Last edited 02 Dec 2001 02:45 PM

Copper, Proteus, and Drake made their way down Tartan Avenue, each in their own way.

For Copper, it was about three feet off the ground, anti-gravs a slight hum, leaning forward to give himself motion in that direction.  It was a more energy-conserving means of propulsion than his boot rockets, and certainly stealthier.  His suit had power limits, though it also regenerated the energy it used, over time.

Adrian had asked Bowie, once, what powered the Copper armor.  She shook her head, said he didn't want to know, and flipped back down her welding mask.

He shrugged, as much as he could inside the armor.  As long as it kept moving, he didn't have too much cause to complain.

Proteus, for his part, had turned back into a large coyote, who padded along the tree-lined side of the road.  It was one of this favorite forms, for reasons that he didn't explain to the others, but which had to do with certain cartoons he found amusing.  Among other reasons.

Drake had neither anti-gravs nor four long legs to lope along on.  He settled for a steady jog.  He didn't sweat as he did so, even though his leather-not-leather jacket was thick and the air was warm.  If either of the other two noticed, they didn't say anything, and Drake didn't worry they would.  Indeed, he never even thought about it.

Adrian ran over maps on the screen in front of him.  Their team was the most powerful -- assuming Drake could be trusted.  In some ways, they were also the decoy.  When Victor gave the word, Copper would open up his full sensor array, and move to attack whatever he could find.  The three of them might break through, assuming that there was indeed opposition.  Or they might simply draw off most of the black hats' big guns.  In which case, they were hopefully also tough enough to survive.

Until then, they weren't actively advertising their location. They also weren't hiding.  Yet.

"SO, WHERE WERE YOU WHEN YOU WERE -- BROUGHT HERE?"

Drake assumed Copper was speaking to him.  After a moment considering whether the information was of value, he replied, "I was just getting of the QE2, in New York."

"BUSINESS, OR PLEASURE?"

"A little of both, actually."  It had been years since he'd been in the States.  Part of that was because of the interest that certain individuals in the government there had once had in him -- in particular, how to properly reward him for some activities in Central America and Southeast Asia, done at their behest, but which had resulted in far greater rewards for his time than they had anticipated.

Part of it was because the conspicuous consumption of American in the 80s, and its technophiliac "irrational exuberance" of the 90s, had both appalled him.  Consumption was fine, but it should be a private matter, well-hidden from others.  And betting one's assets on the bubbling successes of something which was more a concept than a tangible treasure was a sure way to eventually become broke.  Didn't they teach about the Tulip Mania in schools these days? 

But with things slowing down in the American economy, and most of the folks who would be interested in him any more either dead or enjoying cabinet-level positions in the new Administration, it had seemed like a good time to leave behind -- well, where he'd been, and to visit the US once again.  Perhaps stay for a while.  America was a land of opportunity, and he'd profited from that before.  Even if they eschewed the gold standard, there was still plenty of lucre to be had.

"VICTOR'S CURIOUS ABOUT YOU," Copper observed.

"He's been around a long time.  People don't get that old without learning what to be curious about."

Copper was silent for a moment after that, as though digesting it.  "ARE YOU SAYING HE SHOULD BE CURIOUS ABOUT YOU?"

Drake shrugged.  

"I am curious about you, too," chimed in the coyote by their side.

"A lot of that going around," Drake said.  

The two-lane street broke out from under its shadowed cover of elderly California coastal oaks, expanding into two lanes in each direction.  There was a tennis court to their left, beyond which was the campus of Alosta High School -- "Home of the Scotties," as the large sign up at the next intersection proclaimed.

Copper dropped a little closer to the ground.  He motioned the other two to follow him, as they turned off the street and headed down a driveway toward the back of the school.  A couple of older sedans parked there screamed Driver's Ed.  A dumpster with scraps of wood and metal from the respective shops.  And then a chain link fence, quickly sliced open with a finger-tip laser.

They were in a set of classroom buildings, at the end of the complex, where a large set of trees and bushes separated them from a broad expanse of asphalt dotted with basketball hoops.

Silently, they moved forward, hugging the wall, to the end of the building.  From there they could see the center of campus, a broad expanse of asphalt pathways and worn grass, sloping down to the left, where the large gymnasium stood.

