BOOK 2- THE FROCHEN
Issue 1- Arrival
Thursday, April 30, 1987
New Jersey
That wasn't a meteorite. That was the spaceship.
That was the first of three thoughts that went through Tim's mind when he, along with several thousand other commuters, saw the bright light appear in the sky and silently plunge to earth towards the south, disappearing somewhere in the distance.
Tim's second thought was that wasn't a landing. It was a crash.
And the third was please God; don't let it have hit Hudson City. Please don't let it have hit my home.
Lieutenant Timothy Clark, NYPD, had to restrain himself from leaning on his horn in frustration. It would have been an utterly futile act, of course. His 1984 blue Dodge Diplomat (two payments left) was stuck, as it was every Friday night, in the mass of cars spewing out of the Holland Tunnel into New Jersey, each one containing one or more exhausted occupants more than ready for the upcoming weekend.
Clark wished he had one of those new cellular phones, but they were bulky, expensive, and not always reliable Of course all the federal boys, like the FBI and PRIMUS, already had more advanced versions that could fit into one's pocket and would work almost anywhere in the country, but such costly gizmos were only for the favored sons of the special interests.
Cops were only favored sons of their parents.
Still, Tim wasn't totally deaf. He reached over to the dash and switched on his police scanner.
At first, there was a lot of confusion. The 911 switchboard was being flooded- no surprise there. As Clark inched his car onto the Garden State Turnpike and turned south, he listened intently, trying to discern what might be relevant from what wasn't.
Soon, he began to hear it.
"Adam 6, what's your 20?"
"3rd D, Riverside Hills. 98."
"Head west to city limits and assist state troopers in traffic control at entrance to Wharton State Forest."
"10-4. Is State T in charge?"
"Park rangers are at scene, but troopers will take over. Least 'till they get kicked out."
"FBI or PRIMUS?"
"Both, probably. Maybe UNTIL as well."
"Eff us all. So it was that ship, huh?"
"Don't have a definite yet. May have been a prop-job, but don't count on it. First reports say it come down less than a mile from the entrance; right in the woods."
"Coulda been a lot worse, then. Rangers call for 59?"
"Yeah. Two rigs already en route from HC."
"How about casualties? Anybody ask for a bus?"
"Yeah, but that's SOP. Ain't no one on that ship going to be leaving in anything but the meat wagon."
"Capes, dispatch. Capes. You never know."
"10-4. What's your ETA?"
"Heavy traffic. About 15."
"Call in on arrival. Out."
Clark leaned back and tried hard to ignore the unsettling feeling rising in his stomach like bile. He'd been a cop too long to puke at anything he saw, no matter how disgusting or revolting, but he'd been trying- and failing- to convince his fellow police officers for years that sometimes what you thought could be a hundred times worse than what you saw.
Because what you saw was all too often only the tip of the iceberg.
Tim turned his radio to WINE-88, his personal choice for news radio, but even they had less info than he had right now, so they filled air time with pointless speculation and rehashes of the whole Xertan incident to this date. How this Traveler had apparently requested as many paranormals as possible to accompany him in what was presumed to be some sort of rescue mission. By the time the authorities had determined diplomatic jurisdiction and reacted, the cruiser was gone. Unofficially, Clark knew, every law enforcement official in the Tri-State area had breathed a sigh of relief. The situation had left before it had ever become a problem.
But now the situation was back and if the feeling in Tim's gut was any indicator at all, it had brought a full-grown problem back with it.
He peered through his windshield. Exit 50 was coming up. The exit ramp had two lanes. The green highway sign indicated the right lane as "Hudson City- North Truman Blvd."
The left lane was marked "Wharton State Forest" and "To Philadelphia."
Clark considered.
His wife was waiting at home for him. There'd be a hot dinner waiting. Not spectacular, but he hadn't married Rose for her culinary skills, just as she hadn't married him for his ability to leave his job at the office.
He knew she'd have the news on; probably NBC. She'd look over at the clock on the kitchen wall, calculate that he'd be on the Turnpike by now; knew that he'd be deciding if he should head over to the crash site and offer to help.
And Rose Clark knew that her husband was going to do exactly that.
