Sylvester Pemberton blinked again, hard, trying to push through the throbbing between his temples. He dipped down toward his destination, directing the energy flow that propelled him through the air. He focused his attention on the hazy white frame house ahead, squinting through the dark, making a sudden sharp correction in his flight as the building doubled up and then melted back into one once more, forcing a second sharp course correction. He crashed into the back yard, the dull ruby glow around his star-spangled suit chewed up dirt and grass before he came to a jarring halt against the house's foundation bulkhead.
“Maybe...concussed...” the young man mused aloud. He tried to stand but failed, struggled to keep heavy lids open against the dull ache that tried to close them. “Can't just...lie there like...a lump, Skyman.”
“Syl!” Patrick Dugan cried out in alarm as he watched his long-time friend collapse. Big strong arms gently scooped the smaller man off the furrowed ground and carried him inside into the warm welcoming glow of the house. The motions made Sylvester nauseous, and his eyes became unfocused, but he continued to stave off unconsciousness.
“Heya, you big lug,” Syl said with a goofy look on his face. “Suit works good. Just needs an autopilot.” he stared up at the broad orange-topped face of his oldest friend then let darkness swallow him up.
“Gah!” Sylvester Pemberton then gasped and gagged as his eyes fluttered open. An evil smell violated his nostrils and drove him back to consciousness, but did nothing to abate his nausea. He rolled to the edge of the sofa and threw up what he could into a convenient bucket, then settled back into the couch and stared up into those beautiful green eyes and fiery red locks, the slender face of his partner comforting him and--
“Hey! Whoa, you're not Pat, you're a gal!” Syl exclaimed as he forced himself to sit up.
Haley Creamer chuckled as she tossed aside the broken container of smelling salts. She shook her head and waved at the dark-haired hero. “Nah, I'm not Pat. Name's Haley, nice to meet you. You must be Sylvester.”
“Well, if I must,” Syl smiled back weakly, taking a moment to get his bearings and look over the lovely woman kneeling at the side of the couch. “Nice to meet you, Haley. Do I know you? You look familiar?”
The young lady jumped up to her feet and stretched her arms high, giving a glimpse of the sun-tattooed belly-button before answering. “I should look familiar, I'd like to think.”
Pat Dugan walked back into the parlor with a cup of tea and a concerned look. “Feeling better, Syl? Drink this. See if it helps.” He glanced at Haley with a quizzical look. “Wasn't your hair black and purple when I left for the kitchen?”
“Thought he'd like to see a familiar face when he woke up, so I changed colors,” she answered in a light-hearted voice. She brought her left hand up and swept her gloved palm over her thick hair, a soft crackling sound followed quickly by her hair turning auburn in its wake. “Embedded electroluminescence and a static glove. Pretty easy gimmick to toss together, and it's great for hitting multiple party scenes in a night.”
“Hey, she's pretty smart,” Syl complimented her as he sipped the tea. “Where'd you figure out a trick like that?”
“I take after the rest of my family,” she said with a smirk, glancing at Pat as the older man rubbed the back of his neck uncomfortably.
“Family?” Syl asked, still too rattled to notice the silent look between his friend and the new girl.
“She's my granddaughter, Syl.
Great granddaughter actually,” Pat said in a burst of words. “Before we fought got blown into time, this woman I was seeing...I left her in a family way.”
“No? Really? Pat, that's awesome! You have family after all!” Syl rose unsteadily to his feet and gave Pat a big hug, more leaning on the powerful man for support after a few moments. “Who was the mother? Um, grandmother that is? Great-grandmother?” His head cleared and Syl looked up and stepped back from Pat. “Creamer?
Creamer?” He practically yelled as the truth sunk in.
“Syl, listen. We were gonna tell you, but --”
Sylvester Pemberton cut Pat off as he looked at Haley, and into the eyes of Merry Pemberton. “My sister?”
“Yeah, Unc,” Haley confirmed. “Merry Pemberton. That's her. Tough old broad raised her daughter Patricia as best she could, and still found time to put her brains and your family's bucks to good use as the Girl of 1000 Gimmicks. Mom spent some time as Gimmick Girl too. And me? I want in on the family biz, and Pat's gonna make it all up to me by making it happen. Right, Pat?” She looked at him sharply.
