Don't Be a Hero: A Superhero Novel (18 page)

She reached into her jacket and grabbed her mask. Without slowing, she pulled the mask on and replaced her sunglasses. She wasn’t going to give them another shot of her face.

A figure darted out the side entrance of the building and fled down the alley. It looked like a woman, but something about her arms was misshapen. She disappeared around a corner, and Niobe pounded after her. Niobe needed to get her to talk. And she needed to destroy that film.

Panting into her mask, she tore across the deserted street and into the alley. Maybe she should go back to the car, radio for Solomon. No, no time. She reached under her jacket for her gun as she emerged into a vacant plot of land strewn with litter and covered in grass bleached by the sun. She searched the debris with her eyes. Where was the woman?

Movement flashed. Not on the ground. Above her.
Oh, crap
. A screech ripped through the air.

She drew her gun, but too slow. Something black and feathered came crashing into her. Talons raked her cheek, tearing her mask and missing her eyes by an inch. She tried to turn her tumble into a roll, gritting her teeth against the pain that seared through her face.

Her gun was on the ground somewhere.
There!
She grabbed for it, but a huge, bird-like claw snatched at her arm. For the first time, she was able to get a clear look at what had attacked her.

The form of a lithe, naked woman crouched above her. Grey skin was littered with patches of unkempt feathers. Her legs and feet were almost human, muscular, but her arms were twisted and thin, with elbows that bent the wrong way. Each wrist ended in a set of talons. Now those talons grappled with Niobe, drawing blood wherever they touched. The woman was bald with a pointed nose, and when she opened her mouth to screech, she revealed a dry, pink tongue. A pair of black-feathered wings stretched from her shoulders, beating at the ground around Niobe.

No. It can’t be her.

Niobe hesitated for a moment. Another claw raked at her, tearing her arm. That snapped her out of it. She kicked at the creature’s stomach and rolled out of her grasp. A small bag dangled from the bird-woman’s shoulder.
The camera
. Still on the ground, Niobe made a grab for it, but the woman swiped at her again with her talons. Her wings beat at the air with tremendous force, and the woman kicked Niobe’s gun away as she struggled against the wind.

Clouds of dust flew up in Niobe’s face. Her sunglasses and mask did nothing to stop the burning in her eyes. She stumbled back, groping for the wall, trying to maintain awareness of her surroundings. Something collided with her chest and she fell, gasping for breath. Her eyes were on fire. Where was her bloody gun? She felt at her belt for her mini-stunner while she pushed her glasses out of the way and tried to wipe the grit from her eyes.

The woman screeched once more, and the wind gusted up again. Niobe clambered to her feet, half-blind, certain that the woman was about to tear her throat out.
What a fucking stupid way to die.

But the blow never came. The wind died away, and silence returned. When Niobe could finally see again, she was alone in the vacant lot. She searched the skies, but there was no sign of the bird-woman. Breathing heavily, and with her cheek and arm burning from the deep scratches, she found her gun, stumbled out of the alley, and headed back to the car.

Logically, she knew how close she just came to death. But as she walked, she could only think one thing.

They have my face.

11: An Inside Job

Brightlance

Real name:

Edward Hardy

Powers:

Palm-fired energy beams.

Notes:

Hardy was offered membership in the Wardens in the early 1950s, but he preferred to remain independent, focussing on local crime-fighting. His relationship with the Wardens remained amicable, and he assisted them on several missions. When the Seoul Accord was passed, he tried to resist mandatory registration. In the ensuing battle with police he was shot three times and suffered a skull fracture from a blow to the head. While unconscious in hospital, he was fitted with a kill-switch. He remains in forced retirement.

—Notes on selected metahumans [Entry #0820]

“You’re an idiot,” Solomon reminded her as he drove. “And I don’t go throwing that word around. I keep it nice and safe like good china, ready to bring out for those occasions of extra-special idiocy.”