Timothy Clark sighed, silently apologized to his wife for what was one more time in what was already a list of too-many times, and angled his car into the left lane.
It had rained earlier that afternoon, and the flashing red and yellow lights ahead seemed to sparkle on the wet road as Clark slowly pulled up to the lead officer at the roadblock. He rolled down his window and displayed his badge.
"Detective Clark. NYPD."
The New Jersey state trooper, a man with about five years and thirty pounds on Clark gave his ID a cursory badge and flashed him a condescending smile. "A little out of our jurisdiction, aren't we, Mr. Clark? Sorry, no sightseers. I've got work to do here."
"Look a little closer, officer. Lieutenant, Paranormal Division."
The trooper's smile melted off his face, to be replaced by a cold glare.
"Are you going to tell me you've confirmed that there are absolutely no New York City paranormals at this scene whatsoever, officer?" Clark persisted when the trooper neither move nor spoke. "Several of them are on our Wanted List. I could-"
"You coulda just mentioned that straight off, Lieutenant," he muttered, waving him through.
"You're a credit to the enemy, officer. Stay the course." Tim flipped him a warm smile and waved at the trooper as he slowly eased his Diplomat around the barricades.
There had indeed been a fire, but now only black smoke rose upwards from the remains of what Clark presumed had once been a Xertan spacecraft. He was curious to get a closer look, but firefighters were still working on it, and two men in suits who may as well have had "FBI" tattooed on the foreheads were talking together next to a black Ford nearby, occasionally glancing around to se if anyone was trying to get too close. Tim knew the feds could and probably would order him off the scene, so he stayed clear. Besides, he soon spotted what interested him most.
A number of supers, most of whom Tim recognized, were clustered together in a knot about fifty yards from the crash site. Some were standing, some were sitting and some were lying on the ground, not moving. Several EMS from a nearby ambulance were attending to them.
In a loose ring around them were six men clad in blue uniforms, each with a small American flag emblazoned on the left shoulder. They wore red hoods with polarized goggles, and their gloves and boots were white. Anyone who'd watched more than an hour of TV in their lives would have recognized them as assault agents of the Primary Response and Interdiction Military Unified Service.
Lt. Clark knew PRIMUS, and despite the fact that he often worked with them, Lt. Clark did not like their combat agents in general, and he knew the feeling was mutual. Trying to look as if he belonged there, Tim pulled out a palm-sized spiral notebook from his tan trench coat, fished around in his pockets until he found a pencil and began taking notes while he slowly began to search for the best vantage point that would enable him to eavesdrop on this gathering unobserved.
The woman sitting on the ground was probably in her mid-40's. Her black wig, streaked with red, lay in a burned and discarded heap on the ground nearby. Her actual hair was light brown and already graying. What there was of it that hadn't been burned off, anyway.
The woman made a motion for the female paramedic who was putting burn cream on her scalp to cease.
"I need a moment with him."
The EMS, a diminutive Latina, shook her head. "If you don't want to go to a hospital- which you need to- at least let me do what I can. Can you take that off?' she gestured at the visor covering the older woman's eyes. "I need to see if your eyes are-"
"My eyes are fine," the paranormal woman responded, her voice empty of any irritation or anger. "Thank you. I know you're just doing your job. Please," she took the paramedic's hand and squeezed it. "Let me do mine."
The EMS shook her head dolefully and glanced at the costume the woman was wearing, which featured red and blue horizontal stripes. It covered the woman from her feet to her neck, exempting only her hands, which were now also red, but with burns. There was enough padding to suggest some protection, but not a lot. The paramedic looked again at the woman and gave her a thin smile.
"They say horizontal stripes make you look fat, you know."
Despite herself, the woman chuckled. The last time she had checked, her 5'5" frame sported no more than 112 pounds. "I'll keep that in mind," she said softly, smiling back at the EMS who now turned her attentions elsewhere. The woman than returned her attention to the man sitting on her other side, who was sitting with his knees drawn up to his chest, his gloved hands tightly clutching his legs, rocking back and forth.
This man's costume was what paranormal fashion experts, if that term wasn't the oxymoron so many claimed it was, would call a "violet fade." His hood, which had no eyeholes at all, was such a deep violet as to be almost black. This faded into lighter shades of violet and indigo, then lavender, then pink and finally at white boots. Unlike the woman, the man's costume was skin-tight, with no sign of padding or armor.