“My sister? You and Merry, behind my back?” Syl glared at Pat, though he had collapsed back into the sofa by now, head spinning again, but not just from physical injury. After his cocky, stupid beating at the hands of White Dragon and the destruction of one of his few remaining properties, the last thing Sylvester needed to hear was that his step-sister and best friend were carrying on in secret.
“Only in that last year, Syl. We decided not to tell you at first, in case it wasn't serious,” Pat explained as he hesitantly sat opposite his old friend. “You were at Hudson U becoming Mr. Business and I was trying to drop the Stripe gig and Merry was an adult.”
“Well, that's comforting to hear,” Syl sneered.
“Hey! We didn't want to hurt you if we were just dating, and nothing would come of it,” Pat snapped back. He stood and paced the room. “And you know what? It was good for us, and it was serious to me. When you got back, we were going to tell you. We were adults, and you were supposed to be one too! I'm done catching hell for this now!
Maybe she's got something owed her,” he pointed to Haley as he spoke, voice rising. “But you, you're family and I want two things from you outta all of this!”
“What's that?”
“Joy that your sister and I found each other and made each other whole, and sympathy for what I lost!” Pat stared back at Syl, face flushed red, hands clutched into tight white balls as he struggled to keep in tears. He wouldn't, couldn't cry but it was hard on him.
“Whoa,” Haley whispered as she stared up at Pat. “You actually loved her.”
“You don't...have children unless you do. Not in my day, at least,” Pat snapped back quickly. He let his face soften as he looked at her. “Not me, anyway.”
“Hard to stay mad at the big lug, isn't it?” Skyman mumbled as he looked over at Haley now as well.
“Maybe.” Her head shook a bit as she tossed around the idea around a bit. “Gonna keep trying for a bit at least while I still have it coming.” She looked up Syl and restrained a smirk.
Pat tried to calm down, breathing deliberately and asked, “How about a new subject? How about you explain how you ripped up my backyard looking like a building dropped on you?”
*7*
Breathtaker was much happier with how this situation went. She watched with a wicked smile as the cyborg Killshot fired one of his lesser guns. Their hapless victim grunted and jerked about, blood spraying the grungy walls and floor, before crashing in a heap. The mercenary recalled her improved fortunes.
“Did ya see that shmuck dance?” Stranglehold laughed as the muscle-bound woman high-fived the cyborg. “It was great!”
“Me, I'm more interested in testing out my weapons systems on a real challenge,” Killhot replied without much emotion. “This trash ain't what I'm getting paid for.”
No it's not, Breathtaker mused as she watched her new team chatter about the upcoming fight. After that Bialya-Global Guardians-whatever debacle a few months back *, arranging to bait some old-time second-string heroes she never heard of was a nice change.
*see current issues of Global Guardians for more of that exciting story!
“You sure this will work without Shorty's powers at play?” asked a man in a brown duster, as he jerked a thumb in the direction of the youngest of the Hangmen, who just glared back in return.
“Watch who you're calling names, Shock Trauma,” Provoke grumbled as his eyes flashed red. “Especially not in a broken-down pit like this. No telling what you might hurt yourself on.”
Shock Trauma's eyes flared red in response and he started to wander over to a set of rusted stairs that led to a decrepit catwalk.
“Let him go, kid,” Breathtaker ordered with a sigh. “And yeah, we'll be fine. Shmuck-boy over there got in touch with the target, he's on his way, suicidal impulses from Provoke or not.”
And then gacked the poor tool, per Hood's orders, she added silently as she watched the two killers stare each other down.
Don't know why but he insisted it was vital to do it, but he pays the fee and gives me people to boss around. Sorry you gotta die along with your Spider buddy, Beacham.The service door started to open after the knob rattled for a minute, and Breathtaker scattered her Hangmen for the ambush. She watched with anticipation as the silhouette of the vigilante archer appeared in the dim light. She tensed and prepared for the kill as he crept closer to the stoolie's body, bow drawn and arrow nocked as he saw the victim.
“Hey there,” Shock Trauma said with a jaunty grin, an arc of electricity leaping from his hand and narrowly missed the green-clad archer, who ducked, rolled and brought himself to a crouch. He released the concussive arrow that drove the electric killer staggering into nearby crates.
