoot!"
The man raised his AK-17 and shot at the woman but Temper did a back flip, kicking the emergency door handle in mid-air. The back door popped open and she rolled out, narrowly escaping the hail of bullets.
"I'll be back, kids!” she breathed as she executed a perfect dive roll, sprang up and kept running.
Mephisto, seeing Temper was not dead, turned to the Raider who had missed the petite woman and said, “I was wrong, you could!"
He snatched the gun from the hands of the Raider and shot the man point blank in the chest with it.
As the Raider fell to the floor dead, Mephisto turned to the screaming children. “Now, that's how you shoot someone."
The children went dead quiet for a moment then started screaming even louder. Mephisto slapped his own baldhead in frustration. “Shut up!” he screamed. “Will you please stop screaming!"
The Hummer raced towards Temper, not slowing down at all!
Lastshot hung out the door of the van, bracing his feet on the running board. He held onto the handle above the doorframe and leaned way out past the open door with an extended right hand. Temper, in a carefully rehearsed move and without looking, jumped straight up into Lastshot's arms.
"Gotcha, honey!” he said as he swung her into the van. Skorpion wheeled the van into the complex with a squeal from the tires.
"Pickin’ up girls on company time, Lastshot?” Skorpion said matter-of-factly.
"That's beneath even you, Skorpion,” Echo managed, still gripping the sick bag in one hand. His skin color was beginning to match the green of his tunic.
"Ain't nothing beneath me but eight-hundred horsepower!” the red head said. “Hang on to your moral indignation!” She gunned the engine yet again, a notch higher, bringing another protest from the tires.
Firststrike and Goldstrike were still right on the bus’ tail and saw it heading straight for a large storage tank. The eye-patched brother seated behind Goldstrike keyed his com-unit. “Lastshot, we have a situation where we could use Echo right about now."
In answer to the call, Echo popped up through a roof hatch on the van and brought his arms together in a circular pattern. The uniform that he wore was woven with a million receptors that, combined with the bionics implanted throughout his body, allowed him to absorb and redirect sound waves. It made him far more than a talented eavesdropper; it gave him the capability to send a sonic ‘punch’ at individuals or on a more massive scale, objects. The sound wave he shot forward toward the bus was one of his biggest. A distortion wave appeared around both Echo and the bus. The distortion wave flowed between the bus and the storage tank that the bus was about to crash into.
The wave of sound stopped the bus with a sonic cushion, as if it had hit a huge air bag. The bus’ tires exploded from the shock, but the bus stopped dead.
It was not without cost, however, for the interface of Echo's bionics and the electronics put a great strain on his own nervous system when launching such a massive wave. Echo swayed, about to collapse.
"Some assistance?” he said, then fell back into the van. Temper caught him.
Lastshot looked at Skorpion. “I pick ‘em up—"
"—but, they always fall for her,” she finished. Both Exceptionals laughed, despite the seriousness of the whole affair.
Goldstrike's cycle screeched to a halt beside the bus. Firststrike leapt off and immediately dove for cover as a Raider jumped out of the stopped bus and started shooting.
Goldstrike drew his guns and shot the gun out of the Raider's hand. As the gun flew up, Goldstrike shot it several more times, making it dance in the air.
The Raider watched in amazement. When he looked down, Firststrike stepped up and flattened him with a high savate kick. He looked crossly at his brother and said, “Stop playing around, please."
The rest of the Exceptionals team jumped out of the van and engaged the other Raiders who were pouring out of the bus.
Mephisto chose the better part of valor and raced away.
Firststrike and Temper moved into the group of Raiders as they poured off the bus in a vain attempt to scatter for cover. It became a chance for the two of them to show off their martial arts prowess to the detriment of the Raiders. Skorpion got her two cents in with her long metal whip, wrapping the whip around one Raider's arm to send a small jolt of electricity that knocked him flying. Goldstrike pistol-whipped any Raider in range. It was almost an unfair fight.
The children crowded the windows of the bus to watch the show and began to cheer their favorite Exceptional. The terror of the ride was almost gone as they watched the battle, which, safely on the other side of the glass windows, was more like the Tri v shows they watched each night. Goldstrike even waved.
Meanwhile Lastshot had chased after Mephisto, firing at the head Raider, who dodged behind a network of pipes.
Mephisto turned and shot a jet of flame at Lastshot, who dove to the side, only slightly singed.
Goldstrike ran up and pointed his guns at Mephisto.
"Now, I'll kill us all!” Mephisto proclaimed. “No one dare oppose the mighty Captain Mephisto!�
�� He turned and shot a jet of fire at the massive holding tank above him.