"Phaser," the woman said. She placed a hand on his left shoulder. The man seemed to wince, but made no other response.
The woman bent down so that her lips were almost touching the side of the man's hood.
"Phaser," she whispered. "It's me, Persona."
He made no response other than to continue rocking back and forth.
"Jack, it's Angela," Persona whispered again.
"It hurts."
The man's whisper was quieter than Persona's. Even she almost missed it.
"I know, Jack, but we can't stay here. There are going to be too many questions. We have to get out of here before they decide to bring us in for questioning right now. We can't let them, Jack- they couldn't accept the truth. We have to regroup somewhere where we can get our bearings and get set amongst us all what we're going to say. Not the SuperCenter- they'll be expecting us to go there. Can you-"
"The truth?"
Phaser had swung his head around so that his featureless mask now faced Persona directly. She shuddered slightly, knowing that he could see her all too clearly. Under her visor, if he wished. Even through her costume.
"What is the truth, Persona?" Phaser repeated, his voice loud enough now for everyone to hear. "Have you figured that out yet? Can you explain what it was we saw- what we felt- what we did-- out there? And are they gone, Persona? Can you tell me with absolute certainty that they are really gone? That we destroyed them?"
"They're gone, Phaser." Persona got to her feet and tried to pull Phaser onto his, but he just sat there. "If they were still here, Phaser, wouldn't you now? Wouldn't we all know? Wouldn't we all feel them? You heard what Traveler said- they have to feed. We stopped them from doing that. They starved, Phaser. Both of them. They starved to death."
"They were never alive, Persona," Phaser replied, his voice a dull monotone now. "Not like us. Not like anything. Not like anything else in this universe."
Persona glanced around, worry etched onto her face now. The PRIMUS agents were looking at each other and frowning. One pulled out a phone and began to speak into it while another bent down to address Phaser.
"You need to come with us, sir. If there's even a question of National Security being endangered, you're required to by law for debriefing."
Phaser made no response. The agent made to grab his arm, but a hand that looked to be entirely made out of solid bricks grabbed the agent's arm first.
"Only thing you need do is leave him alone!"
That incredible brick-like hand was attached to an equally incredible brick-like body. Six and-a-half feet in height and probably 500 pounds in weight at the least.
The agent stared into the angry yellow eyes of the hero named, amply enough, Brick. The hero was applying just enough pressure to hurt, but not enough to injure.
The agent nodded his assent and Brick relinquished his grip. Persona rose to her feet now, abandoning her attempts to get Phaser to rise.
"I can assure you, agent, that there is no danger here, either to National Security or otherwise."
"Yeah," cut in the agent with the phone. "You all look just fine and dandy. You start talking and we'll make the policy decisions. For starters, where are the others? Pyro, Insectoid, that Mazeretti guy, Kampfstern-"
Despite her visor, the lines suddenly wrinkling Persona's forehead indicated that last name had taken her by surprise.
"Yeah, we knew," the agent went on, not bothering to hide the smugness in his voice. "That German hero- what's his name translate to?"
"Battlestar," said Brick.
"We knew he snuck aboard that ship, too. Any others you want to tell us about?"
"I'll save you the trouble."
The new speaker was a man in a dark green costume that featured a small white "X" on the chest. Numerous small electronic devices were attached to a belt that ran across his chest, like an old-style Mexican bandit with a bandolier. A green cap covered his head, and what looked like an extremely high-tech pair of red-tinted sunglasses covered his eyes. His jaw and chin were covered in several days' worth of stubble.
"They're dead, officer. They're all dead," said Expert-X. "Please notify their next of kin that we regret not being able to bring back their bodies. We were in a bit of a rush to get onboard the shuttle and get away before the cruiser blew itself to atoms."
The PRIMUS agents all glanced at each other again. The two FBI men had wandered over as well and were now listening attentively.
"Why did it-" one of them began but X interrupted him, his voice still curt and clipped, ignoring Persona's shaking her head and other silent entreaties for him to shut up.
"Battlestar set the engines to overload. As for who killed those who didn't make it…"
He took a deep breath.