Niobe scowled and dabbed at the scratches on her cheek with tissue paper. She’d requisitioned the rear-view mirror to see how bad the damage was. Three deep gouges ran from her ear to her chin. She’d only just got them to stop bleeding. After driving back to the Old City, she’d changed into her bodysuit and trench coat. Her jacket and blouse were a write-off. She’d never get the bloodstains out.
Oh Christ, how am I going to explain this to Gabby?

“Thanks for the constructive criticism.” She dipped the tissue paper in a bottle of antiseptic and touched it to the wounds. Bloody hell, it stung. “I’ll stick it straight in my suggestions box.”

“What the heck were you thinking?”

“I was working.” What did they make this antiseptic out of, acid? “I was trying to get us closer to payday.”

Solomon scoffed and shook his head. Like her, he was in costume apart from his mask and hat. Anyone glancing at the car would probably assume he was a man taking his young wife out for a drive. His cloak was pushed back over his shoulder, and both hands were gripped tight around the steering wheel as they made their way towards Neo-Auckland. “What’s got into you, Spook? Why didn’t you call me? You could’ve been hurt!”

“I
am
hurt.”

“Exactly!” he said. “You got carved like a roast chicken and no one was there to back you up. Heroes have to work together.”

She slapped a gauze pad from the first aid kit onto her cheek harder than she intended, and a new wave of pain shot through her face. “Should I call up the Wardens next time, then? Get the old gang together? That’s what you want, right?”

His eyes narrowed, but his voice took on an infuriating calm, like a teacher scolding a foolish child. “I want us to keep doing what we chose to do. What we
have
to do. Wardens or not.”

“You’re delusional.”

“Back then, we did what we did because of what was in here.” He jabbed his chest with his finger. “Not because someone gave us permission. They took a lot of things from us. But this…” He pointed to his heart again. “…this is still here.”

“Not for me.” Niobe stared out the window as the suburbs of Neo-Auckland came into view. “You’re the last damn hero, Carpenter. It’s time to grow up and leave the fantasy behind.”

They fell silent. The car rattled its particular rattles while Solomon guided it onto the upper highway. The green suburbs and brick houses stretched out below them as they headed for the centre of the city.

She shouldn’t have snapped at him like that. There was just something about this case that had her on edge. Being inside Sam’s head was part of it. She’d never felt that connected to anyone before. But it was more than that. Maybe Hine-nui-te-po was right. There was something in the air. Met Div was stepping up its raids, Doll Face was alive and at large. Maybe the world really was about to end.

Her guilt grew in the tense silence, but she was spared from having to apologise when Solomon reached over, popped open the glove box, and handed her a paper bag from inside. “Lunch?”

The sandwich had three slices of bread, and it was stocked with lettuce, slices of boiled egg and tomato, roast beef, and a thick layer of butter. She was already devouring it by the time she remembered to offer her thanks.

“Did you see who jumped you?” he asked after a moment.

She nodded and swallowed. “It was Avin.”

“Avin.” He sounded skeptical.

“Avin,” she confirmed.

“Bird-woman, doesn’t fancy a lot of clothes, ugly as all get out?”

“How many metas named Avin do you know?”

He frowned. “She’s one of us.”

“I don’t have any feathers.”

“Har har. You know what I mean,” he said. He looked like he’d taken a bite of an apple filled with cigarette butts.

She did know what he meant. Avin had been a Warden. Well, a reservist, more accurately, and only for a few months. She’d only done a couple of missions with them before she left and joined up with the Patrolmen. But still….

Niobe stared out the window. A rocket-postman was up early, delivering the mail to the upper floors of a nearby apartment building with the help of his backpack-mounted rocket engine. Niobe idly watched him work while she polished off the sandwich and picked the crumbs off her gloves.

“She was straddling the line even in the old days,” she said. Last she heard, Avin had become a prominent member of the anti-Seoul Accord group Heroes for Freedom. Those were ugly days. More than once the group had made veiled threats against international legislators. “It’s not a stretch that she’d go over to the bad guys.”

