Echo Classified: Gravity

by Steve Libbey

  ~*~*~*~

  Within minutes they reached the vicinity of the Expo Center. Sleek, wildly overpriced sports cars of all colors lined the concourse: Lamborghinis and Porsches, modded lowriders and hybrid prototypes. Banners hanging from lampposts declared that the 2004 International Luxury Auto Show had opened – and now its attendees streamed out of the square in droves. Devil followed the fearful looks back towards the entrance.

  There, framed by a ragged hole in the sweeping glass facade of the building, stood a ten foot tall shirtless man with a Hummer balanced on his shoulder. His blue jogging pants stretched to the limit to accommodate his oversized legs; his once-oversized hip hop tee-shirt had ripped in several places, but still hung on his frame, thanks to the fashion trends of the time. Pale and pimply, with a dim look of excitement on his face, he appeared to be an inflated white suburban teenager.

  “That’s our looter,” Devil said, pointing.

  “Criminy,” Corbie said.

  “And there’s his hostage,” Einhorn said. “Hold your fire, okay?”

  “Aw hell,” Matai snarled.

  A lithe blonde in a skimpy, logo-adorned bikini clung to the door of the Hummer. Her heavily made up face contorted in an endless scream of desperation.

  Corbie shook his head slowly. “Bloody Americans. That’s got to be the most undignified metacriminal I’ve ever seen. Was he bitten by a radioactive rapper?”

  “More likely, they were the clothes he was wearing when he gained his powers,” Motu said in a soft and serious tone.

  “I was taking the piss, Motu.”

  Matai hit the brakes; the van squealed to a stop. “As silly as he looks, he’s a threat. Move out.” Corbie threw open the rear of the van and lifted himself into the air with a few ponderous flaps of his wings. The others spilled out onto the pavement with guns ready.

  “Motu, armor up and confront. Einhorn, find our fallen colleague.” Matai punctuated his orders with hand signals adapted from the military. “Devil, Shahkti, right flank. Corbie, left. Hold your fire until the hostage is clear. Go!”

  The Echo metas stormed into the plaza. Civilians scattered in their path. Mothers pulled crying children out of the way, teenagers gaped with excitement. Devil and Shahkti vaulted over the hoods of flame-embellished hot rods.

  Front and center, Motu and Matai lumbered towards the massive metahuman. Motu began to absorb the asphalt and brickwork of the plaza up onto his form. Bricks sponsored by Atlanta families, bearing their names and messages of goodwill, churned around his shoulders and bloated his fists into battering rams.

  “Damn, what the hell?” the overgrown kid roared. His voice had been altered to a deep baritone, yet retained the careless elocution of youth. “That ain’t fair!”

  Matai aimed his paintball gun with one hand. “Echo Mach Two Matai. Drop the Hummer and surrender peacefully. We are authorized to use extreme force.”

  “And I authorize myself!” The meta charged forward and kicked a nearby sportscar like it was a soccerball. With a crash of metal and glass, it sailed in the air towards Matai.

  He took two steps to the side without flinching. The car ruffled his hair as it passed him and smashed into a line of hybrids. “I repeat. You’re causing a safety hazard and damaging property. Stand down.”

  “I can fight you! All of you.” He booted another car at Matai. Moto interposed himself and absorbed the impact, staggering but remaining upright. Glass beads littered the pavement, interspersed with reeking gasoline.

  “Give the bleedin’ order to fire, Matai!” Corbie said over the comm unit. “It’s like shooting the side of a barn.”

  The woman in the Hummer pulled herself up out of the window. “Please get me out of here. Please! I don’t want to die.”

  “You’re with me now,” the meta said. “I’m gonna treat you so good.” He leered at the woman.

  “Christ! They don’t pay me enough for this crap.” She spat in his face. “Pig!”

  The meta recoiled from the spittle. “Geez! Gross!” He wiped his face.

  Matai moved quickly. “Hit him now!” He opened fire with a round of paintball pellets that soaked the giant’s shirt with neon green and orange paint.

  Devil and Shahkti took aim and unloaded their pistols – all five of them. Shahkti fired hers in sequence so precisely that the barrage resembled a machine gun. Above, Corbie emptied his rounds into the arm that held the Hummer and the bikini model.

  The non-lethal rounds bounced off his skin and rained upon the ground.

  “Is that it?” the giant said with a mocking laugh.

  “No.” Matai drew his sidearm. “That was your last chance to surrender before we hurt you badly. Hold him, bro.”

  Motu, now twelve feet of gray stone, wrapped his arms around the meta’s torso. Encumbered by the Hummer, the meta swayed against Motu’s weight. The woman screamed again.

