In Hero Years... I'm Dead Delux Edition

by Michael Stackpole

  Diana nodded to me. “I get it now. Junk isn’t worth getting somebody hurt.”

  I smiled. “And you really liked kicking ass.”

  “Well, yeah.” She shrugged sheepishly. “I really did.”

  The table I’d occupied bowed beneath Red Angel’s weight. Julia’s hands glowed white. Bones crackled back into place, though the bruising beneath Raisa’s eyes remained. Raisa blinked twice, wrinkled her nose, then nodded. “Thank you.”

  Julia smiled. “You did far more to him than he did to you.”

  “I thought he was dead.”

  “He almost was.”

  I raised an eyebrow. “How did you get here?”

  Vicki held up her uTiliPod. “Raisa called me. She’d heard enough of our conversation to piece together who I was to you. She told me her story and she wanted to help. She said she owed you, so I decided to take a chance.”

  “I will not betray you this time, tovarish.”

  “I believe you.” I looked at Blue Ninja. “You really do know more than your sister wanted you to know, don’t you?”

  Jimmy Nimura bowed. “I know what I’m doing. I’ve practiced. I won’t get hurt.”

  “This isn’t a game, son.”

  “I have a note from my folks.”

  Terry nodded. “I had a talk with them. They’re stunned, but they understand.”

  A blue nanite cloud congealed above Blue Ninja’s open palm. It became a topographical map of Capital City, complete with golden fires burning and whole sectors flashing red. The red shifted, eating into Emerald Heights and the Gold Coast.

  “I’ve been monitoring all the radio traffic. The warehouse ambush trapped a lot of C4 II. At the same time, gangs hit the jail and Armory. They busted loose all the seasoned criminals, including Mephistopheles and Baron Samizdat. The gangs have two objectives. Looters are going through businesses and stealing everything that isn’t nailed down. A larger group, using armored vehicles from the Armory, has laid siege to City Hall. The remnants of C4 II and the police are holding out. The mayor is there and he has Redhawk guiding the defense.”

  Terry draped an arm over Blue Ninja’s shoulders. “The kid’s strictly command and control. I’ve got a dozen radios for us, band-shifting, encrypted. He can give us updates, but he gets no where near the action. I give you my personal guarantee.”

  He wasn’t going to let happen to Blue Ninja what killed Goldie. It was Terry’s shot at redemption, and who I was I to deny him? “I believe you.”

  I nodded at the map. “Gotta lift the siege. L’Angyle, if you and Gravé come in from the north… What?”

  Julia shook her head. “I am going to the hospital.”

  “But we need you.”

  “Others need me more. You go to wreak havoc and sow discord. Good.” Her eyes hardened. “I will repair those you fail to protect.”

  “We’ll do everything we can to keep you unemployed.”

  “Things are already beyond that point.” She brought her hands together, palm-to-palm and nodded slowly. “Be your best.” Blue light flashed and she vanished.

  I looked at her husband. “You coming?”

  His expression said he thought I was insane. “I’m not a hero anymore. I can’t do anything.”

  “That’s not what makes you a hero, Grant.” I pointed to the map. “You told me once that you could have saved millions of people from natural disasters. How about saving a couple dozen from an unnatural disaster?”

  He opened his arms. “You don’t get it. I’m just a normal guy. I don’t even have a bag of tricks.”

  “You’re joking, right?” I shook my head. “Have you missed the fact that in the last twenty years you’ve become the best martial artist in the world?”

  Grant closed his eyes for a moment, then shook his head slowly. “There comes a time when the responsibility falls on other shoulders. We brought you into C4 as someone who could assume it. You are, all of you are.”

  He clapped me on the back with his half a hand. “Get going. Go be the heroes this city so desperately needs.”

  Chapter Thirty-eight

  Terry spread a dozen ear-bud radios on the table. We each took one and Blue Ninja synched them. We went through sound checks as I pulled my cowl on. Everyone was online, then Terry looked at me.

  “You joining us?”

  “I just did.”

  “You need a call sign.” He laughed. “’Hey you’ has limited utility in a firefight.”

  Grant smiled. “That’s Terry’s polite way of asking who the hell are you?”

