A/N: Armamentarium, noun, the medicines, equipment, and techniques available to a medical practitioner.
The Origin of MASK
Chapter 5: Just For Kicks, Part 3
By Qweb and/or Jelsemium
A red and purple car with raised gull wing doors screeched to a halt at his side.
"Let's get after them!" invited the blond man at the wheel.
A girl squeezed into the back seat beckoned him inside. Julio leaped in before he had a chance to wonder what he was doing.
"We can't chase them in a car," he said.
"Wanna bet?" Gloria asked.
She handed Julio his seat belt and he fastened it automatically. Matt stamped on the accelerator, rammed the shift forward and the car shot into the air in pursuit of the Cessna.
"Whoa!" Julio said, looking down through the open door.
Gloria laughed in sympathy.
"Hard to believe, isn't it?"
But Julio recovered his equilibrium fast. After all, he'd just come from an air show where experimental planes were on display.
"I didn't see this baby at the show," he said in admiration. "Very nice. Your design?"
"A friend of mine," Matt said.
"Must've been tired of sitting in traffic jams," Julio commented.
The jet-powered flying car rapidly overtook the propeller-driven Cessna.
Thunderhawk shot past the plane sending it tumbling in its slipstream. The thieves inside flinched away from the close passing jet.
Julio winced, too.
"Be careful," he pleaded. "That's the best plane I've got."
"Sorry, I've never done this before," Matt said through gritted teeth.
Matt roared past the plane again, forcing it lower. He pushed a button for Thunderhawk's loudspeaker.
"Set that plane down, or I'll knock you down!" he threatened.
Julio closed his eyes. He couldn't watch. He didn't know Matt would never be able to bring himself to do it. Fortunately, neither did the crooks.
Fighting more jet-created turbulence, the pilot turned the Cessna toward a deserted dirt road and bounced the plane to a halt. Even before it stopped moving, the two men were out and running for the nearby woods.
Matt swept past in Thunderhawk, stopping it in hover mode to let Julio and Gloria leap out in front of the crooks. Julio doubled his fists and tried to look menacing. Gloria kicked off her high heels and waited placidly.
The thieving pilot, a big bull of a man, charged Gloria, swinging the loot-filled briefcase like a club. Gloria ducked under the swing, and brought the heel of her hand up under the crook's jaw, all her weight and his momentum behind it.
The crook was tough though. He didn't fall, but he staggered backwards, dropping the money. He tasted blood from his bitten tongue.
Gloria stood casually in front of him.
With a roar of anger, he grabbed for the gun in his waistband.
Gloria swept in like a whirlwind, spinning to deliver a devastating roundhouse kick to the belly. She grabbed his gun hand, twisting it until his numb fingers released the gun into her other hand. Then she rapped him on the temple with the weapon, quickly releasing his arm so her hold didn't break it as he fell to the ground unconscious.
Julio stared at her with more astonishment than he'd shown the flying car.
The second crook took his inattention as an invitation to run. Julio brought him down with a flying tackle that knocked the wind and the fight out of him. He lay on the ground wheezing.
Matt collected the briefcases, then brought out his first aid kit for the unconscious thief.
"If you hurry, you can get back in time for the race," Matt suggested to Julio. "We'll look after these two."
The philanthropist knew there was a hefty purse riding on the amateur event. Julio, who was examining the thug, shook his head.
"No, I think this guy's got a concussion. I'd better stay with him 'til an ambulance gets here," Julio said. "You messed with the wrong lady, this time," the doctor said to his unconscious patient. "Teach you to steal my plane!"
Gloria laughed. "Got you this time, Red Baron!"
"As it turned out, Julio didn't lose anything by missing the race," Matt told Alex a week later. "He got a 10 percent finder's fee for recovering the money. Even split with Gloria, it made a nice finish to an odd day."
"What did he say when you told him about MASK?"
"He just asked if he could have a flying car, too."
"I hope you told him yes," said Bruce Sato, the third MASK founder, in his soft voice.
"Do you have something in mind?" the Brit asked.
"Something on the order of a dragonfly. Yes," Bruce said.
Silence thudded into the conversation. Seated around a table in the MASK Command Center, the three friends just looked at each other.
They were in costume, slightly uncomfortable at the unaccustomed weight of the electronic gear built into the clothing. Their masks were on their laps. Matt's versatile Spectrum mask offered a variety of electromagnetic possibilities, including a laser, sonar and a hang glider effect produced by the same antigravity system that powered Bruce's Lifter and Alex's Jackrabbit. At the moment, though, their weapons gave them no comfort.
"You guys as nervous as I am?" Matt asked finally. "This is the first time we've gotten everyone together in full MASK gear."
"Of course, we haven't reached our full quota," Alex said.
"True, but we have to start training together sometime, or we'll look like Keystone Kops when we finally meet Venom."
