The Measure of a Man [The Exceptionals Book 1]
Page 6
"You are the winner, sister,” Wind said. She shook her head, still puzzled. “How did you know I was coming,” she asked.
Temper stepped away from the woman. “Vanity,” she said quietly. Wind dropped her head to look at the floor.
"What do you mean?"
"You were nearly perfect ... except for one thing."
"What?” the redhead said. Both women stood relaxed, facing each other from a few feet apart.
"Your scented soap.” Temper tapped her nose and smiled.
"Damn!” Wind said. Then she looked up at Temper and took a defensive stance.
* * * *
Goldstrike listened outside the door from the third floor stairwell for a full minute before he was satisfied that there wasn't anyone on the other side. Still, he slowly opened it and nearly jumped out of his skin as he collided with Temper and Wind as they walked down the hall.
"Geez, couldn't you at least make some noise?” he said.
Temper and Wind exchanged a glance.
"Okay, okay, I know you're incapable of it.” He added, “Sniper's right behind me ... what's with you two?"
The trio started to move off down the hallway with Goldstrike looking over his shoulder as they went. “I have ... passed ... my test,” Temper said.
"What do we do with her?” Goldstrike asked. Even though he said it innocently, it still sounded off color coming from Matthew. Temper gave him a dirty look.
"I will obey your orders,” Wind said.
"Yeah, that's gonna happen!” Goldstrike said. Temper hit him on the arm.
"No, she will,” Temper said as she opened a door to a small lounge area.” I am Iga style, she was trained Koga, but she has honor.” Wind nodded thanks for the confidence.
"Wait here, and do yourself no harm,” she said to Wind. The redheaded woman made a slight bow and stepped into the room. When the door was closed, she knelt down in a meditative position.
Temper and Goldstrike left her there and continued down the hallway.
"You don't think she'll really stay there like a scolded schoolgirl."
Temper looked at her teammate as if daring him to doubt her word a second time. “Yes, Matthew, she will."
Goldstrike just shrugged his shoulders. “I never argue with a lady ninja. We've got to meet Connor at the armory.” They moved quickly towards the stairwell, and exited the third floor.
At almost the same time, Sniper came out of the other stairwell door, and walked casually down the hall calling out: “You know, Shiny, I'm gonna win ... in an hour, you die either way!"
Wind, kneeling in the lounge heard Sniper's voice. She opened her eyes and went to the door, hesitated with her hand on the knob then let her hand drop away. She returned to her kneeling posture took a deep breath and waited.
* * * *
Echo, now wearing his helmet, stood in front of a rusted door deep in one of the numerous subway side tunnels near the Fourteenth Street platform. He raised a small panel and pressed a button that looked surprisingly up to date. There was a hum and a click and a voice seemed to come from the door. “Voice print authorization."
"Brassfield, Caesar,” he began, “authorization code 01."
He continued to speak, but it was as if a heavy door had slammed shut, cutting off all sound. He touched his ears in a futile gesture, then snapped his fingers but heard nothing. There was no sound.
Some instinct warned him and he turned to see the grey, white and silver figure of Void. The oddly shaped figure was notable for indistinctness, even in the harsh light of the subway and for the fact that over his heart was a small LCD screen. The screen on Void's chest lit up and words appeared.
{Not so loud.}
Echo brought his hands together and gestured toward Void, but no distortion wave developed.
{No special power without sound.}
Void drew an old Webley revolver and shot at Echo who dove away as paint chips flew silently off the wall.
* * * *
Lastshot made a detour on his way to the armory. He knew the headquarters to the last brick and nail, his photographic memory allowing him to know where each camera in the building was and how to avoid them. He also knew just where the main and auxiliary communication cables ran through the building. He found his way to one such wire junction that he knew was in a camera blind spot and soon stood very close to an electrical phone wiring cabinet.
