Firedrake - Volume 1

by T. Mike McCurley

  “So he’s real?”

  “Oh, yes, very real, my friend. Karma was an interesting sort. In the early days, Alicia sought him out to help us stop Firebrand.”

  “So you’ve worked with him then.”

  “Not at all,” Emile said, shaking his head and raising a hand. “He was unwilling to assist us.”

  The response stunned Drake for a moment. He could not imagine anyone not desiring to work alongside those that were now regarded as legends. When he paused to think that he was even peripherally involved in struggles of their magnitude, the thought sent chills down his spine. Obviously there was something odd about Karma.

  “So why did Lady J track him down at all? What made him so special?”

  Emile chuckled, then reached into his pocket and withdrew a battered pack of cigarettes. He tucked one of the unfiltered sticks into the corner of his mouth and lit it with a chrome Zippo before answering. “Have you seen the films of the first lunar landing?”

  “Back in sixty-nine? Yeah.”

  “When Armstrong set foot on the moon, he gave his speech and planted his flag. It was shortly after that when he discovered the message. It said simply, ‘What took you so long?’ and was signed ‘Karma’. There were footprints leading to it, but not away, and their origin was never located. The prints were made by someone wearing sneakers.”

  It was Drake’s turn to sit back in his chair. His eyes widened as he tried to absorb the information.

  “I never heard that,” he admitted.

  “Few people ever have,” Emile said with a slight shrug. A plume of grey smoke jetted toward the ceiling as he exhaled. “This was Man’s race to the stars, remember? It was hardly the place to glorify the ego of a genebooster. The tapes were edited and cleaned to remove traces of Karma’s activity before they were released to the general public. After we viewed the originals, Alicia decided that perhaps this was someone who could be of use to us. Now, I have a question of my own.”

  “Go ahead.”

  “Where did you hear this name?”

  “Remember the little girl that tried to blow us out of the sky?”

  “But of course.” Emile said. “She was not so good the last time I saw her. That bitch Hart says she was taken to a cell.”

  “Yeah, she was,” Drake said. “I just went down there and talked to her. She had something very interesting to tell me about Karma.”

  “And that would be?” Emile asked, taking a deep drag from the cigarette.

  “She’s his daughter.”

  The color drained from Emile’s face and he choked on a lungful of smoke. Coughing and sputtering, he sat bolt upright. “His daughter?” he gasped.

  “That’s what she says, anyway.” Drake said, holding his hands out and spreading them wide. “Don’t know how much truth there is to it, but I think she had some good motivation.”

  “Monsieur Drake, your story has suddenly become more dangerous,” Emile said. “If indeed she is the daughter of Karma, then it would be in your best interests to voice this information to Colleen Hart. Much as I may detest the woman, she is formidable in her own way.”

  “What is it with you two, anyway?” Drake asked, cocking his head to the side. “You went at her like an acid bath the moment you got here. Even when I mentioned her name to you back at your house you went cold. Something I ought to know about?”

  “She and I have a past of sorts,” Emile began. “Many years ago. It is not the easiest of things to explain.” His eyes lowered to the desktop and he drew at the cigarette as he considered his words. Drake saved him the trouble.

  “You were banging her?”

  Emile coughed again, holding up a hand to stop Drake from saying anything else. He hacked for a moment before regaining control. A grin spread across his face as he responded.. “I do wish you would wait for me to exhale before saying things such as this,” he requested, wiping tears from the corners of his eyes. Blinking, he looked up at Drake. “That was not the choice of words I would have used, but it is nonetheless a fact. She and I had a relationship some years ago. It did not end well.”

  “And now you hate each other.”

  “For lack of a better phrase, yes. Being in the same building with her, even for so short a period as we have been here, makes my stomach turn. I should like nothing so much as to spit in her face and depart, but I cannot, so long as my friend lies upon that table. I am, however, consoled by the thought of how much it hurt her to send you for me.”

  “She might well have figured that we’d end up killing each other,” Drake noted. “She’s not exactly on my Christmas card list, you know.”