"They murdered each other."
The federal agents were silent again. The PRIMUS agent with the phone, who appeared to be the squad commander, found his voice first.
"Why?"
"I have no idea," Expert-X lied.
The two men stared at each other for a few seconds, and then the agent gestured down to his feet, where several figures lay unmoving.
"You got those bodies onboard. Why them and not the others?"
"These people were still alive when we boarded the shuttle."
The agent's mouth tightened.
"So who killed them?"
"We did."
The agent took a step back. From fear, shock, or just plain disbelief, Expert-X couldn't tell, and wasn't interested. He took a step forward to stay nearly nose-to-nose with the PRIMUS agent.
"And before you say anything extremely stupid, which I suspect you're about to do, let me state something so blindingly obvious only PRIMUS would need reminding of it."
He smiled.
"You don't have jurisdiction over anything that happens in outer space."
He knelt down to the ground to talk to Phaser, but he turned up to look one last time at the agent.
"Now leave us the fuck alone."
The agent abruptly and inexplicably smiled.
"Sure thing, Expert. I have something else I want to check on, anyway."
With a swift hand gesture, he ordered two of his fellow assault agents to accompany him and he strode quickly away from the group of heroes, heading back towards the ruins of the crashed ship.
"Shit," hissed X and got up to go after him. "Watch over Phaser and the others," he said, throwing off Persona's attempt to restrain him.
The agent commander stopped at a distance of about twenty yards from the wreckage, behind a copse of partially charred bushes.
"Weapons," he said, and he and the two others holstered their energy carbine rifles from off their shoulder slings. He looked over and smiled as X came running up.
"What do you make of this, Expert?' he asked, holding his rifle in one hand while plucking a flashlight off its magnetic belt holder and shining it down on the ground.
In the dirt was a large but shallow depression. The squad commander slowly reached out with his feet and stopped perhaps a foot above the earth.
"I do believe I feel something, boys," he announced, bringing his foot back. "My official judgment is that it's some kind of invisible alien. Let's find out, shall we?"
He pointed his rifle towards the ground, as did the other two agents. "On my mark. One, two-"
"Stop!" shouted Expert-X.
That smug, confident expression returned to the PRIMUS commander's face.
"Unless you have further information to offer me, cape," he dragged the last word out. "I'd suggest you leave us the fuck alone or I'll have you arrested."
Expert-X swore softly, then plucked what looked like a small TV remote from his belt, pointed it at the depression and pushed a button on it.
A girl appeared on the ground.
She was perhaps sixteen or seventeen, the commander guessed and then corrected himself mentally.
Sixteen or seventeen in Earth years.
She was a Xertan; her deep red skin made that obvious. Unlike the male Xertans the agent had seen photos of, the girl had hair; lots of jet-black hair that would, if she had been sitting or standing up, have reached down just past her shoulders. It looked odd though, and it took the agent a moment to realize the hair follicles of this Xertan were at least two or three times as thick as those of human hair. He found the overall effect rather unattractive.
The girl wore an orange costume with blue designs upon it of an unfamiliar nature. It covered the same breadth as a high-necked tank swimsuit would. On her feet were dark blue high-top boots, similar to what he'd seen the male Xertans wore. Around her waist was a leather belt with a small box attached to it, similar to the control X held in his hand.
At first he thought the Xertan was dead, and then unconscious, but then the agent became aware that the girl was shivering slightly, her arms drawn over her face. He looked over at Expert-X, who was now kneeling down and removing her leather belt.
"That Xertan shuttle wasn't on the cruiser," X said, choosing his words carefully. "It came out of hyperspace in front of us when we were near Jupiter, preparing to go into hyperdrive ourselves. It requested to dock. Traveler agreed."
The agent frowned. "It came from their home planet?"
X nodded. "Xerta. There were two of them aboard. An older male and her," he said, indicating the girl at their feet.
"And where's the other one- the pilot I presume?" asked the PRIMUS commander. "Don't tell me you blew him away as well."
"I don't remember which one of actually did it, but in essence, yes."
"Where's Traveler?" one of the other agents now spoke up. "And don't tell me you killed him as well. Not even on your best day."
