The Measure of a Man [The Exceptionals Book 1]

by Jerry Kokich, Teel James Glenn

  Suddenly, Matthew and Jason were lying on the naked floor of the game maze with two LCD marionettes resting lifelessly on Matthew's arms.

  "Sonuvabitchsonuvataitch,” Matthew mumbled. He shoved the mannequins off of him, pushed through the four thin wall panels to the central core room door and yanked the door open.

  Once inside, Matthew methodically ripped every electrical wire from its connection. Then he raced to the awakening Jason.

  "Where's the mons—” Jason began, but Matthew silenced him.

  "It just shut off,” Matthew replied. “It called me by my game name, had me dead to rights and then just shut off."

  "Get me out of here."

  The two of them helped each other to the entrance where they were met by the ambulance crew.

  Later studies concluded that a fused circuit had caused the game maze to malfunction, so it was redesigned with safeguards and reopened to the public again in six weeks. No one ever noticed that the last seconds before Matthew's hands had eviscerated the computer, the scoreboard had changed the standings.

  Yojimbo had been moved to second place.

  In number one, at last, was Napoleon Solo.

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  Chapter 31

  "Fire in the Hole!” Firststrike screamed in slow motion as the hand grenade rolled across the floor. He collided with Temper and threw her into a corner of the cave to protect her.

  Out of nowhere, it seemed, Lastshot was between Firststrike and the grenade, his body moving through the air. The Exceptional Team leader hit the ground, the green liquid on the floor splashing as he slammed down onto the bomb.

  Then the grenade exploded, the sound muffled by the flesh it consumed, lifting Lastshot's body off the ground. It punched a hole clean through his body armor with a sickening squishy sound.

  Lastshot's body came to sudden rest there, blood pouring out of his wounds.

  The silence of the cave laboratory was deafening....

  Firststrike sat bolt upright in bed, breathing heavily, his body covered in a cold sweat.

  He rose from his futon, fully clothed, turned on a light and knelt in a meditation stance in front of his shinzen, the spiritual center of his room.

  There were two framed photos on either side of the shinzen. One was of a beautiful young woman with golden blond hair; the other was of Lastshot from his days before his Exceptional status when he was just Conner Le'Schott.

  After a time, Firststrike looked at his alarm clock. It was four twenty-two in the morning.

  "SAM?” Firststrike said.

  "Yes, Jason?” the voice of the Headquarters computer system answered.

  "Start Morning Drill Gemini Delta One."

  "Jason,” the calm neutral voice said. “It's only four twenty-two in the morning—"

  "Do it ... please."

  "Yes, Jason.” There was a second's pause and then an alarm klaxon sounded.

  Firststrike sprang quickly to his feet and headed for the door.

  * * * *

  The lights snapped on and Temper leapt out of bed, dressed in a pink and white nightgown, her hair in curlers. She hit the ground in a dive, rolled behind a dressing screen and in less than a minute rolled out in her full techninja gear. She stood and pulled the curlers out of her hair with a curse and exited the room at a jog.

  * * * *

  The lights in Echo's quarters came on abruptly to reveal an elegant, book-lined library that looked like it belonged in a Victorian townhouse. There was an old Jeffersonian desk in the corner, a small upright harpsichord, and an old framed copy of the long defunct New York Globe newspaper with a cover feature article of Echo's great-grandfather, Larry Brassfield, dated May 12, 1934.

  Echo calmly rose and started to make the bed. He pointed his finger at his stereo. The stereo turned itself on and the strains of Paganni filled the room.

  Echo hummed along as he quickly finished making the bed, and then exited the room; turning off the stereo the same way he turned it on.

  * * * *

  The lights snapped on in Skorpion's room and she crawled out of bed, moaning. She picked a gun up from her night table, shot the alarm clock, and fell back against the pillow.

  * * * *

  Goldstrike was asleep, sprawled half under the covers. A beautiful woman was asleep next to him in violation of every protocal and safety rule the Exceptionals were supposed to follow. When the lights went on, he reached out to shut off the alarm.