Nothing happened for a long moment.
Lastshot holstered his sidearm and shook his head. “Boy, you're about as sharp as a bag of wet rice.” He spoke in a deadpan voice. He pointed to the tank. Mephisto looked up at a large sign painted on the tank and read it aloud as if he did not believe it.
"Acme Milk Company,” he said in a very small voice. “Oh my."
Lastshot did a fast draw, thinking his gun to automatic high caliber fire and blasted a good sized whole through the sign and a torrent of milk cascaded down onto Mephisto, drenching him.
Goldstrike burst out laughing, all but falling to the ground holding his sides.
"No one laughs at the great Mephisto!” The techno pirate pointed his metallic arm at Goldstrike, but it instead of a billow of hellfire is just sparked and fizzled. This sent Goldstrike into even more fits of laughter.
Temper walked up to Mephisto, carrying the blond child who had so bravely wrestled with the Raider on the bus. The rest of the children followed them. They were all laughing at the milk-soaked Mephisto.
The little girl giggled and said, “Got cookies?"
Mephisto started to cry. It was truly pathetic to see.
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Chapter 3
Lastshot, Firststrike, and Skorpion went back to the Trench to have a last round and ‘tidy up’ the earlier events of the night. Firststrike signed the autographs of the two teen girls, and made apologies for Lastshot, who still didn't want to deal with his ‘public.’ Within half an hour they were walking away from The Trench headed west along Fourteenth Street.
Goldstrike had found his redhead, Erica, waiting for him and picked up where he left off as well.
"Okay, tall man,” Skorpion said to Lastshot, “so, was all that before what it seemed like?"
Lastshot laughed in disgust. “Almost the ultimate cliché,” he explained. “Trudy said it was money trouble. I gave her that Shadows’ Foundation help line number and told the punker she was now under our protection. I think he wet himself when he realized who we were."
"You'd think people would know us by now,” Firststrike said.
"Not everyone is a Tri v junkie like your brother,” Lastshot said. The three of them approached an abandoned bank building on Union Square.
"Ah, home sweet home. Pity we can't go in the front door."
"If we did, we might as well hang up a sign saying: BOMB HERE!” Skorpion said. They entered a subway station on the corner of Fourteenth and University across the street from Union Square Park.
The three walked down into the station. Once down below, they stepped off into a little used side tunnel, making sure they were not seen, then entered an elevator marked ‘under repair.’ Lastshot entered a code on a keypad, and the elevator started down.
"I much prefer the toy store entrance,” Firststrike said, “...fewer rats."
The trio exited the elevator after less than a sixty second ride and walked down a featureless corridor towards a large set of double doors. As they walked down the corridor, they were ‘N'-scanned.
Each Exceptional had a transponder chip which held full vitals that the scan automatically recorded and logged them in. They entered the headquarters communications center through an inner hermetically sealed door that opened with a hiss. It was, as you'd expect the room to be, all soft lighting, view screens and computer consoles. Temper was seated in front of a large Tri v screen speaking to the image of Echo. It was always a disturbing feeling, talking with an Exceptional on a Tri v screen since the Regen they all took caused them to emit an inert gas that, combined with nanite creams or other techniques, rendered them unimagable by electronic means. So Echo was a blur in brown, as if the picture was out of focus.
"Thanks again for the ‘bus stop', Echo,” she said. “Enjoy your time at home."
Brassfield was sitting in front of a large monitor in his apartment on the upper Westside, wearing a smoking jacket and black slacks. The room was book-lined, with a number of his dart league trophies in niches along the walls. The apartment was comfortably and tastefully furnished. A selection from Riggeletto filled the air and Brassfield begin to conduct the music. “These days I actually feel more at home with the Guard.” He picked up a pub dart from beside the console and winged it across the room to a target on the back of his entrance door. He made a bull's eye. “Echo out."
All the Exceptionals had away apartments, like Echo, and rotated staying at them, a precaution most organizations had taken since the 911 attack and it's follow up in 2015. Never put all the eggs in one basket.
Temper reached out and switched off the screen. She turned to her teammates.
"Welcome home. Punjar said not to forget to fill out the post action reports tomorrow,” she said. Then she added sarcastically, “Matthew out late again?"
"Yeah, turn on SAM anyway—he has his transponder with him."
"Maybe you should set up just a small shock for him,” Firststrike said.
"He doesn't annoy me that much.” Temper touched a button on the console and a light flashed that read “Security Anti-intruder Measures active."