  “Corbie, evac!” Matai shouted.

  Corbie swooped in towards the Hummer. He landed on the Hummer’s side panel, beating his broad wings against the humid air to keep his balance. The meta pounded on Motu’s head and shoulders with his free hand, balled into a mighty fist. Chunks of rock flew off the Samoan and dashed against the Hummer. One shattered the window.

  “Hold still.” Corbie stretched a hand out to the woman. She lurched forward and back; his hand caught the strap of her bikini and tore it off.

  “Whoops, sorry love,” he said.

  The model yelped and covered her exposed breasts at the same time the meta dropped to one knee. The Hummer tilted and threw her back inside. Corbie took to the air again, only to open himself to the grasping hand of the meta. Footlong fingers grasped his ribcage and squeezed the breath out him.

  The meta began to pummel Motu with Corbie’s writhing form. In two strikes, the winged hero had blacked out; blood streamed from his face and onto the rocks on Motu’s armor. Motu stood back and flailed helplessly to catch his unconscious comrade.

  The meta tossed Corbie aside and swung a fist into Motu’s midsection. He rolled across the plaza like a snowball, picking up brickwork indiscriminately, until he came to a halt against a lightpost, a heap of debris, unmoving.

  Devil stared in disbelief.

  “Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me,” he said. Corbie had landed near him. He and Einhorn reached the Brit at the same time. Corbie’s body had folded at an unnatural angle.

  “Jesus,” Devil said. “Tell me he’s not dead.”

  Einhorn knelt by Corbie. With perfect tears streaming from her eyes, she was a vision of tragic beauty. He had to drag his eyes away from her damp cheeks and to Corbie’s bloody wreck of a face.

  “I’ll fix him,” she said, meeting his gaze. “I can’t bear to see him suffer like this. Oh, God.”

  Devil put a hand on her delicate shoulder. “It’s okay. It’ll be okay.” At that moment, all he wanted to do was comfort her, soothe her anxiety, stop the tears...

  “Klaus!” Shahtki’s voice cut through his reverie. “Reload and fire!”

  “Right, right,” he muttered, digging for bullets. Why had Einhorn distracted him so? He had to focus. He stepped out from between the cars to join Shahkti and Matai in the center of the plaza. Both had loaded their sidearms with Echo caseless armor piercing rounds.

  The giant metacriminal stared at the bloody, broken wings of Corbie and the shuddering ball of concrete that enclosed Motu. He pursed his lips, considering his handiwork.

  “Damn,” he said, nodding in satisfaction. “I am bad.” He ripped the door off the Hummer and fished the girl out by the arm. “You see that? They ain’t nothing to me. No one’s gonna mess with me ever again. Ever.” He brought the struggling woman in for a kiss. She pounded on his face as he slobbered on her.

  Devil screwed his face up in distaste. “Ew. It’s like high school gone horribly wrong.”

  “And now he has a human shield,” Matai said. “Devil, take the shot.”

  “Me?”

  “You’re l
ucky, aren’t you?”

  Klaus blew imaginary smoke from the barrel of the gun. “You bet.” He took aim and fired at the metacriminal.

  The bullet tore a hole in the already stressed tee shirt as it ricocheted away. The meta continued to kiss the topless model.

  “Enhanced strength and invulnerability. Why do they always seem to go together?” Devil frowned and aimed again. Matai made him lower his weapon with a headshake.

  “Without increased resilience, superstrong metas would shatter their bones and burst out of their own skin,” he said. “I figured that was the case.”

  “This is a hell of a standoff, then. We can’t hurt him, so goes ahead with his little makeout session.”

  Shahkti holstered her guns. “She’s buying us time.”

  “Until he wants more than a kiss.” Matai started forward. “I’m going in before he turns into a rapist.”

  “Wait.” Shahkti pointed with her upper left hand at one of Atlanta’s ubiquitous construction sites. “That development site may be the key to neutralizing him.”

  Matai blinked. “Hit him with a condo?”

  “No. The crane beside the building. We will topple it onto the target.”

  The freestanding crane to which she referred towered over the ten story condominium development. At present it, along with the skeletal building, had been abandoned by the construction crews at the beginning of the incident.

  “Ouch! Baby, remind me not to make you mad.” He turned to Matai. “We’re going to need your little brother for this.”

  “Hold on,” Matai said. “How do you propose to aim a falling a hundred foot crane? Motu might be able to tip it over, but it’s like a chopping down a tree – you point it in a direction hope for the best. Not to mention that he’s bound to notice what we’re up to.”