“Aw hell!” Breathtaker cursed and felt herself shake for a moment when the target was lit up. “You ain't the Spider!”
“And you're not Miss America, so I guess we both leave here disappointed tonight, lady,” Green Arrow replied as another arrow shot out and caught her in a heavy net.
“Green Arrow? Hot damn, my rep is made!” Killshot shouted in glee as he stepped out from behind a partial wall and unleashed a hail of heavy caliber fire. Splinters of wood, chunks of concrete and clouds of dust quickly hid the carnage from the cyborg's barrage.
From out of the smoke came arrow after arrow, some splintering in the spread of projectiles, others slamming into barrels and cementing into place with quick-dry advanced resins.
“Ain't the quantity, tinkertoy, it's the proficiency,” Green Arrow called out as he rolled from cover on Killshot's left, hiding the minor wounds he'd suffered in the onslaught.
“I think it’s quantity,” Provoke said as his eyes flared red at Ollie. “Mass production always wins out, old man. Don't matter what you fogeys keep trying to pass off. Now go play kissy-face with Breathtaker. She's hot after all.”
Ollie turned to help free the group's leader as Stranglehold stepped up behind him, arms stretched out wide, ready to grab the archer up tight. As Breathtaker felt the net part around her, both heard the powerful woman grunt in shock.
“You're not alone, Green Arrow,” Wing called out as he rolled away from kicking out the powerhouse's knee. “I have your back now!”
“Good to hear?” Ollie stared at the new arrival as the gold-clad martial artist back flipped away from a blast of electricity. Barely sparing Shock Trauma a glance, Green Arrow released a flare arrow to blind him while continuing to follow the newcomer. “And you are?”
“Wing, here to help the Crimson Avenger's mission,” he replied as he ducked and weaved while Killshot fired a shoulder-mounted spray of razor-sharp discs.
“Doesn't matter, archer, you need to--” Provoke was cut off in mid-sentence by an arrow releasing a mouthful of foam. Green Arrow realized he was breathing hard now, and he couldn't figure out why he was having trouble filling his lungs. As his knees wobbled, he glanced up at Breathtaker, blue-skinned and beautiful and smiling a cold, wicked leer at him.
“Yeah, that's my doing, Green Arrow,” she answered with a sultry nod of her head. “And Killshot was right. You're going to seal our reputations. First, let's see if yours holds up.” She puckered up to kiss Ollie as he continued his struggle to breathe.
“Arrow!” Wing leaped toward the archer after snapping a powerful kick to Killshot's exposed jaw, and then landed near Shock Trauma and belted the killer in the temple as he struggled to clear his eyes of the blinding spots. “I'm coming!” Wing took a spinning leap toward the archer, but felt powerful arms catch his chest and knock the air from his lungs as Stranglehold wrapped him up tightly.
“Gonna pull the fly off of Wing here,” she taunted as she squeezed.
Breathtaker cupped Ollie's head in one hand as his knees gave out and he collapsed to the ground, face turning red. She paused just before the kiss and looked around with startled eyes. "Where the hell is this red smoke coming from?" The blue-skinned woman pulled up from the prone archer and looked around, fear clutching her heart. Her four allies also looked startled. This had already gone much harder than it was supposed to, and the weird crimson mist seeping from Beacham's body was rattling the Hangmen.
"Holy crap, the boss was right," Stranglehold muttered as she dropped Wing from her slackening grasp and stared at the figure that stepped out from the heavy smoke. Blood stained his chest like a grotesque starburst, and the crimson smoke hung off his shoulders like a cloak, but there could be no doubt that this was the man their employer expected to lure out of hiding.
Wing coughed and struggled to stand and smiled grimly at the arrival. "Welcome, my friend!"
The scarlet-cloaked man stepped forward and fired his guns, expertly aiming at each of the paid killers. Bullets tore into them, ripping bloody holes in the criminals, cries of shock and pain as they dropped one by one.
Green Arrow rolled onto his elbow and stared at the surprising turn of the combat. He shook his head and looked at Wing and then the Hangmen as they were gunned down. "Last time I do a favor for a dead man," Ollie muttered. He glanced at Wing and added, "Loosy, you got a lot of 'splainin' to do."