"Won't argue with you there," Expert-X shrugged. "He and the Great Remover got into a bit of a brawl. Seems the latter wanted to be in command. While they were fighting, they crashed right through the hull of the damn ship. We ran, but auto-repair systems kicked in and sealed the breach. Later the Remover came back. Claimed he'd killed Traveler. None of us believed it, but we were too busy at the moment to care."
"That's right," said the squad leader. "Too busy slaughtering each other like pigs. Care to give us the full story now, X? You'll be saving yourself an awful lot of aggravation; I promise you that."
"What can I say, commander?" Expert-X shrugged again. "I think we all just wanted to get to play Psychopathic Mass Killer for once and not have to face any legal consequences for it, so when we got the chance-"
"Can the crap," the agent snarled. His phone beeped again, and he flipped open the lid with undisguised irritation. "Chanders. What?" he spat.
He listened for a moment and then nodded, although his expression, if anything, soured still more. "Right. Out."
Agent Chanders hadn't even put his phone away when there were shouts from the rest of his squad back in the clearing.
"Sir! Incoming!"
"Hold your fire!" Chanders shouted back. It was clear this was not an order he enjoyed giving. "It's just that damn Orrad from METE!"
X, now squatting down and taking the Xertan girl into his arms, looked up to see a gold-and-silver armored figure land about thirty feet away as his boot jet rockets cut out. He began to slowly walk towards them; one hand held up in the universal gesture for peace with the other raised his visor revealing a light blue-skinned handsome face with light green eyes. Expert-X momentarily wondered if the concept of a suntan was unique to Earthlings in the universe.
"Do not fire," Orrad said. His voice was strong and unusually smooth. "It is only I, Orrad, and I wish to-"
"We know who the hell you are," said Chanders. "How'd you get over here from DC so fast?"
"I was not in our national capitol, nor at the Metropolitan Extra-Terrestrial Enclave outside of Richmond," Orrad stated calmly. "I believed the Xertan craft would return to the United Nations building in New York City, since that was where Traveler had first appeared, so that was where I stationed myself. With the full consent of UNTIL and all other appropriate authorities, of course." He bowed slightly and then looked over at the wreckage of the shuttle. "Obviously, I was mistaken."
"You think?" one of Chander's men sneered, but his commander cut him short with a gesture.
"I'm going to get instructions," Chanders said, more to Expert-X than to Orrad. "Don't touch anything, and don't take anyone away from this site." And with that, he and his men stalked off, signaling the other PRIMUS agents and the FBI men for a confab where the others would not overhear them.
Orrad started to speak, but X motioned for him not to. The Xertan girl was now upright, but her eyes remained tightly closed, and she seemed to be extremely weak. Each with one hand under an arm, X and Orrad guided her back towards the others.
"Damn spook knew I'd hidden her there," the Expert groused. He eyed the leather belt in his hand. "Don't know how he knew, but-"
"Do not underestimate PRIMUS," Brick grumbled in his Russian-accented English. "Just because they are arrogant does not make them ignorant."
"Guilt and anger," whispered Phaser, apparently to himself.
X frowned and glanced over to Persona, who shook her head.
"He's been saying that for the last few minutes," she said.
"Great," Expert-X sighed. "Our team leader is off his rocker, we have a situation here no one will ever understand-"
"Not even ourselves, I suspect," Persona said softly.
X turned his face away from the others so he could remove his glasses and wipe his face with a handkerchief from his pocket, and then turned back to regard the others. "So what do we do now?"
There was a sudden sharp cry of distress.
The others started, but it was the Xertan girl, who had apparently opened her eyes while still keeping her face down.
It was truly an unfortunate coincidence that the body which was lying at her feet was that of the Great Remover.
The girl sank to her knees and ran her hands over the male Xertan's body in a fashion that struck X as half- medical and half-erotica, although the expression on the young Xertan's face certainly seemed to be nothing but grief-stricken. Unintelligible sounds continued to issue forth from her.
"I'm sorry," Persona said, now kneeling alongside the girl as well. "There was nothing we could do to save him-"
"Apart from perhaps not blowing him away in the first place," X couldn't stop himself from the grim rejoinder.