  "Matthew, early drill,” SAM's voice said.

  Goldstrike groaned. He slowly got up. The woman beside him reached out to him. He leaned back and started kissing her.

  "Matthew...” SAM repeated. Matthew ignored the voice and they kept kissing.

  "Matthew!"

  Goldstrike pulled away. “Okay, SAM,” he said. He got up and staggered to the bathroom, closing the door.

  After a moment, he came out of the bathroom dressed in his gold combat suit, and headed for the door. He grabbed a holster from a peg on the wall. A second woman came out of the bathroom, her head wrapped in a wet towel.

  Goldstrike turned back before he left. “Talk amongst yourselves,” he said, then exited.

  The two women looked at each other. The woman with the towel on her head smiled and said, “So, what's your name?"

  * * * *

  Firststrike had activated the holographic combat program in the training room. After the ‘glitches’ across the country had been fixed, he realized the value the Galaxy Ranger type gaming program offered. It offered both sound and sensory imput that allowed far more realistic training scenarios ‘in house’ on a regular basis. The version for The Bodyguard involved augmented eye pieces, gloves and body vests that made the environment of the room more realistic than the ‘public’ version.

  When Goldstrike ran into the room, grabbing a sensor vest and goggles from the rack, the team was in the middle of a big fight with many black-clad computer-generated opponents. The Bodyguard were protecting two computer-generated figures who had the words ‘President’ and ‘Vice President’ written in glowing letters on their chests and backs.

  Firststrike looked over, and spoke while kicking an enemy. “Good morning, Matthew, so nice of you to join us! Suit up and take point!"

  Goldstrike donned the glasses, vest and gloves and took a computer ‘gun’ to replace his real one. He electronically ‘locked and loaded’ and jumped into the fight.

  Temper took on four enemies at a time and with a flurry of kicks and punches, knocked them all to the ground.

  Skorpion held one enemy by the throat off the ground and pounded on another without breaking a sweat. Echo used his ‘energy fists’ to knock down his enemies.

  Goldstrike spun around the second he was involved in the conflict and cut down several of the writhing black clad attackers. Another figure swung at him and he emptied a barrage of ‘bullets’ at it. The electronic ‘bullets’ were simulating a heavy caliber automatic and so many of the phantom projectiles continued through the black clad attackers, hitting the one labeled ‘President'.

  "SAM! Stop drill!” Firststrike called.

  The computer-generated enemies disappeared to reveal the marionette forms they had been projected on. The team stood there for a moment.

  "Matthew,” Temper said quietly. “You shot the President."

  "Again!” Skorpion's voice was dripping with venom.

  "What do you expect?” Goldstrike said, “It's not even five o'clock!"

  "Matthew!” Firststrike said with exasperation.

  "If you actually spent any time actually sleeping in your bed...” Temper began, but a voice came over the intercom and stopped her. It was one of Matthew's women.

  "Matthew,” she said. “Alessandra can't find her nec—"

  Matthew raced to the intercom switch. “I'll be right there ... I will be right there!"

  Echo did his best to suppress a laugh. “Will you need any help?"

  "Well ... no!” Goldstrike said quickly
.

  "Matthew—” the woman said again.

  "Waitaminute!” Matthew said as he took off his training gear in preparation to head out of the room.

  "Check under the couch,” Echo called to him.

  "All right! Drill's over!” Firststrike said throwing his hands up in frustration. He cut off his brother at the door, freezing him with a killer stare and then exited the training room without looking back. There was silence for a moment.

  Goldstrike shrugged his shoulders and headed for the door. Skorpion stopped him.

  "Your brother is gonna kill us if you don't stop screwing up and we don't find him love."

  "I am not sharing!” Matthew blurted out.

  "Too late,” Temper said under her breath across the room, certain no one could hear.

  The team filed out. Goldstrike looked at Echo quizzically when his teammate shook his head at him.

  "Very good ears,” Echo said by way of explanation. “It's a curse."

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  Chapter 32

  "I hate this team leader gig."