Beyond were the administration building, some additional classrooms, the traditional flagpole -- and, across the street, a rather drab, conventional-looking church.

"SO WE WAIT," Copper said, his booming voice lowered dramatically in volume.

Drake crouched next to him.  "Anything?" he whispered.

"NOTHING ON PASSIVES.  CAN'T GO TO ACTIVES UNTIL WE'RE READY TO MOVE."

Drake nodded.  His dark eyes, just a glint of color around the edges, swept the open space.  "Somebody's out there.  Somebody's watching us."

"How do you know?" Proteus asked.  He was back in his normal, neutral form, head cocked, voice polite but curious.

Drake shook his head.  Whether that meant he wasn't telling or didn't know wasn't clear, and before Proteus could follow up, Drake's head cocked.  "Did you hear that?"

"GUNFIRE.  AUTOMATIC, HEAVY CALIBER.  SOUTH, TOWARD WHERE ZEBRA AND KID CASTLE ARE."

"Better call Victor."  Drake's hands flexed open and closed.

"I'M TRYING.  NO RESPONSE."

"I think this means --" Proteus began, but before he could tell what he thought it meant, something red and misty rose up out of the ground underneath Copper, and abruptly the armored figure was flying, not under his own power, up through the overhang of the classroom building, and into the air.

"Damn!" Drake shouted, backpedaling away from the falling debris, trying to get clear to see what was happening.  That distracted him enough that the figure in grey, who seemed to simply step out of the shadows of the underbrush there, was able to land the first set of blows before Drake even realized he was under attack.

Proteus was in the middle of a rapid change into a tiger when a third person rounded the corner of the building, running pell-mell at him.  Not many folks will do that when faced with a tiger, so Proteus assumed he was also a hostile.

And so the battle was joined, without the heroes being aware that they had already lost. 

*     *     *

Being pushed up through the overhanging roof hadn't done Copper any damage.  His shields had kicked in as quickly as he was able think about it, and the armor would have withstood the damage, anyway.

What was annoying was that it had happened at all, and that, at the end, his attacker had tossed him upwards another hundred feet before he'd stabilized and turned to face his foe.

Said attacker was giving him no respite however, charging upwards with a most menacing glower on his face.  He was a deep brick-red in coloration.  From the waist up, he looked to be a man: highly muscled, bald -- indeed, no facial hair, not even eyebrows, wearing bracelets of gleaming silver, which matched his on earring.

From the waist down, he was merely a wispy cloud, fading rapidly away.

Or rapidly closing on him, as the case may be.  Copper decided he didn't need to engage in hand-to-hand quite yet.  He extended his arms, and gun mounts slid out of his wrists, opening fire with a stream of energy pulses.  They struck his attacker dead on, knocking him back for a moment.

Then, abruptly, they were passing through him, harmlessly.  A slight smile grew on the attacker's face, as he rose up through the air again after Copper.

Okay.  Density control.  I've dealt with that before.  I just need to --

A brilliant flash, a roar, and all of Copper's systems flickered.  What the -- lightning?  The brick-red man was smiling more now, making gestures that seemed tied to -- another flash, a near-deafening crackle even through his armor and shields, and again all his screens and displays flickered.

All right -- I can be distracting, too.  Two panels on Copper's back opened up, and several small, shining balls zipped out, circling then hurtling toward his attacker like a swarm of bees.  They passed through him with no harm, and the smile grew broader -- until, circling back, two of them triggered with a cacophony of sound that made Adrian's teeth ache even through his own protections.  The attacker slammed his hands to his ears, and, his concentration broken, became solid enough for two more of the little balls to impact with him, sending bolts of electricity wreathing about his contorting body.

A flashing green light came up in the lower corner of his display, and expanded into an identification window.  Codename: Djinn.  Damn, this is a military file.  Iraqi agent, member of the Baghdad Guard.  Are they behind this?  Associated with team leader codenamed the Assassin.  Wide array of abilities recorded, possibly illusory, possibly metaphysical -- what the hell does that mean?

At which point the Djinn gestured and the last two shining balls circling back toward him turned into butterflies, which fluttered away.

Huh?!