The others looked uncomfortable and Orrad shocked, but X did not shy away from their reproachful looks. "It was him or us, as I recall."
"Perhaps," Brick admitted. "But it was you who rigged up compressed CO2 generator once you learned of the Xertan's wulnerability. You were quick to employ it."
"I'm quick to want to stay alive," snapped X.
"This conversation seems inappropriate at this time," commented Persona, indicating the Xertan girl next to her.
"Guilt and anger," whispered Phaser.
"She doesn't savvy English, Persona," X reminded her. He then looked thoughtful. "How about your telepathy?"
"This is not the time or place," she replied, "particularly if she panics once she realizes what I'm doing. The Remover said she was one of their Elites, like himself and Traveler. That means she can fly, and we don't know how fast. The last thing we want is for us to wind up chasing her across the skies."
"If I may," commented Orrad. "I believe this young woman should be examined at the Enclave. It can also serve you as a temporary- what is the word- hangout, perhaps?"
"A good plan," Brick rumbled. "I like."
"We need to hear from everyone," Persona said.
"Agreed." Expert-X walked over to where the last of The Champions stood. "Phaser's already gone south, Flyer. We need you here with us. What do you say?"
Freedom Flyer turned around to look at him.
The Expert knew her real name was Tracey, although he didn't know her last name. It seemed incongruous that with that hair, she could possibly maintain any kind of a secret identity. He knew it wasn't a wig. Perhaps she could change its appearance at will, but if Freedom Flyer had ever taken time off for a life as Tracey someone, X didn't know about it.
Contrary to the wet dreams of countless fan boys, most female heroines did not run around in skin-tight outfits, even if they all had had the improbable body dimensions to do so.
Freedom Flyer was probably the most famous exception to that rule.
In perhaps early 20's by most people's best estimate, Flyer wore only a blue bathing suit, cut in a V that reached right down to her navel. It was strapless, and showed enough of her ample gifts that it- there was no denying it- had slowed down more than one male villain in the midst of a fight long enough for him to be taken in.
She usually wore high blue boots and blue gloves, blue straps across her calves, and a blue domino mask that covered perhaps a third of her face. Her skin was pale- despite all the sun Freedom Flyer was always exposed to, she never showed the slightest sign of a tan.
Perhaps she was an alien herself, X mused. More likely she was a mutant, like Persona. He neither knew nor cared. What did matter to him that was, for all his cynicism, he had to admit that Freedom Flyer was the owner of the best heart he'd ever known a human being to have.
Her lack of knowledge about almost any subject you could think of was remarkable, since she seemed to possess a keen intellect. Once shown the particulars of a situation, she often came up with solutions that evaded the others. She wasn't exceptionally powerful as paranormals went- she could fly and project an energy blast of a type that as far as X knew, had not been analyzed. That was about it.
But he had never seen Tracey get angry. Never heard her raise her voice. She was never sarcastic or pessimistic. Even when the others, in the midst of terrible and seemingly insurmountable situations, called her "Hairhead" for her relentless optimism, she was their smiling rock, their anchor. Her worst and most inconvenient failing was a complete and utter fear of flying over water, which she could never explain.
Perhaps the oddest thing was that, despite her revealing outfit, Freedom Flyer showed so little sign of sexuality that the whole team was not only certain she was still a virgin, but that the betting at last count had been 10-1 that she had never even kissed a boy, or a man. Whenever any sexual topic was broached, she would simply blush, shrug her shoulders and, if the questioner was persistent enough, leave the room.
Expert-X had thought that Freedom Flyer would have been one of the first to die once the living nightmare of what they had encountered in the depths of the solar system began to reveal it self- themselves- to this mixed band of humans and Xertans. Or if not dead, to have been driven utterly and completely insane, her fragile mind far too weak to withstand the unimaginable horror.
But it hadn't happened. True, she wasn't smiling anymore- that alone was remarkable- and remarkably sad in a way Expert-X had never imagined, and she was very quiet, even more so than usual. But Freedom Flyer was still with them.
Maybe, X thought, there just might be a god after all.
Tracey turned around to face Expert-X. Her massive mane of snow-white hair, which fell to about the back of her knees, wrapped itself around her, as if to shield her from the night's chill.