"Wing," the Crimson Avenger said at long last as the roar of the guns fell quiet. "It is good to see you my friend. I will see you again, and soon."
"Lee, don't go!" Wing Travis said as he staggered to the long lost Soldier of Victory. "Stay!"
"I can't. Justice has been met, vengeance claimed. Other voices cry for me." The red smoke again flooded the room and then slowly dissipated, leaving Wing standing over the dead body of Keith Beacham. A peaceful smile lingered on the petty con's face.
"Geez, every one of these guys is alive," Green Arrow muttered as he checked on the Hangmen. "They're bad off, they're really bad off. But...they're alive. That's just..." His voice trailed off and he turned back toward Wing. "What the hell is all of this about?"
"The Crimson Avenger has returned to us." Wing reverently closed Keith's eyes and then stood to face the archer. "The Seven Soldiers must be made aware of this. The Spider is lost to us, so I have to ask a huge favor of you, Green Arrow."
Ollie rolled his eyes and shook his head. "I've got important business in..." Again his voice trailed off as he looked around. "Y'know, this is just too weird to skip out now. Okay. 'Cause of Spider, and for Vigilante. But don't get any fancy ideas. This is just short-term. Got it, Short Stuff?"
"Stuff is a different Soldier, Green Arrow," Wing answered with a sly smile as he headed out of the building.
*7*
The curtain of stars swept across the night sky over Dos Rios as La Garra slipped through the tree-lined park. The shadows hugged her sleek body as chocolate-brown eyes locked onto her destination: the Riolama Boathouse. She climbed up a tree, leaped out from a branch and onto the roof of the long, low building, then raced easily along its peak as she mulled her options.
She'd tracked the drug trail from the smugglers she and Greg had busted earlier that night. The rush of the fight, the thrill of her new bike, and (as much as she hated it) the excitement of working with a legend like Greg Saunders kept her adrenaline high.
So much for the independent woman, she laughed at herself inwardly as she paused at a large skylight. In here, the River Dragons street gang moved guns, members and contraband farther upstream, growing fat as their influence spread.
She slipped a lockpick from her glove, and in moments, had entrance to the darkened building. She glanced left, then right, down each of the stark white, uncluttered halls, unsure initially of which direction to take.
Left. Right. Hmm. She looked each way again, then sighed in frustration. Keen hearing picked out nothing to help her choose and she stared straight ahead, annoyed.
“Janitor?” she muttered and took a tentative step toward the supply closet door. “You seriously can't think a street gang has a secret underground lair, chica.” She reached for the doorknob and twisted it slowly. “Right?”
The flood of smells from cleansers, musty mops and grimy water pails assaulted her nose, and she instinctively recoiled.
How do real cats put up with this? She shook her head and stiffened her resolve, long sharp nails slipping out from her fingertips. She ran them slowly over the walls, around and behind shelves, past equipment and fixtures. One nail caught a seam, causing a click, and then the false wall slid open to reveal a spiral staircase down. La Garra rolled her eyes in disbelief and then stepped onto the stairs.
As she neared the bottom, voices filtered up to her. She peered around the corner and saw a central chamber with branches leading away. Standing in this first room was a tall, lean man in dark green and dull gold, hands clasped at the small of his back.
“Clear out the stores then,” he told one of the River Dragons as he stared up at the ceiling. “We can't be found with the cargo in our possession when 'dear leader' arrives.”
“She's definitely coming then?” the thug asked nervously.
“Can't be long now,” the man in green answered as he paced over to a laptop. “This bulletin says that Brother Blue has the package, and she wants it done here for some reason.” He turned toward the gang member, giving La Garra a glimpse of the golden dragon symbol stretched out over his chest. “Take the goods and your gang and pull up stakes. I'll let you know when it's safe to get back to the routine down here.”
As La Garra watched the River Dragon dash off to follow orders, she mused over her next course of action. A super-villain in Dos Rios, and with a partner out there, one he wanted to keep out of the loop over something.
The drugs, I bet. If he's letting the Dragons handle it, she figured. [/i] Two on two are better odds, and I bet we can even nab this leader person as well. I'll get Greg to help out.
