Chapter Four – Thunder Horse

COMM 543527 . . . . . . . . . . .

INTERAGENCY BRIEFING DOCUMENT

CLEARANCE CODE RED

BLACK ROSE UNDERGROUND REVIEW.

VERY LITTLE DIRECT INTELLIGENCE ON BRU. NOT CONSIDERED META AT THIS TIME: NO KNOWN POWERS. ALL 7 SUSPECTS COMMITTED SUICIDE UPON CAPTURE VIA CYNAIDE CAPSULES IN FALSE TEETH. FORENSIC ANALYSIS REVEALS SEVERED VOCAL CORDS ON ALL BODIES. NO FURTHER INSIGNIA OR UNIQUE IDENTIFYING MARKS FOUND. TRACE ANALYSIS AND TOXICOLOGY CONTINUES.

LEADER OF UNKNOWN NAME. RUMORS IN COMMUNITY REFLECT EXTREME TORTURE OF VICTIMS. M.O. APPEARS TO BE CAUSING CARDIAC ARREST BY FRIGHTENING VICTIMS TO DEATH OVER OUTRIGHT EXECUTION.

APPROACH WITH EXTREME CAUTION. VERY ACCURATE WEAPONS AND OPERATORS.

THREE MEMBERS THOUGHT TO BE AT LARGE, INCLUDING LEADER. TREAT AS ARMED AND EXTREMELY DANGEROUS.

CUSTOMIZED WEAPONS CACHE THOUGHT TO INCLUDE THE FOLLOWING:

The T-Jet screamed across the night.

Reading the brief, she finally realized why the "goods" had not been surrendered. She also reminded herself that one did not have to have metahuman abilities to be crafty. Or evil.

The young Titans reviewed the plan before touchdown: Search pattern CY-12: each 2-member team starting at a different point on the circumference of the search area. Move towards the center of the area in a spiral fashion. They would meet in the middle, with the idea that one team might locate a lead on the cache using metal detectors and other devices of Cyborg's finest design.

It seemed a simple but effective plan. Communicators on at all times with their GPS units online so that team members could instantly locate one another in case of trouble. Everyone would give periodic positional reports, and Cyborg would coordinate any changes to the plans as well as searching his own grid.

She was teamed up with Beast Boy and her mysterious new relative. They would be starting on the far edge of the search area, the most distant spot from their landing zone. The theory was that she could use her dimensional moves to get them to their starting point; and then they could move toward the middle of the grid.

Such "jumps" were more art than science. While she never really worried about knowing the exact location of things, it was good to know where she was going. Navigation was the most important thing of all.

Bart was as curious as ever about her talent. A skill, really; the smallest child in Azarath was taught how to flow between the dimensions to be elsewhere.

"But aren't you afraid of materializing in the middle of something? Like in the middle of a table or a wall or . . . "

"Not really. I would if I teleported, but I do not do that. I move between dimensions. I have portals. Solid objects are not an obstacle for portals."

Gar leaned over and whispered into his ear with a conspiratorial air. "Listen to the voice of experience. She does not teleport. Very important point with her. Remember that."

"Weren't you riding shotgun?" Conner asked him.

"Was."

"However," she continued, "navigation is still important. Without it, I could still materialize in a place where a portal would be no protection."

"Like what?"

He chimed in again. "Bottom of the ocean? Depths of space? Middle of the sun? Hellooooooo."

He grinned at Raven with a great flourish of his hands. "See? I pay attention."

She focused her attention on the topographical map in front of her and did not reply. She stared at the words Twilight Canyon until they were burned into her mind. She did not know how to reply to that. Am I that adamant? He was getting more difficult to read.

She wanted a solid picture of the landscape in her head so she would know where she was going in the first place . . . and in case she had to "jump" anywhere else. She wondered vaguely how this Thunder Horse was going to take to suddenly being elsewhere. Although her team was more than grateful for the ability, it definitely left them disconcerted when they had to make use of it.

Victor's voice crackled over the intercom again. "I hope everybody re-read the briefs. Strap in. We're about to land."

She reached out with her energies, trying to get a read on the waiting man below. Would she be able to feel the same blood flowing in his veins? Would he look like her mother? Should I tell him? Is it really true?

Twilight Canyon yawned before the jet. A sharp bank to starboard revealed the landscape to her in one fell swoop. The maps did not do it justice. Arches and spires the color of brick glimmered in the rising sun in all directions. Specks of green freckled the landscape. Even in this arid place, wildflowers reached up for the sun from small shadowed havens. The sky above was cloudless and deep, deep blue, bluer than her own cloak.

It looks like home. A home that no longer existed.

Beyond the landing zone was a series of Quonset huts that made up the research station. What exactly was researched here was a good question. Since the doctor was an archaeologist, she assumed that it might be a base camp for studying sites in the canyon. But since he was a psychiatrist, what he might actually study was anybody's guess.

At the bottom of the ramp, he waited. Physically, he was middle-aged, healthy if a little thick about the middle. Dark skin, dark eyes, high cheek bones. Dark hair shaved close to the head with streaks of gray at the temple. He had a few fine lines around his eyes, but otherwise his face was smooth. He was geared for backcountry travel: beige shirt with sleeves rolled up past the elbow. Pants with zippers on the legs that would allow the wearer to convert to shorts in an instant. Heavy boots that knew their way around a canyon. He could be anybody's uncle. But energetically . . .