"I think we should go to METE," Freedom Flyer said. "Marie Dumont, their founder and administrator, is a good person. I'll think she'll help us out, or at least give us time to find our footing. Those of you with secret identities may have some explaining to do to family and co-workers. I know you weren't given time to prepare before we all left with Traveler."
Orrad nodded in silent agreement.
"And what about you?" X asked, but Freedom Flyer merely shrugged.
"You know Phaser nominated you for Deputy Leader," Persona mentioned, but Flyer shook her head.
"I wouldn't make a good leader," she said to Expert-X, her voice so soft as to be barely above a whisper. "You know that. I'll help in whatever way I can, but-"
"They are taking Transceiver!" Brick called out suddenly.
The paramedics had just finished loading the last remaining surviving paranormal onto a stretcher, but the PRIMUS agents had stopped them from loading the unconscious Transceiver into their ambulance.
"We have a helicopter coming," Chanders told them. "We'll treat him at our base. He is a wanted vigilante, after all."
He spoke into his phone again. "He's ready to load once the chopper gets here. Just make sure you don't give him his one phone call if he wakes up, no matter how badly he pleads. That's how he got away the last time he was caught- teleported away along the phone wires."
"What if his lawyer demands it?" came a tinny voice out of the phone.
"I don't know- put him on speakerphone or something!" Chanders snapped and shut the call off. He glared over at the heroes, as if daring them to try and stop him, but they merely looked at him impassively.
"You can take over now," he told the two FBI men in his usual condescending tone before turning away and heading of with the rest of his squad. He then turned over his shoulder for one last look at the Champions.
"And leave those two!" he called out. "We've got a xenopathologist on the way. He'll take care of them. I trust you can look after a couple of corpses? After all, you made 'em!"
Expert-X clenched his fist but Persona put her hand on his shoulder.
"He's just baiting you," she told him. "That's 101 from the PRIMUS rulebook."
"I'd like to cram that book down his throat," the Expert muttered.
"With acid chaser," Brick added, and X allowed himself a chuckle at the image.
"Guilt and anger," whispered Phaser.
Expert-X sighed and knelt down by the other body.
He was a human. Male, Caucasian, young, judging by his hands. The man who had called himself "Darkshadow" did not wear a costume, although he had dressed all in black; T-shirt, sweater, jeans; even black Nikes. Over his head was a simple black ski mask.
Guess he doesn't need that any more, thought X, and he pulled the mask off.
Even younger than he guessed. Twenty, tops. A kid. New to the Game. Too new.
The Expert had seen Darkshadow's powers. Basic invisibility, and the ability to absorb incoming kinetic energy and reconvert it to an attack form. It'd probably worked just fine for him when he started hunting and killing muggers and gangbangers. He'd never known what the limits of his power might be; might even have been unaware that superpowers always had limits.
Or what happens when you breach them. Certainly, the Great Remover, who'd demonstrated no respect for life whatsoever, wouldn't have cautioned his young recruit to test and hone his powers first. Find out what he could and couldn't do. No sense holding your soldiers back when war is at hand.
He looked again at the young man's face. He guessed it looked more peaceful than any of theirs did right now.
"I wonder," Expert-X said quietly. "If anyone will ever miss this son-of-a-bitch."
"His mother," came a voice from behind him. "Esther Patterson. Lives in Brooklyn. His name's Henry- went by Hank. Only child. Long rap sheet as a juvie. Left home about a year ago, no forwarding address. Probably when his mutant powers began to emerge. He was frightened; didn't want his mother to know."
Every paranormal present- even Phaser- stood up and turned to look at the speaker.
Expert-X's mouth curled into a grim smile.
"You're Cracker, aren't you?"
"Lt. Clark will do fine," the police detective gave a tired smile as he stepped forward into their midst.
"So how much of all that did you eavesdrop on, lieutenant?" X asked, his arms crossed.
"Eavesdrop? Now let's hold on here," Clark said, as he raised his hands in a gesture of innocence. "I'm simply here tracking known members of the Veil of Darkness. I don't believe in breaking laws towards that end."
"Rumor has it that you do tend to bend them a bit, though," Persona commented.
Tim gave her a pained smile. "Ah, rumors. You can't always believe them, young lady."