Using an electrical capacity tracing function of his neural glasses, he was able to locate the exact wire junction he was looking for. He used a simple carpenter's finishing nail that he had found in the stairwell to splice into the wire. Then he used a wire and jack from a belt pouch to directly connect from his neural implants to circuits in the cabinet.
Immediately Lastshot was literally surfing the net by thought. He thought-dialed a secured sequence of numbers and waited while the phone rang.
In the White House, the level of tension had not abated. The President, General Hutchison, Vice President Redstone and Senator Stryker were still seated in front of the large screen Tri v. They'd had coffee mugs brought in—and spiced it with brandy—but all four had been too distracted to do more than sip at them.
One of the phones on the President's desk rang. Since it was the Pentagon line, the Vice President picked it up.
"Redstone here,” he said while he watched the screen. He almost spit his coffee out when he recognized the voice at the other end. He turned to the President and held the phone out to her as if it were the game ball at the Super Bowl.
"It's Lastshot...” he said, “...on line one!"
The President stepped around the desk and seized the phone, reaching to punch the speakerphone button.
"Don't put this on speaker, ma'am,” Lastshot said.
She stayed her hand and spoke into the receiver. “As you suggest, sir."
"Madame President,” he said. “I know every dead spot in this place, but I may not have much time."
"Is there anything we can do?” she asked.
"Just listen, ma'am. The nerve gas is rigged to spread into the city as well as the headquarters. If it even looks like we're going down, frag us in a way to neutralize the gas."
"Understood,” the President said. “Good luck, Lastshot. If there—” The connection suddenly went dead and the President hung up. Her expression was composed. Senator Stryker looked at her questioningly.
"What did he say?"
The President looked back at her friend and gave her best campaign smile. “They're confident they will prevail.” She fingered the crucifix at her throat for a moment, then added, “General, bring me that folder over there with the information on this Saviton gas ... I want to know exactly what it can do..."
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Chapter 9
Temper and Goldstrike moved down the stairs. Temper slid her fingertips along the wall, and tilted her head, listening. Goldstrike moved slowly behind her, alternately checking behind them and staring at her lithe form.
"Temper?” She ignored him. He repeated a little louder. “Tori?"
She stopped and turned to him.
"What is so important you have to use that name?"
"Well, I ... uh ... this...” he tried. Temper leaned against the wall, and crossed her arms.
"You know ... if we ... don't get..."
Goldstrike looked and sounded like a teenager on his first date. Temper did her best to not show she enjoyed his discomfort.
"They, they might beat us,” he said. “I mean, I don't think they will ... I mean, you won, but, the gas and they almost became Exceptionals, and I'd ... I'd just like to say ... you ... I ... we...” He seemed about to pass out from hyperventilation. He took a deep breath and tried to continue. “I—"
Lastshot chose that moment to come down the stairs. “Good work, Matthew, you found Temper."
"I, um, yeah. I guess ... yeah.” Matthew looked so pathetic that if Temper had not returned to ignoring Goldstrike, she might have laughed.
"Great,” the team leader said. “Let's go; the clock's ticking.” He headed down the stairs. Temper moved very close to Goldstrike, and looked into his eyes.
"Did you want to say something?” she asked innocently.
"Uh ... skip it!” he managed and moved past her to follow Lastshot down the stairs. Temper giggled a very un-ninja-like giggle and went after him.
The three Exceptionals cautiously made their way to the door to the team's armory in the first basement level. Goldstrike reached for the door handle, but Lastshot put his hand on his arm.
"Haven't you had enough for one day?” Lastshot asked.
"Third time's a charm!” Goldstrike said.
He touched the handle, then turned it. When he didn't receive a shock, he smiled at the others.
"Strange,” Lastshot said.
The three entered, cautiously. The lights came on and they dove for cover. It was Firststrike's voice that broke the tension.
"Don't get your hopes up."
They stood and looked around the armory. Most of the weapon racks were empty, the weapons gone.