  I hesitated. My face burned. “My father gave me this uniform. He hoped I’d avenge him from beyond the grave. Never liked the idea then, but having just died myself, I see the appeal. I’m a nasty ghost bent on vengeance.”

  Gravé smiled. “A revenant.”

  “Yeah. Back from the dead.” I keyed the radio. “Revenant checking in. Let’s go.”

  Red Angel, Golden Guardian, Blue Ninja and Gravilass flew out and positioned Blue Ninja high up on the Emerald Ballroom balcony. The rest of us piled into the Chaser and the Crusher, Puma driving her great-grandfather’s car and leading the way. Gravé rode with her. Vixen joined Coyote and me in my old vehicle.

  Coyote turned the engine over. It roared mightily. I turned the key for the weapon’s-systems and a console rotated down where the stereo had been. I brought the rockets on line.

  I didn’t know if it was a good thing or bad, but the people of Capital City weren’t out panicking in the streets. Sure, the criminal gangs hadn’t gotten this far south, but people had to see the trends. Watching gangs move on the Murdoch had to be like watching a wildfire spread. I would have thought people would be streaming for the bridges.

  Not only were they not doing that, they weren’t even at their windows. “Where are the people?”

  Vixen shivered in the back seat. “They’re just ‘docked, hoping their Superfriends do well.”

  Coyote shook his head. “Heck, we don’t even know what they’re seeing. They might hear sirens and hear explosions, but what if the Murdoch isn’t reporting anything about the raids?”

  “That could work in our favor.” I punched up a crystal rocket. “Keeps civilian casualties down and if the bad guys are using the Murdoch for info, they’ll never see us coming.”

  Not that there was much to see. Puma swung the Crusher onto Graviton Drive, using the broad avenue to head straight for City Hall. The Crusher, being bigger, with broader bumpers and big wheels, had a basic VW Bug design. A roll-cage inside and out and gyro-stabilizers let it bounce up over things or overrun them, including abandoned cabs and trash thrown up as ersatz roadblocks. For the most part, however, Puma steered around obstacles and cornered tightly.

  Four blocks out we hit the first mob. Using a joystick, I dropped an aiming reticule on them and hit the firing button. A crystal missile launched from a tube in the trunk, arced up in front of us and exploded about thirty feet above the crowd. The concussion knocked most of them flat and buffeted the Chaser. Our windshield momentarily darkened against the flash and shrapnel hissed against the windows.

  Vixen stared as the mob stayed down. “You didn’t just…”

  “Kill them? No. Each missile has a crystal-anesthetic payload. The explosion scatters it in a cloud. Inhale it or get stuck through the flesh, you go down.”

  Terry’s voice crackled over the radio. “You’ll want to step on it. Police line just cracked and the hordes of Hell are pouring into City Hall.”

  “We’re a minute out. Can you stop them?”

  “Sure, but there’s this giant robot ravaging Nexus Park...”

  Gravé’s voice came through the radio. “Go for the robot. I’ll handle City Hall.” Something flashed inside the Crusher, then where there had been two silhouetted heads only one remained.

  The Crusher bounded over the curb on the round-about in front of City Hall. We cut right. Four armored personnel carriers, captured during the Armory breakout, pounded the hall with
sonic cannon blasts. Two of the gunners swung the muzzles around to track the Crusher, but Puma let the vehicle careen right and left. Missed shots cut a swath through armored gang-members.

  Off to the northeast, Gravé hovered in the shadow of the Wayne State building. Blue fire wreathed his black silhouette. He furiously stroked an invisible guitar outlined in golden flames. Below him a whole cadre of gangsters writhed and danced, smashing into each other. Some climbed high onto the marble lions to hurl themselves into the waiting crowd below. Strange and discordant notes reached us, setting my nerves on edge.

  APC gunners remained intent on nailing the Crusher. Shots missed narrowly, blasting more mosh-pitting criminals.

  I glanced at Coyote. “Probably ought to do something about those guys. Don’t want to ruin all your work.”

  “Roger that.” Coyote hit a button on the dash. Four spring-loaded catches in the corner posts released. The wind blew the Chaser’s hard top off. Without missing a beat, Vixen turned, knelt on the back seat and shot two of the APC gunners. Coyote steered between the APCs and I sent a Crystal Missile at the City Hall doors.