The Djinn had recovered his smile.  He made a combination of gestures, and, abruptly, half of Copper's systems red-lighted, including the anti-gravs.  He quickly triggered the boot jets before he could fall more than a dozen feet.  I need to get some distance, figure out how to --

There were birds, all around him, beating at him with their wings, squawking and honking and chirping.  He beat at them, trying to get his bearings.

Then they were gone, as if they had never been there.  Before he could react, though, his boot jets began to emit a shower of red, white and black sparks, intershot with flecks of green.

Adrian didn't even have time to wonder how sparks could be black before the other half of his systems went to red, or were completely knocked out, and he was dropping from the sky like a stone, right toward --

I never did enjoy visiting the principal's office.

And then he hit, and all the sparks went to black.

*     *     *

He was clad from head to foot in grey, a shimmering, indistinct shade that made him difficult to see even knowing he was there.  His outfit resembled, in some ways, that of a ninja, Drake thought with a corner of his mind, but only functionally -- the tightly-bound mixed with baggy spots to ensnare or carry things, and a hood and face-mask to conceal the features.

Drake was sore, both physically and colloquially.  The not-a-ninja's three blows had hit where the human body had some particular nerve clusters that should have been paralyzed (agonizingly) from such strikes, crippling or disabling a normal opponent.  

As it was, it had hurt, and had actually knocked him down to one knee.  He'd swung backwards with one arm, forcing his opponent to dance back, giving him half a second to get back to his feet.

They faced each other, motionless, for a long moment.  Drake swayed side-to-side slightly, as though trying to focus in on his attacker.

There was a blur of motion.  The grey man moved like a dancer, in and about, ducking under Drake's swift, powerful punches, to land a blow here, there, another place.

Then they were back where they had been.  Drake was more sore, even bruised, which was a relatively novel experience for him in a hand-to-hand battle.  He had landed one blow, on the grey man's shoulder, and he was sure he had connected, but the other man showed no sign of it.

The shadowed eyes of the grey man narrowed slightly.  Then he said a word.

Drake's eyes widened.  It was a word he'd not heard used about him in -- well in quite some time.  How the hell did he --?  

Then Drake figured it out.  It was a matter of both memory and of deduction.  He said a name, then, and followed it with the word, "Assassin."

The Assassin nodded, slightly.

Oh that's just bloody terrific.  He'd fought the Assassin before, years ago.

The Assassin had won.  Only an opportune cave-in had saved his life -- which he'd kept reminding himself was a good thing, as he'd dug himself out from under the rock and rubble.

And since he knows me, this is going to be another very, very short fight.  Where's an unstable diamond mine when you need one?

Then the Assassin moved, and in moments it was over.

*     *     *

Proteus' opponent was a lean, muscular man, possessing of savage, feral strength.  He was known to Proteus under the name Carnage.  His brutality was matched by his intellect, it had to be noted, which intellect had decided that natural selection justified him killing anyone he pleased -- and, often as not, eating his prey.  His enhanced physique and utter ruthlessness made this easy both to say and do regarding most people.  The Big Heroes had captured him and put him away under maximum security, twice.

It is quite possible that the strength, speed, and intelligence that Carnage brought to the battle would have been outmatched by the variety of forms that Proteus could assume.

Once the Djinn and the Assassin were able to turn their attention to Carnage's efforts, it was too late for Proteus to escape.  He briefly considered, as he drifted into the darkness, whether he was working with the right side.  And, regardless, whether he'd have been a good dancer.

*     *     *

"You're sure I can't eat them?"  Carnage hooked a thumb at Proteus, and continued in his Australian accent.  "This one tastes like chicken, I'll wager."

"That is not our purpose here.  They are needed alive."  The Assassin did not particularly care for Carnage, and had no hesitation to let that sentiment enter his voice.  

Carnage didn't particularly care for that, but knew enough of the other's reputation to not let it make him do something stupid, thus fatal.  There would be time enough for that later.

The Djinn appeared before them, carrying the massive armored figure of Copper on one shoulder.  "Your bidding, Master?"

"Lay them at the steps of the church.  We will drag them inside."

The Djinn nodded and moved to obey.

It will be over soon, the Assassin thought.  Not soon enough for me.

This page and its contents, except as otherwise noted, are
Copyright © 2001 David C. Hill