"Did they leave us anything?” Temper wondered aloud.
"All the non-lethal weaponry and all our protective gear,” Firststrike said. “That probably means what they have will go through what we have left."
"Thank you, Little Mary Sunshine,” Goldstrike said.
"Where's The Eel?” Lastshot asked.
"I locked him in the video equipment storage room,” Firststrike said, then added with an uncharacteristic smile, “I didn't want him to get bored."
Temper was looking around the room for anything useful. “If we could access SAM, we could flood the place with neutrazine gas."
"And possibly their gas, too,” Lastshot said. “Without Skorpion's skills on the level of keyboard maestro, we might as well be computer illiterate. No, we have to do this the hard way. Grab vests, and arm yourselves; we'll use what we have."
The Bodyguard donned kevsteel vests, and each took a weapon. Goldstrike picked up a Colt Persuader, a rubber-bullet firing pistol, Firststrike took a small Taser. Lastshot picked up a riot baton.
Temper walked right past the racks to a wall panel and removed it.
The team watched her, curiously. From behind the panel, she took several throwing stars, and pair of nunchaku, which she gave to Firststrike. When he evidenced surprise she shrugged her shoulders.
"A girl can't be too careful."
Lastshot smiled at her.
"Got anything for me, wizard?” Goldstrike looked with just a hint of jealously at the ‘toys’ she had given to his brother.
"As a matter of fact...” She reached back into the hidden cubbyhole, and took out a 40mm Fujitsu Speed Cannon. It was Goldstrike's favorite weapon. He took it with a broad grin, tossing the Persuader casually aside.
"Don't say I never give you anything."
"Oh, I've got someone I simply must share this with,” Goldstrike said in a mock Peter Lorrie voice, “one bullet at a time."
"Okay, troops, now we stop running and counterattack,” Lastshot said. “Temper, can you locate our friends?"
* * * *
Sniper moved cautiously down the hallway. She called softly, “Here, Shiny, Shiny, Shiny! Nice Shiny!” A beep came from her com-unit; she took it from her belt.
"What is it, I'm a little busy."
The Artist's voice came through, broken by static. “Where are you?"
"I'm near the sleeping quarters,” Sniper replied with an annoyed voice.
"Wind doesn't reply ... get ... training room..."
"What's wrong? Rodney, I can barely hear—aw, frag it!” She turned the com-unit off and headed down the stairs.
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Chapter 10
In the armory, Temper had removed an electrical panel and accessed a communications conduit at Lastshot's direction. Goldstrike had just done a very passable imitation of The Artist.
"And you thought I was just another pretty face!” Goldstrike said.
"Never occurred to me,” Temper said just to watch him deflate.
"Fog of war...” Lastshot said, “Clausewitz would've been pleased. Let's go. We can just beat her to the training room."
"What about Skorpion?” Temper asked.
"I want to take everyone else out before we tackle The Artist.” Lastshot said, “Red can take care of herself."
* * * *
In the virtual Bodyguard headquarters, Skorpion had removed the covers from light fixtures on each wall of a corridor. First she improvised a knife from a Plexiglas sliver from the paneling and some cloth. Then she ran wires from the fixtures into the floor of the corridor at the metal sections that marked where the airtight doors would close in the event of a gas attack or biological attack—if SAM were working. Skorpion hummed some Cyndi Lauper golden oldies while she built her faux electrical trap using the power from the fixture. It would have been nothing more than an annoyance if it could have really worked, but she was doing it for the benefit of the ‘viewing public'.
One of the abilities she secretly had up her sleeve was a natural bioelectric resonance that had been enhanced with training in her early life: it was just one of the secrets she jealously guarded. It was the reason she could interface so well with computer systems, she could actually ‘feel’ the information on an almost subatomic level. Most thought her metal weave whip was powered by a battery in the handle; it was in fact her own bioelectrical abilities that gave it its jolt. When she had strung a wire from the ‘trap’ to around a corner of the corridor she settled back and waited like a spider for the fly.