  Their blasts cleared the area as the Crusher bounced up the broad steps and through the bronze double doors. Coyote followed, bumping us through a washboard ride. I caught Vixen’s belt before she bounced out. We roared up over the last step, then skidded to a stop in the rotunda, facing the doors. Our fish-tailing scattered more of the raiders.

  Our first close-up look at them emphasized the depth of planning that had gone into Mr. Big’s operation. He’d let Constitution round up his heartiest recruits and house them in overflow detention pens at the Armory. That put them in position to arm themselves from the city’s stores. They’d covered themselves in body armor, carried lexan shields and were wielding sonic-shotgun street-sweepers, each fitted with a twenty-round drum.

  Coyote swung the weapons console around and hit a button for the pneumatic cannons. “I’ve got these guys. Go!”

  Vixen and I leaped from the Chaser and headed up the broad stairs, hot after raiders. Her whip caught an ankle, sending a woman tumbling past us. I treated one guy to prostate exam with a shock rod, stepped over him and tossed another man back down the stairs.

  Top of the stairs, turn right, directly into the Grand Ballroom. The gangsters had fanned out in a crescent, facing off against a small phalanx of cops flanking Redhawk. The raiders should have crushed them, but held back, waiting on orders from their leader.

  The massive figure in black armor stepped into the space between the two groups. Half-again as tall as any of them and very well muscled, he could have bench-pressed the Chaser. Light shimmered wetly over his armor. It looked like chain mail, but was so thin that the veins pulsing on his forearms remained visible. Horns curled up out of his head, and they, along with his cloven hooves, clued me into his identity.

  Vixen had gotten there ahead of me. “Mephistopheles, in armor.”

  “Like he needed it.”

  Mephistopheles gestured invitingly to Redhawk. “Surrender to me now, and your men shall not be harmed.”

  “Surrender isn’t in my vocabulary.” Redhawk struck a heroic pose. “But if you lay down your arms, justice will be lenient with you.”

  The armored demon laughed, his voice echoing coldly beneath the Grand Ballroom’s glass dome. “If you want me, take me.” He dropped into a fighting stance and Redhawk stepped forward.

  Two Spookstars arced in at Mephistopheles. The techno-demon batted them from the air. Uncaring that the deflected missiles dropped two of his allies, Mephistopheles darted forward, feinted a punch at Redhawk’s head, then swept his legs with a kick.

  Redhawk went down, then rolled, just avoiding a stomp that crushed stone. The hero came back up and hefted a head-size hunk of rock. He made to hurl it two-handed at Mephistopheles, but even before he could release, a hoof flicked out. It pulverized the stone. Grey dust rained over Redhawk. Then the demon hooked his leg down and back, catching Redhawk in the spine.

  Redhawk landed face first. He slid into the center of the room, leaving a bloody streak in his wake. Mephistopheles whirled, tensed and pounced, ready to pulp his dazed opponent. Redhawk could do nothing to save himself.

  My grapnel caught one of the horns, locking shut with a click. I whipped the reel around one of the pillars, wrapping the line around itself and, just incidentally, two more thugs. It pulled tight. Mephistopheles jerked to a stop in mid-flight, landing heavily, well shy of his target.

  The thugs fared about as well as a rat in a pet python’s coils.

  Scooping up one of their discarded shotguns, I pumped five blasts into Mephistopheles and slipped between him and Redhawk.

  Good news: the shots got Mephistopheles’ attention. Bad news: that’s all they did. No blood, no gasps, not even the barest hint of a flinch. Crouching, the demon pinched off the grapnel’s line, flicking it aside, disgusted.

  The demon straightened up, eight feet of line dangling from that horn. “Not a good time to make your debut, Rookie. That is what the R is for, right?”

  “It’s for Wrecker, moron.”

  Sure, not the greatest line in the world, but it worked. As he was fixing to tell me I didn’t know how to spell, I tossed the shotgun aside and leaped at him. I ducked beneath a hasty front kick, then came up and jammed a shock-rod against the back of his knee. I hit the juice. Sizzle but no effect. Still, I had leverage, so I shoved him sideways.

