Hey, all! The loose ends are falling, and the story is nearly complete, promise. Thanks, Echo, and Tikatu, for reading and reviewing.
37
Jakarta… still hovering over that wretched pump station-
By this time, Scott Tracy had run out of mental word games to play, had checked all his emails, left a message for John, and composed another stanza of poetry. (Not that he'd ever show it to anyone else; that aspect of Scott's life was one-hundred percent private.) Had established that serving as battery for half the city was about as interesting as it sounded, and that the family of magpies atop that pump station were sort of entertaining to watch. Good thing those new generators were being installed, he thought… willing the process still faster.
Then, a rust-flecked yellow elevator car came trundling along over the roof, piloted by one of the Java Power crew. There was a passenger, too. At first, Scott could not make him out. Not until…
"Scotteeee! My man! How's it hangin', Bro? It's me! Brandon Berenger! You know… B-Rad?"
A sudden teddy bear icon popped up on his public comm screen, giving way to the image of a whooping teenaged boy. Scott's crystal-blue eyes widened. Briefly, he tensed, looking wildly around, as though seeking a means of escape. Then, finding his voice, the pilot snapped,
"Brandon! It's dangerous, out here! I'm in the middle of a critical mission!"
"I know, right?" Brandon called over the comm, waving enthusiastically. The elevator car had ground to a pebble-flinging halt, and now boosted Brandon clear up to Thunderbird 1.
"It's, like, major, Dude! I mean, there I was, on vacation, yo, just checkin' out the local surf action, when these bugs, like, come out of nowhere! Totally harshed my buzz, Scotty. You know where I'm comin' from? Got some rad footage, though. Gotta feed the need, if I wanna keep those hits rollin' in"
By now, the car had raised Brandon high enough to rap on the Bird's lower canopy, grinning, waving, and worst of all… recording. Weakly, Scott waved back. Even smiled, a little.
"Then, like, this weird uber-bug, mother-ship bashes out of a building, all the power goes out, and… whoa, like… Dude: whoa to the max! Fires break out all over town. Even the river, Bro! That is some crazy sh*t, for cereal!"
Feeling more trapped than he had by the Hood, Scott opened his canopy, and allowed Brandon to climb on inside. The elevator car sped off, but the kid went on talking, even while giving his hero a great, big, bear hug.
"So, then, like, picture it, Bro: Brandon Berenger… B-Rad, himself… fightin' off drones and bashing fires with a table cloth, helpin' the oldies escape from our hotel, when… No way, Dude! Just… no frickin' way! Thunderbird 2 roars past, right overhead! I got footage like you wouldn't believe, yo! Posted right there, from ground zero! And then, and then, okay, this is totally maximal… primo stuff, Scotty… Thunderbird 2 and the Bugster go toe-to-toe in the sky, just dukin' it out, man! I was like, whoa."
"Got it all on camera, huh?" Scott asked, trying to smile for Brandon's many millions of ogling fans. The red-head lifted both eyebrows in exaggerated shock.
"Okay, duh! Only the whole frickin' battle, uploaded first! Beat everybody! You should see my traffic log, Bro! Twenty-five million hits, and counting, just today! So, like, when Kayo texted me, and was all like, "Hey, B-Rad, your ol' buddy Scott's up there alone, with no one to hang with, whyn't you go do the social?" Well, I'm into it, Bro! Totally on the bus, know what I mean?"
"Kayo… texted you?" Scott enquired evenly. Just, you know… seeking clarification, and plotting eventual murder.
"Oh, yeah. Totally, Dude. Your sister's, like, all about your welfare, Man. You are one lucky mofo… except, maybe not, 'cause it might suck to have total hotness like that for a sister. My condolences, Man."
And he put out his fist for a bump, which Scott returned, after a brief, tooth-grinding delay. Of course, the kid took a seat in back and went on talking, his V-logger helmet recording the whole conversation.
"Dude, she's, like, everything. Got all a chick needs, in all the right places, ya feel me, Bro? So… you think she'd ever, like, go for a guy like me, Scotty?"
The pilot blinked, then smiled, slow and crafty.