  “But she would have no way of knowing how we would react to one another.”

  “I ain’t the hardest guy to predict most times,” Drake said with a soft chuckle. “You might have noticed I’ve got what the shrinks call ‘anger issues’. Remember when we first met? Outside your house? It got a little tense for a minute.”

  “I do seem to recall that. You stood on my flowers.”

  “Just the tray,” Drake corrected. “No reason for me to go squishing flowers. Besides, you interrupted me.”

  “And knowing that you tend to react in such a manner, you believe that Hart sent you in hopes somehow that one or both of us might come to harm?”

  “Wouldn’t surprise me. Kind of a nice setup on her part, you know? Two birds, one stone…you getting where I‘m going with this?”

  Emile sat in silent contemplation for a minute, then shook his head. “I doubt that she would send an assassin to my door. She has more…shall we say, roundabout ways of controlling others.” He paused as if considering what those ways might be, then shook his head again, more forcefully this time. “Be that as it may, it would seem that your best alternative at this point is to present the information that this Manslaughter person gave to you to Hart. Let her decide on a course of action that would be appropriate.”

  “Oh, I already decided on one,” Drake said.

  “Yes?”

  Drake nodded and stood from his chair. “Yep. I got me a plan. But you know what? I think you’re right. I should tell Hart about it. And I think you ought to be there when I do. You might just enjoy her reaction.”

  A smile broadening his features, Emile rose and moved for the door. “You are going to make her angry, then?"

  “Might happen," Drake nodded. “I’ve been known to.”

  “Then I am more than ready.”

  The pair exited the room and returned to the observation area. Drake looked around the room for Hart, but she was nowhere to be found. He reached out with a huge hand, claws snagging the shirt of a passing researcher.

  “Where’s Hart?” he asked, ignoring the flush of terror that suddenly crossed the man’s face.

  “She, um, she’s in her office, sir,” the man stammered. He raised a trembling hand and pointed toward the rear of the room. “B-back there. Past the, past the computer terminals. You can’t miss it.”

  “Thanks,” Drake muttered, releasing the man to return to his duties. A sigh of relief sounded from behind them as Drake and Emile walked away.

  Drake shook his head in amazement at the man’s fear, then continued forward in the direction he had been pointed. He forced his way through a knot of scientists who had clustered around a computer screen; the spinning images displayed there could have been Patriot’s DNA or the newest rage in video games. Either would have been as incomprehensible to Drake. None of those he displaced voiced any objection to his rough passage, though some looked as though they had the intent before they saw exactly who was pushing them aside.

  Drake did not bother knocking at the door marked ‘Director’. He gripped the knob, discovering by feel that it was locked. Turning to regard Emile, he shook his head in mock sorrow. “Kind of a shame that people think they gotta lock their doors, isn’t it? The climate we live in these days…”

  Twisting his wrist sharply, Drake forced the knob. The muscles in his forearm stood out momentarily
in sharp relief and then there was a screeching sound from inside the lock mechanism, followed by a loud cracking noise. Drake pushed on the door and it swung open before him.

  “Guess I was wrong. Looks like it’s open,” Drake said with a tiny smile.

  Inside the office, Colleen Hart sat at her desk, left eyebrow arched in curiosity as she viewed the dragon and man who entered the room. Beside her, hands thrust forward in a defensive pose that could also allow her powers to be utilized, was the garishly-dressed figure of Vertigo. She glared hotly at the unannounced intrusion.

  “Hiya, boss,” Drake said casually, spinning a chair away from the wall and dropping himself into it. He winked at Vertigo and mimed blowing her a kiss. Her teeth clenched and her cheeks reddened in response.

  “What do you want, Agent Drake?” Hart asked in her patented ‘I-am-bored-with-this-display’ voice. She returned to examining the papers that were scattered across her desk.

  “You see? That’s HeartBreak for you, Emile,” Drake said as the older booster lowered himself into a chair of his own. “Always thinking about the needs of her employees.”

