Hero Stalker

Part Nineteen

I shoved the clothes into my purse. "Hey, Cypher, I know you're not combat class, but do you go on patrols?" Because nearly everyone but me on The Worldley Fewe dismissed him as glorified tech support.

"Of course. I have dedication and excellent training." He bowed, like a dancer on stage. "You'll need it if you fight Harpy in his exosuit. It's a Randolph 3600."

"Doesn't Randolph Industries only make luxury cars?" I said.

"Cars, weapons, software, and trouble." Femme shook her head. "Their CEO is an idiot."

"Their CEO is a genius," said Cypher. "Their security is flawless. This exosuit was stolen from a privately owned storage bunker."

"The one under . . ." Femme paused. Darn it. The bit about the bunker had caught my attention.

"Yeah. That one. I can't figure out how Harpy broke in. It's thief-proof."

"We'll get a confession when we catch him." She popped a tube of lipstick out of her belt and ran it over her lips. "How does this exosuit work?"

"It's an older model. Built back in the sixties to protect the highest bidder from the radiation of a nuclear blast. It lacks an auto-pilot. You need someone sitting inside to control it, but that someone doesn't necessarily have to be Harpy. It could be anyone. And that's the frightening part." Cypher paced back and forth. "Benny, bring up the machine."

It rose out of the floor. The device that had terrified me in the abandoned warehouse now resembled one of Will's failed shop class projects. The spray nozzle had fallen off and sat to one side. The part that looked like a boombox had been sliced open by one of Slasher's blades, revealing an inside insulated like a refrigerator and full of clear plastic tubes. Only the car engine on the bottom remained intact.

"A twelve year old in shop class could make something more durable. The most complex part was the plutonium-shielded core. Benny! Initiate subroutine Illegal Nuclear Device!"

"On her first day?" Femme sighed and looked at me. "Brace yourself."

A glass case the width of a filling cabinet rose up from the ground and slid open. Inside sat a crushed black cylinder with white light pouring through the cracks in its side. My fillings started to ache; my hands felt like ants were crawling on them.

"Use your blades," Cypher instructed.

They shot out of my fingers and toes, two feet in length, gorging into the floor with a harsh metallic screech. The black energy that usually sheathed my fingers up to the first joint now covered my hands, immobilizing them like freakish paws. Worse, I somehow couldn't find the mental switch to turn the flow of energy off.

"Cypher?" My voice wavered.

Cypher closed his eyes and winced. Static raced across all the computer screens. The case shut and dropped back into the floor. My blades shrunk to their normal size. Relieved, I made them disappear again.

"Plutonium-shielded cores release only psi-radiation. They act as amplifiers," Cypher said. "A core can boost your powers, but we rarely use them. The nuclear material is illegal and overexposure to radiation has some . . . interesting side-effects."

"Like Brainjob?" He'd been a psi-positive with the ability to instantly solve any mathematic equation. An accident involving the particle accelerator at BaytonUniversity had warped his power, permitting him to alter the laws of physics. I'd seen a photo of him in Barrelmore, locked in a psi-radiation-proof room, on one of the shadier corners of The Worldley Fewe. His brain had been completely exposed to the air.

"Just don't become a radiation junkie and you'll be fine. This core is pretty weak, as they go. It doesn't emit nearly enough radiation on its own to melt seven people down to the bone. The murder mechanism must be something different. Doubtless, Harpy will refine the design further. He certainly needs to make a new one, if this is going to be his 'thing'." He made air quotes around 'thing'.

"About that . . ." I swallowed, feeling kind of queasy. "How does that work? The flesh melting part?"

"Not sure yet. His last dose of chemicals was used on you. The piping system is hospital grade. Very efficient. None of my swabs picked up the active agent." The whole melting flesh part didn't seem to bother him at all.

A window opened. Sharp salt air flooded the room. "I told you, Femme. You should have let me rip his guts out." Slasher flipped into the room. My heart dropped.

"Would it kill you to take the elevator?" Femme asked.

"Hate the damn thing." He jerked his thumb at me. "What gear you got her on?"

"Just the basics. We can requisition more gear from Central Command if she needs it."

He casually walked across the floor, headed in my direction. "Smart idea. I'd hate to waste our credits on this one."

I tensed. Slasher blurred into superspeed and flew at me. His blades swung at my stomach. Invisible springs in my legs threw me backwards. I hit the gym mats in the corner back first. The three inches of padding didn't stop the air from whooshing out of my lungs.

"Smooth, sweetheart!" Slasher shouted.

"Watch it!" Cypher stepped between Slasher in the machine. "This is evidence."

"It's a broken piece of junk." Slasher pressed a button on his wrist. The top of his left bracer popped open, revealing a line of four small throwing stars. He flung one at me. I rolled over just as it landed where my head had been. "Just so you know, Shadowcat, bulletproof and knifeproof are two different things. Different physics. That costume is not knifeproof. Get on your feet."

I did. A star whistled down six inches from my heel. I yelped and jumped towards the wall. "What if you hit me?"

"You'll start bleeding. Don't box yourself in. You've got all this space to maneuver in. Use it." He flicked another at my chest. I lunged sideways

"By training her," Femme said, "I meant going over the handbook. Basic investigation techniques. Learning police protocol. Proper combat training takes years. She'll have to pick it up as she goes."

"Combat's eighty percent mental. I'm trying to teach her how to think like me. Running for cover is civilian instinct. A Centurion runs towards danger." He flung the final star, not even bothering to look my way. "Especially a combat operative. If someone calls me at nine AM and says Cracken's sinking a cargo ship, I'm the one sprinting down to the Harbor and tangling with tentacles the size of trees. Combat operatives work on the front line."

Think like Slasher. I jumped with all my strength. Blades shot out of my fingertips and sunk firm in the roof. Quickly, furiously, I climbed along like a kid on the monkey bars until I hung right over his head. The floor was twenty-five feet down.

"Hope you're not planning to drop down on my shoulders," he drawled. "Physics still applies to you. Break an ankle and you're a sitting duck. Think."

I gritted my teeth and swung back over to the wall. Great. My plan had failed and I probably looked like an idiot to boot.

Slasher was waiting the second my feet hit the ground. Wind whistled as he whipped his blades at me. With my back pressed against the wall, I had nowhere to run. To my surprise, my right hand flew up to block. Sparks flew where the blades met. A shock rang up my wrist.

"Enough!" Femme shouted. "We're getting a call from the mayor. Everyone, come behave yourselves!"

Slasher straightened up. "Feels good when it works, doesn't it?"

It did. It felt like every nerve in my body was on fire. But I wouldn't admit that to him. He'd take it as an excuse to try and cut my head off.