"I wasn't complaining," Persona said. "Unlike others, you bend them on our side."
"Cracked another secret ID, huh?" Expert-X asked rhetorically, gesturing to Henry's body. "When you'd do that?"
"I'd be working on it for a while. Actually made the positive ID the same day you all left. I gave the info to my superiors, but I guess they decided to sit on it and not release it to the press until they knew whether or not he was coming back."
"Was that why he left?" asked Freedom Flyer.
"What?"
"I mean," Flyer said, her deep blue eyes seeming to focus inward. "I wonder if Hank knew somehow that you had learned who he really was, lieutenant, and that was why he came onboard with the rest of us. Maybe he was too afraid to face his mother when she learned that he was a paranormal vigilante. He seemed kind of inexperienced to me."
"All of us were inexperienced for what we saw out there," Brick grunted. "All of us."
"Guilt!" Phaser suddenly began shouted. "Anger!"
He began to repeat those two words over and over, his voice growing louder with each repetition.
"We've got to shut him up!" yelled X. "Persona, put him back out!"
"Guilt!" Phaser bellowed. "Anger!"
"What about guilt and anger?" Lt. Clark suddenly shouted back at Phaser, not exactly sure why he was doing so. "What about them?"
That blank cowl turned to face Tim, whose blood grew cold.
He was suddenly glad he didn't have to see what Phaser's face might look like under that mask right now.
And then Phaser screamed.
Two words, but two very different words.
"THEY'RE HERE! THEY'RE HERE!"
Phaser suddenly clasped his hands, palms together, over his hand, bent his knees and leapt upwards.
It looked exactly like he was jumping off a diving board.
But now Lt. Clark could see right through him.
"Phaser! No!" shouted Freedom Flyer, but it was too late.
The transparent Phaser vanished into the ground.
"Dammit!" yelled X.
"What's going on over there?" one of the FBI men called out.
"We've got to get out of here," said Expert-X. "Now!"
"What about Phaser?" Persona asked. "We can't just leave him-"
"We have no way of tracking him while he's desolid," X snapped. "I guarantee if we stay here, the feds will bring us in for questioning. Phaser won't stay desolid forever; he can't. And once he reappears, you can mind scan for him, but we've got to get going!"
"What did Phaser mean by that?" Brick asked. His skin made crackling and grinding noises as he shifted to glare at Persona. "It cannot mean- you said we destroyed them!"
"We did, Brick. We did," Persona assured her teammate, although she suddenly looked haggard and worn. "Phaser is suffering from Post-Traumatic Stress Syndrome. He-"
"Diagnosis later, doctor. We need to fly- literally."
"You know I can't fly!" Persona exclaimed. "And neither can you, in case you've forgotten. Not to mention Brick."
"Orrad!" X whirled to face the alien. "Can you carry Brick?"
He nodded. "The servo-motors in my armor should supply me with a carrying capacity sufficient to-"
"Great, great. Do it," X said, already turning back to Freedom Flyer. "FF, you take Persona."
"And what about her?" Persona pointed to the Xertan girl, who was now standing by herself, looking very frightened.
"You said she can fly. Pantomime. Use a short telepathic burst if you have to, but get her feet off the ground!"
"That leaves you," said Brick. "Your inwisibility belt?"
"Out of power. It only carried one charge." Expert-X looked around. "I'll slip into the woods and try and lose them. Maybe I can-"
A hand tapped him on the shoulder. He turned around.
"Yes, lieutenant?"
"Mr. X. Do you smoke, sir?" Clark asked.
"No," the Expert replied, puzzled. Why?"
Tim pointed towards his car. "Get in."
"Anything at all you can tell me now?" Clark asked Expert-X as he maneuvered his car towards the exit.
X did not answer. He seemed to be staring at the buckle of his seat belt, which he had just put on.
Clark shook his head as the Diplomat headed back towards the expressway.
He wondered when he could get to a pay phone and let Rose know he was going to be more than a little late tonight.
"I've got a bad feeling about this," was all he could think to mutter.
"Did you ever wonder, lieutenant," came the voice of Expert-X beside him, "where bad feelings come from before you get them?"
Some miles away, two very bad feelings began to coalesce again.