"Kayo? Go for you, Brandon? Absolutely. Buddy, you are exactly her type. I can hear the bells, now."
Brandon's dark eyes flew wide open, and his jaw wagged for a long, soundless moment. Then, in an awed whisper,
"Are you… Are you sh*tting me, Scotty-man, King of the Dread Pirates? She'd dig B-Rad, himself?"
"Wait," Scott cut in, turning his seat to face Brandon's. "Pirates? How did you hear…?"
Brandon winked at him.
"Dude, Man, Kayo totally spilled how you captured a pirate ship and tossed the crew, then blew up some over-charging power satellites, and got nailed by the po-po. I feel ya, Bro," the kid commiserated, patting Scott's tense shoulder. "A life of true excellence has its price, yo. Done my time before the man, too. Framed my mug shots, and hung 'em up in the Rad-cave."
Scott slumped in his seat, thanking God that his father, at least, wasn't one of B-Rad's avid followers. Then, he heard the thin wailing of a distant alarm, followed by a broadcast announcement.
"Attention: The west flood-control valve has ruptured. Flooding is imminent in western and southern Jakarta. All residents are advised to seek high ground, immediately. Repeat: the west flood-control valve has ruptured. Flooding is imminent!"
Scott's expression hardened (very much resembling the "manly scowl" that Alan had tried so hard to achieve). Casting off those power-feed lines with the flick of a key, he snapped,
"Brandon, strap in. We've got a city to save!"
"Sweeeeet!" Brandon crowed. "This is it, the real thing, Dudes and Chicas! B-Rad, swingin' into action with the Scottster, the Scottsman, the Scott-a-roonie, just like old times! Let's go, Man! We're live!"
XXXXXXXXXX
Somewhat later, over London-
Parker had followed a flight path, and minded his traffic regs. Kayo did not; relying on her Bird's comm and radar invisibility, and her own quick reflexes, to keep her off the World Council's viewscreens. It was another cold, moonless night in the sleeping city. Just the sort she liked best.
The maximum-security hospital had been cordoned off from ground level, with police barricades and detectives set about to deter onlookers. Well, Tanusha wasn't coming in from below, nor landing, either. Needed a place to pull in, though.
Looking down through her canopy, the girl saw a hastily tarped-over hole in the building's stone side. Saw floodlights swinging about of their own accord, and mechanical taser arms crouching and striking like cobras, as though… well, almost like they'd been given life, and a bit of intelligence. Interested, Kayo circled the roof from high above, taking close-up pictures for Dad, with her Bird's telephoto app.
There was a roof entrance, she noticed, close by the med-flight helipad. That one was torn apart even worse than the building's side. Robotic taser arms defended it, and the roof's edge, but Kayo had plenty of cyber-locks and EM-disruptors. Also, she liked a challenge.
"Hard way it is, then," she murmured, beginning to smile. Her cousin's presence in her mind was small, but intense. He was watching, but only that… so far. "Try to stay out of my way," she told him, feeling that icy excitement, that hungering thrill.
Popping the canopy, Kayo waited until Shadow had eluded those blindly fumbling searchlights, and then swooped in over the helipad. Next, she unstrapped to somersault up and out of the cockpit, landing at dead-center on the big, white-painted 'H'. Dropped into a crouch, then, as Shadow lifted silently upward, out of range.
Here on the roof, those tasers and searchlights were noisy; crackling and humming with vicious power, as they followed their last clear directive to prevent admittance of any sort. Briefly, Kayo considered disabling them all, then decided that, just like the Hood's kidnapper, she didn't want company. Simple matter to thread, duck and weave right between them, staying always just out of camera range. Fun, really; the sort of exercise she rarely got, away from the ranch house and "danger rooms".
"Have to add this scenario to our routine," she decided, enjoying the rush, the heightened senses that always accompanied hazardous action. An unfortunate night-bird flew past, only to be zapped from the air… now just a burst, feather-spilling carcass… by two of those lashing taser arms.
"Right," she breathed. "Phasers not set on stun, then. Note taken."