Solomon didn’t look convinced. “I talked to her once after she left us. It was a superhero conference. Great spread. You should’ve seen how many crayfish they had. It was when everyone was starting to get jumpy. She was fiery, sure, but she wasn’t cut out to be the brainless sidekick of a two-bit supercriminal. Snatching kids? I don’t see it.”

To be honest, Niobe didn’t either. Even in the old days, not many supercriminals did kidnapping gigs. Too risky. But things were tight for metas now. Maybe she got drawn in by money. It didn’t ring true, but the scratches on Niobe’s cheek didn’t lie. And she had no sympathy for the woman. The bitch had her picture. She’d compromised her identity. Niobe had never liked her anyway.

They got off the highway in the central city and rode the exit down to the streets. All around, sleek towers of white and satin-red stretched to the sky. The moving footpaths were packed with shoppers, mostly fashionable young people. It was just after noon, so the cafés were crowded. Most of the cars that ambled down the street were new Japanese models. Still, their old Ford wasn’t so unusual as to stand out. No one paid them any mind as they drove past and took the main road out to Metahuman Division headquarters.

Met Div had its own building a few blocks from the central police station. It was more functional than the city’s commercial towers, just a simple, four storey orange-brick building. Behind it, a large section was fenced off for a car park. She could see Met Div vans peeking between the chain links and barbed wire as they approached. Most of the building’s windows showed no movement. The division had slowly shrunk over the years as less and less supercrimes were committed and the metahuman population slowly succumbed to their new destiny.

While they drove past, Niobe checked the place over for any new security measures installed since her last visit, but nothing stood out. In any case, that was a worry to file away for later, like Avin’s photo. For now she had to focus. Their meeting with Solomon’s informant would be taking place in a local park, where the guy took his lunch breaks. It suited her fine. Meeting at a bar or restaurant brought all sorts of complications. At a park, you could get a bit of privacy and be certain no one was eavesdropping.

They pulled over in a secluded area, put on their masks and hats, and got out of the car. The park was big and densely populated with trees, and the monorail track only ran past the northern end. Niobe kept alert, but it wasn’t difficult to make their way through the park without anyone spotting them. They’d attract less notice in civilian clothes, but she wasn’t going to let anyone else get a look at her face today.

They found the cleaning guy on his usual bench, finishing off a sandwich. He was small and frail-looking, even though he was only in his early fifties. His hair and moustache were streaked with grey, and his skin had a dark tan to it. Maybe he had some Maori blood in him.

A smile broke across his face when he saw them approaching. Solomon returned the grin and they warmly shook hands. The man’s narrow cheek twitched every few seconds. He had some sort of nervous disorder.

“Carpenter, Spook,” he said. “Been too long.”

“Sure has, Marvin,” Solomon said.

At the man’s gesture, they sat down next to him and faced the trees. A pair of sparrows bathed in the dust in front of them. Since this morning Niobe wasn’t so fond of birds, but she pushed the irrational feelings aside.

“How’s Sara?” Solomon asked.

Somehow, Marvin’s smile got even wider. “She’s great. Good as gold. She’s at uni now, did I tell you?”

“You’re kidding,” Solomon said. He held his hand out about four feet off the ground. “She was only this big last time I saw her.”

“Eighteen already. Studying to be a nurse, can you believe it?”

Niobe remained silent while they chatted. Marvin’s daughter had got caught in a school fire along with a bunch of other kids back in the fifties. The Carpenter had been first on scene, beating the fire department by a good ten minutes. He never talked about it, but the old war stories always came out. It was the height of summer and the classrooms were all made of wood. The place went up like a gas oven. The Carpenter broke down the door and went room to room, manipulating the burning wood to keep the ceilings from collapsing while he opened safe exits for the staff and kids. He’d gone in with only basic equipment, so he inhaled a lot of smoke and took a few nasty burns. He spent the next couple of days in hospital. But he got Sara and every other kid out safe.