A feedback loop. She felt everyone around her, and she felt him reflecting all of those emotions from all of those others back at her. She could feel him feeling them.

Azar! Is he like me?

And he was looking at her with a steady, if gentle, gaze. He is reading me as I am reading him. He knows what I am. I know what he is. And he knows I know what he is.

But does he know what I am to him? Would he accept a half-demon in his family?

Her face retreated further into her hood, but she knew she could not escape his empathy even if she could escape his shining eyes.

"You must be Cyborg," he said to their leader. "They told me to expect you. I recognize you from the papers. Charles Thunder Horse. But my friends call me Charlie."

"Yes, sir." They shook hands. She could sense Cyborg holding back the strength in his mighty chrome arms to avoid breaking the doctor's hand. "I believe we got here right on time. Did the agency brief you on the search plans?"

He introduced each one of them to this new temporary team member. She was polite and nodded when her name was said. The image of the crumpled paper in her seat on the jet pricked her mind like a thorn. Cyborg did not mention their abilities, although the doctor probably knew some of their powers from the omnipresent stories in the media. She gripped the shoulder straps of the backpack of electronic gear (and a few granola bars) more tightly. He continued to look at her with kind but piercing eyes, but he did not ask her any questions. She felt he probably did not need to.

Victor got off the radio with the other agencies in the search. "They think it is a very low probability that we'll encounter any BRU today. That's good news." He looked at Thunder Horse's back, then turned to smile at her with a knowing look in his eyes.

After another review of the plans and some of the typical abstract business of such events, the team began to head in the direction of their own search areas.

"—some wild weather on the radar for tonight, I hope we wrap this up early."

"—why did I have to get stuck with you –"

"Put the sunscreen on, Superboy! Your last sunburn hurt her for weeks--"

"—leave us some muffins, next time, how 'bout it –"

Cyborg jump-started the search. "All right, Titans, capes and elbows! The sooner we locate our quarry, the sooner we can go home for triple supreme pizza! On me!"

She felt the stranger's eyes on her again.

"Your dress is beautiful, little sister, but I am afraid it may not be very practical where we are going."

She forced a reply. Her voice was even. "This is my normal dress for this kind of work, sir."

"Please, call me Charlie. I know." His voice was gentle. " I have seen it in pictures. However, we are doing a lot of ground reconnaissance here. I think you would be . . . uncomfortable . . . after a while in that. I have other suitable gear for you, if you wish. My wife often leaves clothing here, and she is about your size."

Clothing of others was uncomfortable. They often carried the air of the wearer on them. The signatures of strangers . . .

"Humor me."

He wants to see my face. "If you feel it is necessary. You are the expert here, so I will listen. What do you have for me?"

He led her and Beast Boy into a cramped office in the station. Posters of unfamiliar characters decorated the walls. Diplomas from a university were displayed behind his desk. He rummaged around in a cabinet by the window. The sun was getting brighter, but he did not seem to be in any hurry.

"Sooo . . . ", Garfield asked, more out of boredom than curiosity, "You're an archaeologist and a psychiatrist? That's a strange combination."

"Not really," Thunder Horse mumbled into the closet. "Where is it, oh, here. . . I am come from a long line of Lakota medicine men." He turned to face her, his arms full of a soft beige material. "I have learned the ways of the white doctors in an effort to help my own people. Life on the reservations is not easy."

"Here you go, friend. Here are some boots as well. Hope they fit. There is a private room over there for you to change." He turned back to Beast Boy. "But I also try to use the ways of my Lakota ancestors. Much of that knowledge has been lost. I use archaeology to try to recover that knowledge."

"But why are you way out here? I'm not big on history, but didn't the Sioux live in the plains?"

She could hear his muffled explanation through the door as she pulled on the soft buckskin pants. The material felt cool and smooth against her skin, albeit a bit snug. The original wearer must be a gentle person – the weight of the jacket was soothing.

"Medicinal knowledge had many commonalities among the different nations. I travel around and study the glyphs, like the ones you see on these posters, to try to gain their knowledge as well. My hope is that they will fill in the missing pieces . . . "

He seems very eager to share himself with strangers, she mused. Not shy at all.

She emerged from the private room, dress folded over her elbow and cloak over her shoulder. She rested the dress, designed more for meditation than for adventuring, on his desk along with her long boots. Thunder Horse was reviewing the contents of their own backpacks, adding a few items, removing some. He glanced at her, then reached into a small refrigerator behind and pulled out a small plastic box. He inserted it into a slightly larger leather kit. With great care, he placed the kit into a side pocket of his pack.

What is he preparing for? He only seemed to reflect what he felt from others. His own heart was unreadable. He can protect himself from me.

She felt her green friend's eyes studying her new costume, more closely than she felt comfortable with. "Is this sufficient?"

Thunder Horse smiled at her. "Yes. It suits you. You could be a child of my own tribe in that." He seemed relieved to finally see her face.

She looked away, out the window. "The cloak goes."

"She's bringing the cloak," Gar said. "Never forget your cloak, eh, Rave? Bad juju."

He does pay attention.

Thunder Horse shouldered a backpack of his own and snapped the waist buckles. "Very well. Let us go. It is a long hike to our actual start."

"No, way, doc, get ready to ride the Raven Express!"

"The what?"