Minutes later, the Grey Assassin crept down the darkened corridor. As he stepped between the two wires, Skorpion leaned out, snapped the whip and “fired” a low electrical charge, just enough to complete the circuit. The resulting shock was enough to drive the Assassin to his knees.
Skorpion moved forward and jammed her improvised knife up against the Assassin's neck.
"If The Artist programmed you as if you were ‘trained’ as my equal, you have to follow the same code I follow, correct? If I solve the puzzle, you have to let me live. Right?” To punctuate her point, she shoved her knife harder against his throat.
"Yes,” the Grey Simulacrum said. “I must act as you would act: it is well known that if you give your word, you will not break it.” She dragged him to his feet.
"Well, I have. Let's go.” Skorpion pushed the Assassin through the door to her quarters.
Skorpion walked over to her desk, and looked down at an open calendar. She smiled. She pointed at it as she turned to look at the Assassin. “There. That's the line of code.” The Assassin just looked at her. Skorpion picked up a pencil. “Now, I just have to erase it."
Skorpion calmly erased the line of code written on a specific date on the calendar. The Assassin seemed to shimmer, then fade, and finally disappeared. The entire room started to shimmer and fade.
Suddenly, Skorpion was aware she was sitting in front of the console in the real world still jacked in. She still wore the metal mesh interface hood and was unaware that The Artist and The Mercenary stood behind her.
"Damn...” The Artist said.
"Take us off the air,” The Mercenary ordered the velvet-jacketed man.
"But—"
"Do it!"
The Artist was startled by his teammate's abrupt tone, but hastened to comply.
Across the country, the Tri visions went to static again and a spate of announcers and news analysts rehashed and reran sections of the contest up to that point.
In the White House, as the screen went blank, the President turned to speak to General Hutchison. “General, there's something we have to discuss..."
Outside the computer center Lastshot, Temper, Goldstrike and Firststrike, came down the hall carefully. The computer center door suddenly opened. With lightning reflexes, the team flattened against the wall.
"You needn't be rude;” The Artist said. “I have been beaten, isn't that enough?"
Lastshot ignored both Matthew and The Artist, and addressed Skorpion directly, “Sniper's still out there."
The Artist regained some of his lost bravado. “Ah, then the game is still on!"
The Artist had already given up his weapons to Skorpion who held his tiny .22 caliber pistol.
"I had the impression that there was someone else in the room before I un-jacked from the computer,” Skorpion said to Lastshot. “I think the muscleman was in there with us."
"Abe would be at the nerve center of it all,” Lastshot said. “Which means he's still in the game as well; he's not likely to give up, even if we get him cornered."
The group moved off and Matthew and The Artist continued to verbally spar.
"Fashion victim, indeed!” The Artist said. “Gold spandex is so passé!"
"It is not!"
"Is so!” The Artist insisted.
* * * *
In the subway tunnel, a strange scene was being enacted in complete silence. Echo was dodging and rolling as shots ricocheted off the walls in absolute silence.
Echo picked up a rusty bolt from the floor on one of his rolls. A bullet from Void's old style Webley revolver slammed noiselessly into the dirt beside the black Exceptional. He knelt and threw the bolt at Void's pistol with the uncanny accuracy of countless hours in smoky pubs. The bolt lodged in the barrel of Void's gun.
Void pointed his gun at Echo, unaware of the extraordinary throw and pulled the trigger. The gun exploded, in silence, not in the roll back the barrel way of a Bugs Bunny cartoon, but in the real world ruptured metal way. It kicked hard and Void's hand was injured.
{I got that from my grandfather!} his talk screen angrily proclaimed.
Echo raised an eyebrow and leapt forward to deliver a devastating Savate kick to Void's head, sending him sprawling.
Echo finger signed, “I got that from my great-grandfather.” And smiled.
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