  He recovered easily, then spun to sweep a leg through mine. I leaped above and he came round. That’s when Vixen hit him with both feet square in the chest. He fell back, but still swatted her out of the air. She flew into the cops, knocking a half-dozen of them down.

  Mephistopheles sprang to his feet again and drove at me. I dodged two kicks, then caught his wrist between crossed shock-rods. I started to twist, bringing his elbow in toward his middle, but he locked the armor before I could do any serious damage. Having learned from Red Angel, I took advantage. The second his arm locked, I used it as a pivot-point. Swinging up and around, I planted both feet on his pointy chin.

  His head snapped around. He hit the marble floor hard, but bounded up again with all the enthusiasm of a puppy at play. A big demon puppy that was getting sick and tired of being batted around. He’d finally figured out that I had more skills than he did, but strength, armor and reach gave him an edge. Neurons fired, and he came up with a new strategy.

  He leaped again, but the arc was wrong. He’d land well short of me. Not having to dodge, I was already thinking about how I’d counter-attack. I’d even gathered myself for a flying kick at where I estimated his head would be. When he touched down I was low, rooted and ready.

  Just not for what happened.

  He landed heavy and hard with both feet. 9.5 on the Richter scale. Thugs and cops went down like chessmen on an overturned board. Redhawk, who’d managed to reach his hands and knees, went flat again. And me, being closest to ground zero, didn’t fare any better.

  The floor crumbled beneath me. It just opened up, a marble and concrete avalanche burying the floor thirty feet below. I tried to leap clear but fluid gravel makes a lousy springboard.

  Gravity 1, Revenant zero.

  Falling fast, I made a grab for the hole’s edge. I caught it with one hand. My fingers held, just for a second. Then stone powdered. My grip slipped.

  A strong hand caught my wrist. Redhawk! “I got you.”

  “Yes, indeed, you have each other.” Mephistopheles loomed above us, raising a hoof. “And now I have you both!”

  Chapter Thirty-nine

  On a scale of survival chances, Redhawk and I ranked slightly lower than a coal shoveler on the Titanic. The only silver lining was that Mephistopheles would likely crash through the floor with us. By us, I mean the smear marking where Redhawk and I had once been. If we were lucky, the blood would make things greasy enough that Mephistopheles might slip and turn his ankle.

  Before his hoof could fall, the skylight above cascaded down in a
thousand razored fragments. A powerfully built man in brown motorcycle leathers and helmet crashed through the glass. He grabbed the flailing end of the line attached to the demon’s horn and yanked, hard. Mephistopheles, off balance already, flew backward. He rolled into his shock troops, crushing the left wing.

  The demon came up onto a knee, but his foe gave him no time to recover. The interloper closed fast, whirled, and caught Mephistopheles with a roundhouse kick that sent the demon sprawling. Better yet, the armored faceplate, trailing sparks, spun off into the corner and imbedded itself in the wall.

  Mephistopheles rose again, but fear blossomed in those fiery eyes. The faceplate’s loss compromised the armor’s integrity. Half the control circuitry buzzed and smoked in the corner. Mephistopheles moved slowly and stiffly, shaking his head to clear it.

  The Man in Brown darted in, delivering a flurry of punches that cracked teeth, shattered Mephistopheles’ nose and drove him back against the wall. The demon shoved off, launching himself at the Man in Brown. Our savior ducked, letting the villain fly over him. The demon landed chest first and skidded. Without waiting for him to stop, the Man in Brown pounced. He ground his feet into the demon’s spine, then snapped a kick to the back of his head, driving his face into the floor. The Man in Brown leaped clear, and Mephistopheles limply slid into the hole.

  The trailing line wrapped around twisted rebar. Mephistopheles jerked to a stop, his hooves just grazing the rubble below. Hanging from one horn, he swayed peacefully.

  Redhawk heaved me up. The breaking glass had cut him in a couple places, and he was nursing a split lip. Other than that he was good to go. He gave me a comradely nod, and we turned to face Mephistopheles’ henchmen.

  And both of us heaved a sigh of relief as the Man in Brown joined us. It shouldn’t have made a difference to the other side, but it did. They made a nice little crowd, carrying a dizzying array of weapons and armor. The first exchange would be nasty and I was pretty sure the only thing that would stop me hitting the floor below was getting impaled on one of Mephistopheles’ horns.