"True. Have you decided yet whether to keep our agents' identities secret?" Alex asked.
"To be honest, no," Matt replied. "I think we should leave it up to the others. It might be hard to work with someone who is only an anonymous mask; but it might be safer if somebody is captured or injured."
"Like spy cells, what? Can't reveal the identities of people you don't know."
No one followed up Alex's comment. Silence stretched to uncomfortable lengths.
Bruce sighed, "The tiger's bite does not become less painful if it chews slowly."
Alex looked at him sharply. Tigers again!
"You're right, Bruce," Matt said, drawing his own look from Alex. "There's no sense stalling. We've got company waiting."
He stood up and led the way to the door.
"I can't believe you understood that!" Alex complained as he followed.
Gloria Baker was annoyed with herself as she ran into the Boulder Hill gas station and activated the secret subway to MASK headquarters deep under the so-called Boulder Mountain. She was annoyed, though, to be fair, it was the plane from New York that was late, not her. Still, she thought, if she was last to arrive at the meeting, the guys would be sure to think "typical woman, always late," or words to that effect. She would hate to have to beat such an attitude out of her potential colleagues.
As Gloria dropped into the seat and verbally directed the car toward headquarters, she pulled on her Aura mask. She considered again the possibilities of moving to Nevada, a thought she had been mulling over on the plane. There was always a market for self-defense and driving classes; and she knew her industrial clients would send their people to her anywhere. And at least moving would keep her from being late for any more blasted meetings.
Calhoun Burns wondered if he was going to have to move to be near Boulder Mountain for meetings and missions. He had plenty of time for wondering as he sat in uncomfortable silence with five other masked, anonymous figures waiting for Matt, Bruce and Alex to put in an appearance.
No, he finally decided, Matt had assured him that the MASK transport jet could pick him up wherever he was, whenever he was needed. Calhoun wouldn't have to give up the old Kentucky home — he smiled at his mental phrasing — or the horse breeding farm or his crosscountry trips as an architect. In fact, his jaunts with MASK would, he smiled again, just masquerade as more business trips. He sighed happily and relaxed back in his chair, watching the door.
Buddy Hawks was watching his colleagues with lively curiosity and making guesses as to their identities. A born snoop, his Army intelligence training had only sharpened his investigative instincts; and his job at the gas station had given him a perfect lookout post to keep an eye on the goings on at MASK headquarters and Trakker's mansion. Without really trying, Buddy had learned a lot about the MASK team.
He had no trouble identifying Hondo MacLean. The schoolteacher's Blaster mask looked like a pair of goggles on a hard hat, which left the lower half of his face exposed. Only his mask and Alex's Jackrabbit were so revealing, and it left Buddy with no doubt about the black man's identity.
Since Hondo had stopped for gasoline several times, Buddy even knew his name.
Of course the pump jockey knew Hondo had recognized him, too. After chasing Buddy around Trakker mansion all night, he would have had to be pretty dumb not to. And Buddy didn't figure he was dumb. So he and Hondo had spent a lot of time politely pretending they didn't know who each other were. It was a little weird, but it was what Matt seemed to want.
IDing the others was harder, but Buddy was pretty sure he had Calhoun and Jacques LeFleur pegged, even though they had only visited the complex a couple times each. Their mumbled apologies as they squeezed into their seats had given them away. Jacques' French Canadian accent was even more rare in these parts than Calhoun's cultured Southern drawl. Unfortunately for Buddy's curiosity, he didn't know their names, yet.
The fella in the orange mask was a complete unknown, which annoyed Buddy. The intelligence expert would have felt better if he'd known it was Julio Lopez' first visit to the complex.
It was Dusty to whom Buddy's increasingly aggravated attention kept returning. Already in his seat when Buddy arrived, Dusty was the only one to beat the gas station attendant to headquarters, which made said attendant wonder. After all, Buddy only needed to jump into the subway at the station to get there. The only other entrance was through Trakker mansion. Despite Buddy's increasingly open scrutiny, he hadn't caught Dusty moving. The cowboy sat almost sleepily relaxed waiting for the others to arrive, waiting with the patience of an angler after Granddaddy Trout. Buddy felt certain he ought to know the man, but he couldn't make the connection. Backlash covered Dusty's head entirely. His outfit, padded like a catcher's uniform, concealed his size. And he hadn't moved a muscle or spoken a word.
He was driving Buddy crazy. It was almost as if he knew Buddy was watching him.
Dusty Hayes grinned behind his mask, as he caught Buddy watching him again. Backlash, with its full-face, mirrored glass visor, offered the cowboy a wide range of vision. He didn't have to move his head an inch to see Buddy glaring with every line of his body.