  Firststrike sat in the ready room facing a large Tri v screen. He was dressed in workout clothes, having just come from a run in the park, and had eschewed his eyepatch for the glass prosthetic he used when he wanted to be relatively inconspicuous. On the screen was Senator Warren Stryker, Jason's father.

  "You could turn it over to someone else, son."

  "Dad, Matthew's next in line.” Firststrike massaged his temples.

  "I see your point."

  "I can't control him anymore, Dad, I've had to have everybody onsite since—Conner was—and Matthew had two, not one, two women onsite last night. I have the Federal Police following up on the women but—That would get anyone else locked up: this is supposed to be a secure facility—"

  "Not according to The Artist and his people—"

  "All right—but we were supposed to address that—Conner could keep Matthew in line—he respected Conner. Damn—we all did. I don't know how much more I can take; I'm starting to lose sleep.” His voice and the deepening lines on his face reinforced his words.

  "You may not have to deal with it much longer,” the senator said. There was an odd hesitation in his voice that Jason noticed.

  Firststrike perked up a little. “Who are they bringing in? Steel Patriot? The Veteran? The Texas Ranger?” He had a hard time not showing his excitement at the prospect of stepping down from the command position.

  At that moment, SAM spoke from a wall-mounted speaker. “Jason, we have guests; clearance level Epsilon."

  Firststrike was visibly impressed. “Is this them?” He rose, intending to leave, then remembered he was still connected to his father, whose voice brought him back to the screen.

  "Uh, Jason, I think you want to have the whole team present for this meeting."

  "Okay, dad. SAM, full team in ten minutes in the ready room; full uniform."

  * * * *

  The Bodyguard assembled in the ready room as requested, though not without a bit of grumbling. Goldstrike, Temper, Skorpion, and Echo were all in their full combat attire, but still looking a little bleary-eyed from their aborted pre-dawn drill.

  The team MedTech, Punjar Kumar, her black hair pulled back from her face in a ponytail, sat off to one side. She was a pretty woman in her thirties, of Pakistani descent and not just an M.D. but with a doctorate in microbiology. She was responsible for the regular medical care of the entire team and was also team ‘mom’ despite her age.

  Goldstrike, his feet on a desk, tossed a paper airplane in the air and shot it down with a rubberband gun. Echo applauded.

  "You know, Jason,” Matthew said. “Alessandra and Bambi will never forgive you for waking us that early.” Firststrike looked like he wanted to scream.

  "Weren't you already up?” Skorpion asked.

  Goldstrike just smiled.

  "Bambi?” Temper said with a look of disgust.

  Before they could continue this banter, the ready room door slid open to reveal their guests, three government ‘suits'.” One of them was ‘Mr. Smith'—one of the men who had debriefed the team after the mission in Cambodia; the one who had informed them about Lastshot's ‘injuries'. The three men stood facing the group.

  "Good morning, Bodyguard. We'd like to thank you for maintaining governmental policy concerning Lastshot's injuries; we know it has not been easy."

  Goldstrike rolled his eyes towards the ceiling. “It's worse than an HMO-denial city,” he said under his breath.

  Mister Smith ignored him. “We know that you will be equally as diligent in observing policy as we enter stage two."

  When he said the words ‘stage two’ the members of the team looked at each other curiously.

  "What do you mean?” Firststrike asked.

  "Your team has been exemplary,” the shorter G-man said, “in its handling of information security regarding Lastshot."

  "Get to the point!” Goldstrike said. “You're not paid by the word! I have a date! Two, if I can get out of here early enough."

  Skorpion and Temper, sitting on either side of him, both punched him in the ribs.

  "Oow! They hit me!"

  "Now,” the new G-man continued, as if he had not been interrupted, “that Lastshot has recovered from his wounds..."

  The Exceptionals in the room were all stunned by the absurd pronouncement. Everyone started talking at once.

  "What?” Temper said.

  "Wounds like that you don't recover from!” Firststrike insisted.