  Devil glanced back at the meta, who was laughing as his hostage batted at his intrusive hands. “Leave it to me. Just drop the crane on the van and I’ll take care of the rest.”

  Matai gave him a dubious look. “Oh, really now?”

  “Yes, really. I’ll need your DCO.”

  “Einhorn doesn’t engage in combat situations.”

  “Think of it more as a negotiation.” Devil spread his hands. “Unless you want to call in and beg for another Mach Three.”

  The Samoan locked eyes with him, something that would have petrified an ordinary man. At three hundred pounds, Matai’s physical strength was close to Klaus’ enhanced strength. Certainly, the man hadn’t become a Mach Two merely because his brother needed a spotter while armored up with debris. Matai had smarts, speed, tactical training and, above all, charisma. Yet he didn’t seem to want to accept that Mach Ones like Klaus and Shahkti – and even the incapacitated Corbie – could provide adequate support for his team.

  Not that the Thule Society had left him much choice.

  “Make the call,” Klaus dared him.

  Matai worked his jaw. “No. We’ll try your idea. What do you need from me?”

  “Heck, I dunno, just get your brother to topple that sucker. You’re the squad leader.” Devil winked at him. “Me, I’m just going to chat up our new recruit.”

  “Okay, I’ll – what?” Matai goggled at him as Devil strolled nonchalantly up to the immense metacriminal.

  “Hey there. Excuse me, pardner.” Devil stood so that the metahuman’s attention would be focused in the opposite direction of the crane and his cohorts. “I’d like a word with you.”

  “Huh? What?”

  Up close the ridiculous faux-gangsta attire was utterly overwhelmed by the immensity of the meta’s bulk. His arms were as wide as a man’s chest, and longer than they should have been. Muscles contorted the fabric of the jogging suit to the point that he resembled a comic book hero drawn by a precocious twelve year old. In fact, the wisp of a moustache on his upper lip suggested that he himself was not much older. A patina of rank sweat covered his pale skin.

  The woman in his hands gave Klaus a look of pure despair.

  “Mind if I ask what you’re doing?”

  “Kickin’ ass,” the meta said.

  “So I see. The cops inside give you any trouble? Or our boy?”

  A grin of idiotic triumph crossed his face. “Yeah. Not for long. These powers freakin’ rock.”

  “No doubt! Let me guess: superstrength and impenetrable skin?”

  “Uh-huh. I can squash a man’s head like an egg.”

  “Really? You tried that out?”

  The woman screamed again. The meta only chuckled.

  So much for rehabilitation, Klaus lamented. This kid’s crossed the line.

  “Wow.” Klaus fished a business card out of his pocket and proffered it. “My name’s Handsome Devil. You can call me Klaus.” The giant glanced at his outstretched hand and then plucked the card out of it. “This little mess you made can be cleaned up with a few calls to the right people.”

  “Who cares? I’m invincible now. I can do anything I want.”

  “But won’t you get tired of constant fighting? What’s the point of scoring babes” -- he nodded at the woman in his grip -- “if you can’t get a moment of quiet to enjoy the companionship?”

  The boy-giant furrowed his brow in exaggerated, oversized contemplation. “Yeah, yeah. I get that. But, dude, I mean, look at me! I used to be a skinny loser. Now I’m like a total metahuman hero.”

  Devil held up a finger. “Correction. Villain.” He gestured at the plaza, taking care not to turn the giant too far around. In the distance, he saw Motu at the base of the crane, drawing concrete and sand onto himself. Shahkti scampered up the side like a spider, cutting cables with a discarded blowtorch.

  “That’s cool too. I ain’t scared of nothing.”

  “Constant fighting? Remember? You want to live in a cave or something?”

  “Oh, yeah. Well, too late now, right?”

  “Not necessarily. As an Echo Mach, you would have cash in hand and babes in, er – in abundance. Watch this.” Klaus motioned for Einhorn to come over. She looked alarmed and shook her head. He whispered into the comm unit: “Ein, baby, I need you on this one. Just play along.”

  Reluctantly, Einhorn approached them.

  “Strut it, for God’s sake,” Klaus hissed. “This kid’s thinking with his nads.”

  Einhorn managed a few hip sways before reaching them. Uncertainly, she smiled as Klaus wrapped an over-familiar arm around her slender waist.

  “One of our Damage Control Officers. Einhorn, meet – shoot, kid, we don’t even know your name.”

  “Anson,” the big man said.

  “Hi Anson.” Einhorn put her hand out and Anson immediately took it in a rough shake.

  “Einhorn and I have been hot and heavy ever since I joined Echo,” Klaus said with a leer. Einhorn gasped and he jabbed an elbow into her side. “That whole comradeship on the battlefield thing, it’s a total aphrodisiac, Anson. Plus metahuman chicks are totally wild in the sack. Right honey?”