  His cavalier tone brought a flash to Hart’s eyes and she looked sharply at him from across the desk. “Do you have a reason for being here, or is this just another way of you telling me you want a new job?”

  “Oh, I’ve got a job to do,” Drake assured her, nodding his head.

  “I see,” she said. “And what, pray tell, would this job entail?”

  “I may have found someone who can fix Patriot.”

  Hart placed the paper atop the desk with a slow movement of her hand and fixed Drake with a hard stare. “Elaborate,” she ordered.

  “Got a tip on a booster. Calls himself Karma.”

  Drake watched Hart’s face as he spoke, and was not surprised to see the sudden rush of adrenaline at the mention of Karma. Hart’s pupils dilated, her nostrils flared slightly, and her breathing quickened. Satisfied that he had at last garnered the lion’s share of her attention, Drake continued.

  “Well, I see I don’t have to tell you who I’m talking about," he noted smugly. “Seems he’s got himself a place down in Louisiana. Set himself up studying voodoo or some such shit. I’m gonna go have a talk with him. See if I can’t get him to come up here and work his mojo on the Man.”

  “That is…that is a very dangerous plan,” Hart said hesitantly. “If you are discussing the same Karma I think you are -”

  “Yeah, like it’s a real common name,” Drake cut in, rolling his eyes.

  “ - then you would be basically committing suicide,” she continued. “Karma has never wanted anything to do with us, and has made it clear how he feels about repeated attempts to reach out to him. If I remember correctly, the last Agents who tried are still confined to a psychiatric facility.”

  “And how long have you been trying to get me into one of those?” Drake snorted. “Look, lady, it’s a win-win for you. I either get what I need or I go squish. Don’t know what you’re all fired up about on it.”

  “He has a point,” Vertigo whispered. Drake shot her the finger.

  “Didn’t ask for your input, sweetheart,” he said.

  “Vertigo,” Hart said in a slow, cautionary tone. The girl took the hint and Hart returned her attention to Drake. “You are not my favorite agent, Drake, but I don’t feel the urge to throw you away right now.”

  “Gee, thanks,” Drake muttered, not missing the use of the phrase ‘right now‘. “Your concern is touching. Anyway, this ain’t a request, Hart. I’m going. You can either stand in my way - which means you take a chance on Patriot buying the farm - or you can back me in this.”

  Hart sighed, then pursed her lips in thought. “You do this, Agent, and you are acting against my recommendation. You understand that?”

  “Yeah. I’m on my own, same as always.”

  “Not what I said,” Hart corrected him. “I said you would be going against my recommendation, not against my orders. You have the support of the Division. What are you going to need?”

  “You won’t like it,” Drake said.

  “I never do where you are concerned,” Hart countered.

  “Fair enough. You know the little monkey-girl I brought in? The one down in the cells?”

  “Manslaughter?” Hart asked, though her voice held no hint of the sarcasm Drake used when he spoke the word.

  “Yep. I’m taking her with me. All charges are dropped if she helps.”

  “That’s not how we do things,” Hart said. Drake slapped a massive hand onto her desk, causing the papers to jump.

  “Again, not asking. She goes,” he said firmly, eyes narrowing as his teeth gritted.

  “Fine,” Hart said, her expression hardening. “You take her, then you take the chances. She’ll cut you down first chance she gets.”

  “No great loss, if you ask me,” Vertigo chimed in. Three pairs of eyes snapped over to glare at her.

  “No one did, child,” Emile said in a frosty tone. “Now be silent and allow these two to speak. When you opinion is sought it will be requested.”

  “Geez, Gramps. Chill,” Vertigo mumbled.

  “Chill?” Emile asked, a malicious grin splitting his features. “As you wish.”

  The temperature in the office dropped suddenly, and Drake’s wings fluttered out and snapped around his immense frame to ward off the cold. Hart closed her eyes and shook her head slowly from side to side as crystals of snow condensed from the very air of the room. Directed unerringly by Emile’s powers, the snow began to circle around the young girl in the multi-colored clothing.