  "You two-faced lying sacks!” Skorpion snarled. “We saw him die—"

  Suddenly, the door to the ready room opened and Lastshot, looking hail and hardy dressed in his full battledress uniform, strode in. He dropped a gear bag by the door and smiled at the team. “Hey, everybody! Miss me?"

  Goldstrike fainted dead away.

  [Back to Table of Contents]

  Chapter 33

  The Bodyguard stood frozen as Lastshot looked around the ready room. The team leader stood his full six foot six, was as well muscled as ever, but looked leaner. His salt and pepper hair was shorter than it had been when the group had last seen him, two months before. He looked, in fact, the picture of relaxed, convalescent health.

  "I missed you, too,” he said with a smile. “Say hello to the other head I grew; what's going on?"

  Everybody started talking at once.

  "Conner!” Firststrike tried to speak and couldn't.

  "Oh, my God!” Temper said.

  "How the hell...” Skorpion mumbled.

  "Oh, my head...” Goldstrike groaned from the floor, but no one seemed to notice.

  "As you can see,” Mr. Smith said. “He has completely recovered from his wounds; you will follow established protocols and procedures.” He looked at his two companions and nodded. “Thank you for your cooperation.” The government men exited, leaving the Exceptionals and Punjar to stare at their ‘resurrected leader.'

  Lastshot turned back to The Bodyguard. “Well, I have been reading the reports, but now you all can tell me yourselves—"

  An alarm klaxon went off and SAM interrupted them. The New York Police Force has requested The Bodyguard's assistance at Fifth Avenue and Forty Fourth Street. Reunions will have to wait.

  * * * *

  Police cars had cordoned off several blocks around the affected address. The Bodyguard van screeched up, followed by Goldstrike on his gold and black motorcycle, who powerslid to a stop. Lastshot jumped out of the van and a police captain came up to him.

  "Thank God you're here,” the officer said. “Captain Mephisto and his gang have taken the board of directors of InterTech Trading hostage and have asked for a helicopter and—"

  "A whole lot of trouble,” Goldstrike said to the police captain as he raced up. “Let's kick butt!"

  Several female pedestrians saw the Golden warrior and began waving and cheering him. He waved back. He drew his Colt Thruster and played to the crowd.

  "W
ait a minute, Shiny,” Lastshot said, putting a restraining hand on Goldstrike's arm. “The heat coils in that artificial arm of his will fry the hostages."

  Skorpion came running up. “Do you think Mephisto's forgotten about sprinkler systems, again?"

  "He took out the building's water main first thing,” the Police Captain said.

  Lastshot considered the situation and called up the schematics of the building on his neural glasses screen. “He's located on the roof near this air conditioning tower?"

  The Policeman nodded.

  An evil grin spread across the tall Exceptional's face. “Well, he wants a helicopter, let's give him a helicopter."

  * * * *

  Captain Mephisto had learned little about repentance, tactics, or sartorial perfection in his months in prison awaiting trial. The lean, bearded man had grown his hair out to an indifferent pageboy and was dressed, again, like a seventeenth century pirate, complete with a sword at his hip. He had recruited a new gang of Raiders, all dressed in red, which were arrayed on the roof in a loose tactical formation around him.

  Several corporate executives were being held at gunpoint by the base of an air conditioning tower. Mephisto was on a cellular phone.

  "Thank you, so much, Officer Ferrara. It's such a joy dealing with a constabulary who knows their place.” He put the phone away and turned to his gang with a munificent smile on his face.

  "The helicopter will be here in moments, my loyal corsairs, and we will be gone with the booty."

  The sound of a chopper approaching filled the sky. Everyone looked up. The chopper came closer moving through the maze of buildings until Mephisto could read the lettering on its side.

  "New York.” He slowly read the lettering aloud, “Fire Department Harbor Unit?"

  Suddenly, water cannons beneath the chopper opened fire, blasting the roof with twin streams of water at high pressure. The water flooded the roof and knocked most of the people down. The corporate scions, secured to the tower were merely soaked, but the Raiders were flung about like so much flotsom, though not seriously injured.

  The Bodyguard tossed ropes from beneath the helicopter and repelled from it to the attack with cries of joy.