Cautious but quick, the girl slunk, darted, spun and danced her way through a gauntlet of rabid defenses; triggering none of them. Felt surprise and approval from Nikorr, who apparently hadn't expected much. For his benefit, she paused at the shattered roof-entrance door, straightened and stretched like a languid cat; showing off all of those muscles and curves. Then, slitting the plastic tarpaulin, Kayo went in.
XXXXXXXXXXXX
Jove Station, at the seedy and crowded Storm Front bar-
There was an old line that went, "I don't go looking for trouble. It finds me." John had gone along with Captain Taylor, thinking that he could probably talk the older man out of doing anything dumb. Except that crap, once it starts hitting the proverbial fan, tends to be flung in all sorts of directions, at very high speeds.
The place might have started out as a high-end bistro with brass fittings and hanging plants, but nearly a year of miners and freighter crews had converted it into the total dive they preferred. There could have been fancy wallpaper and carefully arranged holos, once; but graffiti, knife scars and exotic dancers obscured any trace.
Music was playing, very harsh and extremely loud. Lighting was bad, and the smells a mixture of spilt drinks, burnt food, bodily fluids and smoke. The dense crowd was partly Earth-Human, part colonist; some big, squat heavy-worlders, a number of spindly, exo-suited cloud dwellers, and at least three pirates. John knew this, because the trio announced it; looking over, then rising to meet them at the bar's stuck-open door.
"You!" the biggest one snarled, stabbing a sausage-like finger at Lee's chest. "You're one a them rescue-pukes, ain'tcha!"
To call him a gorilla would have been kind… and an injustice to simians, everywhere. He was a mountain, seemingly held together by hair, motor chains and scar tissue. The two behind him were nearly as big, and twice as ugly. Option one, then, apparently. Taylor smiled; tense in a way that John had learned only meant trouble.
"Could be," he drawled, shifting his stance a bit, for swift action. "Who's askin'?"
"Royce Clarke! Pirate lord, n' first mate on the Black Flag!" He could not seem to speak below a roar. "My ol' friend Dobbs got his ship took away by one a you bastards! Tossed out in space to fend for hisself, and him with a cracked skull! What d'ya say to that, huh?!"
Another attempted finger stab, at John, this time. Only, the astronaut's general policy was not to be in the place that people were aiming. He leaned away from that meaty, thrusting finger, too quick to be touched.
"Soft as cake, ain'tcha, Pretty Boy?" the man sneered, reaching forward.
And then, John exploded. Once again, just forgot everything, and stopped really seeing. Wasn't Lee who threw the first punch, although Taylor did hold the other two off for him, destroying furniture, downing a beer, and knocking the barkeep unconscious, in the process.
John doubled the pirate over with a powerful blow to the gut, then seized his dreadlocked dark hair and smashed his head down to meet an up-rushing knee. The pirate staggered backward, spitting curses and teeth. Only, John wasn't finished, yet. One crushing, augmented punch after another hit home, because he really… didn't… like… being… called… 'pretty boy'.
The man crashed to the deck like a felled sequoia, smashing two tables to splinters. Station security soon arrived, but not before Lee pulled John aside and got him calmed down. So, yeah… their third night at the station was spent in the brig, until Alan and Conrad showed up with bail money.
XXXXXXXXXXXX
London, at the maximum-security medical ward-
Like a shadow, herself, Tanusha slipped through the plastic, and into a scene of utter destruction. Someone large had come through in a hurry, ripping camera mounts out of the wall, and doors off their hinges. Heavy, too, whoever he was. The tiled floor was cracked in a number of places, as though tremendous downward force had been applied, mostly in front of those twisted-loose doors.
There were still bloodstains here and about, as well as hologrammed body-shapes. A suspicion was beginning to form in Tanusha's mind, but she hadn't decided. Not yet. She stood still, and closed her eyes: feeling the air currents, testing the scents. Smelt blood and fear and metal, plus… there. And, again, some sort of cooked-smelling flesh/ metal interface. A cyborg.