"Well, I don't know about you people,” Lastshot said, “but after our double header tonight this old Marine needs to sack out. See you all in the A.M."
Firststrike, Skorpion and Temper agreed and the four teammates went to their onsite sleeping quarters.
* * * *
Firststrike's quarters were heavily influenced by his time in Asia studying the martial arts. Netsuke statues sat side by side with carved Shinto deities and sumi brush paintings. He had no western furniture in the room, choosing instead to sleep on a futon and sit on tatami mats. He spent some time kneeling in a meditative pose in front of the shinzen, the spiritual center of the room, when he returned to his quarters. Across the room, a single candle sat on a side table. After some time, he opened his one eye, and with a short puff from ten feet away, blew the candle out.
* * * *
Temper's room looked more like a sorority sister's dorm room than the sleeping quarters of the Iga trained ninja that she was. She donned a pair of light blue pajamas and had an almost matching blue mudpack on her face. A pink comforter covered her bed; a fuzzy rabbit doll sat on her pillow.
On the wall was a picture of a childhood friend and Temper, when she had been known only as Tori Zagu. She opened a closet door, revealing an arsenal of weapons that would have delighted any violent homicidal maniac; she replaced a katana inside on a ceremonial rack and hung up her gear belt. Then the petite woman climbed into bed and hugged the fuzzy rabbit. Before turning off the light, she twisted the head off the rabbit, revealing a hidden dagger. Satisfied, she put the head back on and drifted into a dreamless sleep.
* * * *
Skorpion's room looked like one of a million Holiday Inn's across the globe. There was virtually no individual identity anywhere. She had disabled her smoke detector and sat in a chair, smoking a Cuban cigar, her guns on a side table. She was reading a first edition of Louisa May Alcott's Little Women. She wept quietly until she nodded off to sleep.
* * * *
Conner Le'Schott had opened a bottle of Jack Daniels and downed half in short order. His room was strewn with military paraphernalia. It looked like someone had just hurriedly searched the place. Posters of Muhammad Ali, John Wayne, Clint Eastwood, and Bruce Lee adorned the walls; piles of Captain America comics were everywhere. On his nightstand were photos of him taken in Iraq, Iran, and Belgium and with his recon unit, during the siege of Mexico City with some Spetnaz comrades. There also was a framed picture taken in a hooch in Cambodia with Eddie Winters and Abe Retlow. A single playing card, a Joker, was in a Lucite case beside the framed photo; the card had a single bullet hole dead center.
He sat on the floor, pitching pennies and humming the Marine Corps Hymn. On the army cot next to him was the letter from the parents of the little boy, Billy Dent, who had died. It read i
n part, ‘We cannot tell you how his belief in you gave our son comfort in his last days. We thank you for that..."
"Never an Exceptional around when you need one,” he said to no one in particular.
* * * *
Matthew Stryker made it home by two in the morning. The walls of his sanctum sanctorum were decorated with posters of swimsuit models, blow ups of magazine covers with his picture on them and ads for the “Galaxy Ranger” 3D arcades franchises that he endorsed. Interspersed with the images were numerous handguns, rifles and automatic weapons. Car and sports magazines were everywhere, along with the most recent issues of Adventure Novels Monthly. Taped inside his closet door was a drawing of Temper he had made without her knowledge and a pixilated, faceless full body shot of her clipped out of an Exceptional fan magazine. He blew her a goodnight kiss, donned pajamas that had cartoon images of himself on them, and went to sleep beneath silk sheets with bold “Goldstrike” logos emblazoned across them.
* * * *
The headquarters stayed quiet. The Bodyguard slept peacefully in their respective quarters. Fifteen minutes after Matthew staggered home, SAM, the Security Anti-intruder Measures Smart System that watched over the Headquarters, silently switched itself off, leaving the HQ, and the sleeping Bodyguard, completely defenseless.
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Chapter 4
The Artist sat on a bench on Union Square Park across the street from The Bodyguard's New York headquarters, using his hand held computer. The Mercenary looked on, his impatience palpable as he rocked from foot to foot, hands on his hips. The Eel, Wind, and Sniper scanned the park. All of them were armed.
The Artist stroked his goatee and giggled. “Pleasant dreams, SAM."
"What about the doors?” The Mercenary asked. The Artist tapped a few keys. He looked at The Mercenary.
"Open, sez me! Après vous, mon ami."
The Mercenary turned to the rest of his team. “Move out.” He spoke into his wrist communicator, “Keep awake, V-man, we're going in."
The Measure of a Man [The Exceptionals Book 1] Page 3