  “You son of…” she began. Her hands, fingertips beginning to turn blue from the icy temperatures around her, snapped back up toward Emile. “Try the spin cycle, old man!”

  “This stops now!” Hart yelled as Drake took a threatening step toward Vertigo.

  “He started it!” Vertigo protested in a childish tone as she dropped her hands obediently back to her sides.

  “And I am finishing it,” Hart said. She sounded suddenly tired. She looked up at Emile. “You wonder why we were not compatible?” she asked softly.

  “Aww,” Emile said with obviously feigned sorrow. “And here I was believing it was the fact that you are a heartless bitch that made it so.”

  “I’m leaving,” Drake announced, shaking his head. He discarded thoughts of briefing Hart on the identity of Manslaughter in the face of the current activity in the office. “All of you people are flat-ass crazy, and I’m gonna get out before I catch me a case of it myself.”

  As he closed the door behind him, Drake could hear Emile and Hart finally settling their differences through the tried and true method of yelling obscenities at one another. He rubbed some feeling back into his chilled arms and headed for the elevator.

  “I wonder if I should tell her that I’m taking Annihilator along for the ride?” he asked aloud. He shook his head again, grinning wickedly. “Nah.”

  Chapter Eleven

  Manslaughter moved with some apprehension, though she held herself proudly as she was brought out of the brig. The Marines who guarded her stayed clear of her hands despite the bindings of durite that still enveloped them. Their discomfort made her grin behind the recently-reapplied duct tape that covered her mouth.

  “No talking ‘til we get outside, slick,” Drake ordered from his position near the door. “I ain’t in the mood to kick your ass right now.”

  A muffled curse sounded from behind the tape. A heartbeat later the group of escorting Marines had fallen back a pace and centered their rifles on her head. The dim overhead lighting glinted on the flash suppressors tipping the barrels. Though the men might have been trembling inside, their weapons were held with rock-steady precision.

  “Looks like they are, though,” Drake noted with no little satisfaction. He stepped forward, moving one of the escorts aside by the sheer force of his presence, and gripped Manslaughter by the left elbow. His touch was surprisingly gentle.

  “T
ime to go,” he said, pushing her into the elevator. A moment later, the doors closed and the pair was alone. Drake stripped free the tape and Manslaughter took in a long gulp of air through her mouth.

  “Thanks,” she muttered, her expression sour. She twisted her torso, angling her back to him. She held up her bound hands as much as the awkward position would allow. “Now, how about these?”

  Drake chuckled. “Outside. When we get outside.”

  “Come on. They’re hurting me.”

  “I’m ugly, slick, but I ain’t brain dead,” Drake said, shaking his head. “I take those off in this building and you’re gonna do something stupid. The deal was for outside.”

  “I’ll be good,” she pleaded.

  “I said no,” Drake said, turning his head away from her to stare at the door. He kept his senses as sharp as possible, wondering if she was going to try to influence him again.

  The pair traveled in silence for the remainder of the short trip to the main floors of the complex. Their arrival was signaled by a quiet ping from the elevator and the then the doors hissed open. Drake once more took his prisoner by the elbow and walked her out of the elevator. Ahead of them and to their left was the guard post. It was still manned by a Marine who was typing something into the desktop computer. He appeared angry, and Drake felt it probably had to do with the other party present in the antechamber. In front of the desk, seated in a plastic chair that would have been uncomfortable for someone half his size, was the leather-clad form of Ian Calder. The booster sat calmly, legs stretched out in front of him and his head thrown back to stare at the ceiling. He seemed to be doing as good a job of ignoring the random pecking sounds of the Marine working with the computer at the desk as he was ignoring the hate-filled glances that same Marine shot his way from time to time.

  “You ready?” Drake asked simply as he and Manslaughter neared the seated booster. Calder raised his head, examining Drake from beneath his half-closed eyelids.

  “Hart doesn’t know I’m going, does she?” he asked.

  “Not a clue.”

  “Huh. You know she’ll be pissed, right?”