As many pizzas as Dusty had delivered to the gas station, you'd think Buddy would recognize him as easily as he had recognized Buddy. But, of course, Dusty had the advantage of knowing anyone who worked for that gas station couldn't be an innocent bystander.
Dusty was enjoying himself. He'd always had the feeling that city-wise, street-smart Buddy had been tolerantly amused at Dusty's country accent and trusting ways. The time Dusty had returned Buddy's $2 over-payment, the gas station attendant had acted as if the Texan was crazy. Yet Buddy had always been friendly enough. Guess he just didn't think a hick, pizza truck driver could account for much.
Dusty chuckled and sat perfectly still. His aim was not to frustrate Buddy, however. The jet trip back from Connecticut had given the still recuperating cowboy a headache. He hoped, if he didn't move around too much, it would go away before Matt arrived. Dusty knew if Matt caught him looking under the weather, he'd order Dusty back to bed. And that would be too embarrassing.
Jacques LeFleur felt embarrassed and inadequate amidst all the technology. As far as he was concerned, high tech was a stainless steel chain saw, and that was as much progress as he could stand. All these flashing lights and whirring machines made him nervous.
The lumberjack briefly wished he'd never agreed to Trakker's bizarre scheme. He wished that he was back in the tall Canadian north woods where he belonged. He wished he could just disappear. Then he remembered that with his Mirage mask, he could.
He grinned suddenly, thinking this might be fun after all.
Julio Lopez just knew he was going to have fun in MASK.
He had stowed his armamentarium in the surgery Matt had prepared for him, then had made his way through the mazelike complex to the meeting room. The futuristic sights he'd seen during his wanderings had justified his decision to join Trakker's crew.
Looking through his unfamiliar orange Streamer mask, he was impressed by the technology, but not awed by it. In fact, he thought the blinking machines looked like something out of a science fiction movie, with the MASK agents playing bizarre aliens seated in an intergalactic saloon.
Or maybe, he thought, looking at the round table around which they congregated, maybe we're King Arthur's knights ready for adventure, battling evil dragons and wicked wizards. Yes, that sounded more like the MASK "quest."
Julio looked across the Round Table and found the silence of his fellow knights oppressive. He wondered if he should crack a joke to break the tension.
He shook his head to himself. No, Sir Lancelot would never play the class clown.
Hondo MacLean looked around the room as if assessing a new class.
It felt a lot like the first day of school. The students were gathered, waiting nervously for the new teacher to arrive, wondering what would be expected of them, wondering if they would be up to the challenge.
Hondo's white teeth flashed. He devoutly hoped this would be a straight-A class.
The teacher heard the door start to open and turned attentively. He wondered if this was Matt or if someone else had yet to arrive.
When she entered, Gloria found herself the focus of all masks. Flustered by the unanimously eyeless regard, she hesitated in the doorway.
Her obvious discomfort brought Calhoun to his feet in an automatic instant. He swept his mask from his head, bowed over it as if it was a cavalier's hat and gestured for her to take his seat.
"Good afternoon, ma'am," he said with inbred chivalry. "Allow me to introduce myself. My name is Calhoun Burns. If you would be so kind, I would be honored to have you occupy my place at the table. I can find another chair for myself."
Still more startled, Gloria regarded the stranger with suspicion, wondering if he was putting her on. But his gray eyes held only utmost sincerity, with perhaps a touch of worry that he might have offended her.
He was waiting patiently for her reply. Almost without thinking, she removed her mask to give it. She was too well brought up herself to offer only a blank gaze in return for politeness. She took the hand he had extended, to his apparent delight; but she shook it firmly instead of allowing him to guide her to his seat.
"Thank you, Mr. Burns," she said. "My name's Gloria Baker, and I'm delighted to be working with you. But please take your seat back. I'm sure I can squeeze into one on the other side of the room. I'm not sure, however, that we were supposed to take off our masks."
She said it with a gentle laugh, but Calhoun looked as chagrined as if he'd made a grievous social error, such as seating the former Duchess of Donnybrook next to the showgirl who had supplanted her.
"I must crave your pardon, gentlemen," he said to the others who had risen automatically to their feet in response to his leap. "Do not let my impulsive action influence you in any regard. Please feel free to retain your anonymity."
Dusty laughed.
"Shucks, pardner. It was gettin' hot in here anyways," he said.
Dusty pulled off Backlash and shook his shaggy locks like a horse released from heavy harness. He was glad to note the movement didn't bother his head at all. He grinned at Gloria who returned it.
"Hi, Gloria," he said.
"Hi, yourself. How's the head, cowboy?"
"Cowboy! Pizza wrangler is more like it!" Buddy approached. There was bitterness in his voice. He felt betrayed by all his training. "Dusty Hayes! I never would have expected to find you here. A pizza driver, for crying out loud!"
"Dusty can drive more than pizza trucks," Gloria said loyally.