  “Ah, right,” Einhorn said, blushing.

  Devil pointed at the model. “Your friend there’s cute, but once you’ve had meta, you can’t go back. Why don’t you put her down and let me see what I can do to get you a gig with us?”

  “Dude, seriously?”

  “Sure. You’ve got the chops – no one can deny that. A little training, a bit of whitewash on this messy incident – Tesla’s got City Hall and the APD eating out of his hands, trust me – and you’re making six figures plus product endorsements.”

  “Aw, yeah!” Anson’s eyes sparkled. He dropped the model, who fell to her knees.

  “Scram, baby,” Devil said to her. “We got matters to discuss.” The woman looked up at him, confused. He mouthed the word run to her with a expression of profound urgency. She staggered back into the Expo Center.

  “Anson, my man, let’s head over to the van and radio Tesla right now.” Without waiting for confirmation, Devil guided Einhorn away. He gave her rear a very blatant squeeze.

&
nbsp; “Hey!” she whispered. “Was that necessary?”

  “If Anson’s staring at your ass, he won’t be watching for falling construction equipment. Close your eyes and think of England, yeah?”

  “You’re enjoying this.”

  “Only until Shahkti finds out.” He opened the van door. “Now glue yourself to me if you want to survive this.”

  Anson’s footsteps shook the ground below them. “Nice wheels.”

  “Thanks.” Devil risked a glance at the crane. Motu had wedged himself halfway up the height of the tower, and the latticework of the building melted into him like steel umbilical cords and suspended him while he pushed the crane outward with his legs. Below, Matai and Shahkti had tied mooring lines to a bulldozer.

  “So, Anson, we should come out with all guns blazing, you know? Tesla’s not going to be impressed if I tell him I met a metahuman named ‘Anson.’ I think he needs a call sign, don’t you, Ein?”

  Einhorn wagged her head. “Oh yes. Something manly.”

  “Ah... right.” Devil rolled his eyes. “I’m thinking it should say ‘power.’ How about ‘Captain Power’?”

  Anson shook his thick head. “That’s dumb. ‘Powerblast.’ No... ‘Powerballer.’”

  “You sound like a lottery ticket.” Devil perked up as a metallic groan resounded off the buildings surrounding the plaza. “ ‘Powerloader.’”

  “’Powerthrust,’” Einhorn said.

  Devil stared at her. “You’re joking.”

  “Well, it’s manly, isn’t it?”

  The bulldozer roared to life in the distance, but Anson paid no attention. “Damn, names are hard. This is going to stay with me for the rest of my life, right?”

  “You could say that.” Devil pulled Einhorn close to him and took a few steps away from the van. “What about Mega-something?”

  Anson nodded with a thoughtful look making his face even more youthful. Devil’s heart constricted.

  “Anson, question: how old are you?”

  “How old do you gotta be to get into Echo?”

  “Eighteen,” Devil lied.

  “Oh, man, I’m nineteen. Sweet.”

  An immense shadow loomed over them. Devil dragged Einhorn down to the pavement and wrapped his arms around her. A scream welled up in her throat but the rush of air drowned it out.

  With the sound of a thousand bombs, the crane crashed down around them. Metal shrieked and tore through asphalt. Girders crushed the Echo van like it was cardboard. Shrapnel bounced against Handsome Devil and Einhorn’s uniforms, exciting the NanoWeave to the density of steel. Even with that protection, shards of metal and stone cut at their exposed flesh.

  The roar of the collapse seemed to last for a full minute of sheer immense kinetic force.

  When it was over, Devil opened his eyes. He and Einhorn crouched in the gap in the lattice of the crane, unharmed but for scrapes and cuts. Dust clogged their noses and mouths.

  Devil coughed. “Who needs a Mach Three, right?” He helped Einhorn to her feet. Her hands went to her mouth. “Oh, Jesus!”

  Anson hadn’t been as lucky as Handsome Devil. The intersection of two girders had caught him directly in the back. He blinked at them, still alive, but his limbs were sickeningly motionless. Blood dripped from his mouth.

  “Klaus... I can’t feel my legs...” The giant teenager gasped out the words.

  Einhorn laid a hand on his neck and then his back. She shook her head sadly, tears in her eyes, perfect once again.

  Klaus brushed dust from his jacket. “Sorry, kid. I don’t think you got the job.” He clambered over the demolished crane until Shahkti found him and enveloped him in her arms.

  “Madman,” she said in his ear, her voice thick with concern and love. Klaus held her close and ignored his howling conscience.