Kayo moved on, slipping through doorways that hadn't been opened, so much as demolished. Following the killer's trail, she came at last to the Hood's erstwhile hospital room. He'd been contained in a spherical chamber equipped with energy dampers. These were burnt like Alan's popcorn, while the sphere itself had been ruptured wide open, and blasted to slivers. The hospital bed lay off to one side, bent like a pretzel.
Here were other scents, too. Those of her uncle, and several strangers. Also, the burnt-plastic stench of shock, of terror. More traces… a little girl? Kayo crouched down, closing her eyes again, to sort through all the swirling impressions. Irresistibly, her mind was drawn back to Jakarta, to Scotland, and the Mechanic.
"Most likely," Nikorr agreed, "given available evidence. You make an adequate hound, Cousin."
There was an edge there, as though he was trying to provoke a reaction. So, Kayo rose, blew a small kiss and said,
"Not all I'm good at, Niko… too bad you'll never find out, hmm?"
Then, smugly, Kayo cut their connection. A couple of GDF rent-a-cops strolled past, peering in at the door, but the girl simply brushed their minds and convinced them, 'don't look this way'. They did not see her. They couldn't.
Power like that made her thrill… made her tingle. But also, she wanted to cry. Wanted a brother to curl up with and tease, who would tell her she wasn't so bad as all that.
XXXXXXXXXXXX
The hive ship, soaring fast and high over South America-
Kane stepped away from the control pedestal and detached himself from its feeds. The ship would follow directions for the time being, and he wanted to check on his prisoner; needed to be sure that the future corpse remained stunned. South America was a dicey flyover, being Vega territory, but he didn't intend any harm. To them, at least.
"Ilya," he said, to the bridge's sole other occupant.
"Sir?" the boy responded, turning to face him with eager alertness.
"Keep an eye on things. Ship knows what it's doing, but might have some questions, if unusual weather comes up, or… visitors."
"Yes, Sir. And I'll keep practicing with the gun…" Ilya took a deep breath, as though screwing up his courage, then almost exploded with, "…Kane! On virtual mode, I mean. Next time there's a Tracy, I won't miss. Not even once."
The Mechanic grunted.
"Good. I'm going below. Anything happens, contact me."
His personal comm frequency now accessed both of the kids, who'd been given the means to call out, when they needed to. Not the usual way to start up a family… hadn't cloned himself, yet… but useful. And loyal, so far.
Once outside of the bridge, the Mechanic cut on his jetpack and shot across his ship's vast, humming interior, dodging streams of drone traffic until he reached his prisoner's cell. It was a sort of bubble grown from the living metallic substance of the ship. Not very large, but bordered by a wide, railed balcony, and gated with shimmering force. The girl was there, standing up by the cell door, and…
Kane hovered in midair, watching closely. Although the Hood was unconscious (his head still drooped on his reedy neck, and his green eyes, though open, were vague and unfocused) he was standing upright, lurching back and forth in his cell like a puppet. His arms waved about, and he said, in a man's voice, but child's words,
"Big, stinky man! No-hair man! Bad! Dance, now!"
And then, the Hood pirouetted, stumbling and jerking around in his cell as though drunk. Kane stared. Other than a prison hospital ward, the last time he'd seen the man was when he'd been trapped, having his cybernetic parts sawed away. That memory was black, searing poison. Then, this. Behind his breath mask, Kane barked a short laugh. This was beautiful. Perfect.
The little girl turned, allowing her toy to flop to the deck.
"Kane!" she shrieked, hopping up and down and holding both arms out. Her meat leg thudded softly. Her cyborg one rang.
The Mechanic jet-packed onto the balcony, permitting small Katrin to rush up and climb him, just like a drone.
"Kane!' she repeated, hugging his neck and rubbing her cheek on his broad, armoured chest. "Hi, Kane! You here! You here!"
An image sprang into his mind, of himself, patting her back. For some reason, he did it, triggering warmth from the girl. Feedback loop, of some sort. Unfamiliar, but not unpleasant.
Meanwhile, his prisoner lay in a heap; satisfactorily crushed and extinguished. Might need more toys for the girl, Kane mused, once she'd finished with this one.