"Keep out of this, sister," Buddy muttered.
Gloria and Calhoun flushed. Dusty's eyes kindled with anger.
"You'd better watch your mouth, fella, or I'll have to clean your clock," he said almost gently; but his words cut off the friendly chatter that was just getting started.
Buddy looked Dusty over with sudden interest. A friendly brawl might be fun.
My God, thought Hondo. This is like the first day of school, with the young bucks trying out each other's horns. The teacher in Hondo told him he should step into the middle and stop this before someone got hurt. The trouble was, he was afraid he was the one who would wind up with the aches and pains. He still had bruises left from his last tangle with Buddy Hawks. He knew just how tough and tricky that young man could be.
Hondo couldn't understand what Buddy was waiting for. Sure Dusty and Buddy were of similar size and build, but Buddy took his training in one of the dirtiest businesses around. Hondo figured he shouldn't have any trouble putting the cowboy down.
But Buddy figured different. He could see Dusty was strong, as strong as a man only gets when he makes a living forcing larger, stronger animals to do his bidding. But that wasn't what swayed Buddy's decision.
It was what Buddy saw in Dusty's eyes that made him hesitate. The cowboy was entirely relaxed. His words had been a true warning; but there was no animosity in his stance, no dare to get the fight started. He left the first move to Buddy.
Buddy enjoyed a good brawl, but he sensed Dusty didn't approve of fighting, and would only engage in it on behalf of a cause. When the Texan fought, he fought for keeps, which effectively negated any edge Buddy might have in skill.
Buddy mentally kicked himself around the room, and then around the mansion at the far end of the tunnel, for good measure (and it was a big mansion). He realized he'd been practicing his antisocial behavior, as per Matt's orders, for too long at the gas station. Now he'd gone and done it where he shouldn't'a oughta. He didn't want to make enemies of these people. They were supposed to be his friends.
He hesitated, wondering how to save face, then sent a pleading look to the only person in this roomful of strangers who could reasonably be expected to help him out of this jam.
Dusty correctly interpreted the look aimed his way. The cowboy chuckled. He had no axe to grind, and he'd hate to lose his best customer. He favored Buddy with a sunny smile and extended his hand, earning himself a lifelong friend.
"'Course, it's easier on the knuckles just to shake hands," Dusty suggested.
Buddy took the offer, to everyone's relief, including his own. He shook his head as he shook the hand.
"Pizza wrangler!" But he smiled when he said it, pardner.
"Pump jockey!" Dusty replied without rancor.
"Men!" Gloria said in disgust.
Taking that as a hint, Dusty introduced Gloria to Buddy Hawks, warning him that if he got out of line, she would not only clean his clock, she'd take it apart and scatter the pieces. Buddy saw the steely glint in her eyes and believed it, so he minded his manners.
Hearing that Dusty drove a pizza truck and Buddy pumped gas made Jacques feel better. Maybe a lumberjack wasn't out of their league after all. He began to really relax when Hondo, drawn unerringly to the most uncomfortable person in the room, started an easy conversation, and Calhoun crossed the room to renew acquaintances.
When Matt, Alex and Bruce finally arrived, masked and impressively silent, they were met by the cheerful clamor of seven MASK agents getting to know each other. Buddy had broken into the soft drink machine in the next room and provided refreshments for everyone. It looked more like a party than a briefing.
Three masks regarded each other. Bruce shrugged. Alex pulled off Jackrabbit.
"Well, that settles that, old chap," he said to Matt.
Calhoun noticed Matt as the MASK leader took off Spectrum.
"I must apologize most profusely for spoiling your plans, Matt. But when Gloria walked in … well, my sweet mother would have turned in her grave, if she'd seen me keep my mask on when greeting a lady."
"Don't worry about it, Calhoun. I expect things have turned out for the best," Matt said smiling. "We've been trusting our luck so far," he looked at Dusty, Gloria, Buddy, then at Calhoun himself. "And it seems to be working out."
"To serendipity?" Alex suggested, pressing a can into Matt's hand.
"To serendipity!" Matt toasted. "And confusion to our enemies."
"Hear! Hear!" Alex replied. He looked over their sturdy band of warriors. "I'd say Mayhem's in for a bit of his own medicine now."
"Why so solemn, guys?" Gloria laughed as she joined them.
"This is serious business, Gloria," Matt said.
"That's all in how you look at it, Matt," Julio joked. "Me, I'm just in it for the kicks."
Gloria grinned wickedly, reminding Matt of the effective Kung Fu demonstration she had presented on his doorstep.
The guys who knew her had to laugh when she said, with utmost innocence, "Me, too, Julio. Just for kicks."
In the next episode:
A rock star finds a Venomous surprise awaiting him backstage
And even worse trouble on stage,
But the action really gets rolling
To the tune of "Masquerade Rock."