She crept back up the stairs and slipped out of the boathouse as she ran through her plan in her head. Old guy's never going to let me live this down, running for help already. She sighed and slipped away into the night, completely unaware of the Green Dragon down below, grinning as he watched her disappear into the night.
*7*
“How you got this old heap running again is beyond me, Pat,” Haley muttered as she looked over the antiquated dashboard of the Star-Rocket Racer. “Liquid propellant, catalytic thrusters, manual gyro-stabilization, air-intake rams? No wonder the JSA has a mock-up of this in their museum.”
“Hey! It was state-of-the-art in our day, kid,” Sylvester answered with a frown. “Flying cars were supposed to be the future, after all. So I say, looking around, that you're the one letting us down.”
“Children!” Pat interrupted as he guided the Lincoln-green rocket-powered Cadillac series 75 toward their final stop. “Don't make me turn this jalopy around!” He cracked a strained grin as he eased the car down to the ground, hit a switch, and let the retractable wheels slip into place and take over the car's movement.
“I'm just saying that if this is how we're gonna be traveling, I'm gonna have to soup it up, make it modern, y'know?” She leaned into the backseat and snapped her gum. “You don't even have a CD player, and we won't even talk about digital music.”
Syl ignored the comments and turned to Pat. “So you already had the address?”
“Yeah, I was planning on visiting this weekend,” Pat answered as he took a turn down a residential street. “Danette needed help with something. Now...”
“Now she really needs our help,” Syl added as he looked out the passenger window.
“Here we are.” Pat pulled the car into the driveway and the three of them quickly stepped out.
Sir Justin, the Shining Knight, stepped out from the back door to greet them. His face was lined with worry as he gripped each man's hand firmly, his other hand clapped on their shoulders.
“Patrick! Sylvester! You do bring gladness to my heart with your swift arrival.” He paused before Haley and bowed low at the waist. “And who might this fair maiden be?”
She chuckled. “Maiden? Been a long time since...” She coughed as Pat gave her an arched look. “I mean, Haley. Haley Creamer.”
“Pemberton,” Syl corrected her and wrapped an arm protectively around her shoulders. “She's family. You remember my sister Merry?”
“Ah yes. Meredith. A fine lass,” Justin answered as he turned to lead the group back into his house. “I am sure her fiery spirit lives on well within you, young Haley, as does her fiery hair.”
Haley glanced at Pat incredulously, and tilted her head toward Justin. “Is he for real?” Pat just nodded with a quiet laugh.
“Much as I'd love a tour of your place, Justin,” Pat said, pausing at the doorway, “wouldn't we better off getting to the college and seeing if we can find something to help us trail Danette?”
“Kinda curious what other colors pop up,” Haley muttered as she continued into the house. “Blue, red, white? Sounds like some Dungeons & Dragons dorks in action. Say, Justin, you got a bathroom?”
“Through the dining room and on the left, dear girl,” Justin answered. He turned back to his old team-mates as she entered the house. “Dungeons and dragons?”
Syl and Pat shrugged helplessly as they waited for her return. A few minutes later, she stepped back into view and presented herself now sporting a red tunic emblazoned with a white “G”, dark padded pants, with swashbuckler boots and gloves. She sported a fancy pair of high-tech goggles currently resting on her brow, and a heavy leather belt jammed full of pouches and tools.
“Okay, guys. Gimmick's ready to go!”
*7*
“Place seems pretty normal. Sure we got the right address? Or even the right info?” Green Arrow asked as he and Wing skulked at the edge of the cozy-looking bed and breakfast. They had watched the white-washed pastoral building for a half hour, but so far, they'd seen nothing suspicious.
“According to what little info that Beacham guy got to you while looking for Spider, and what we got out of that whiny little Provoke kid at the emergency room, this should be where Breathtaker met up with her team,” Wing answered. “So, theoretically, we should find something inside.” He exhaled a sharp grunt then added, “Unless we were lied to.”
“Well, let's go see if there's heads to bust in there,” Ollie said as he slipped his bow off his back. He flashed a cocky grin at Wing and started toward the building. “We can always apologize if we screw up, right?”
Wing followed, casting a wary eye on his current partner. He couldn't understand the apparent joy Green Arrow took in the mission, as if nothing could be serious, but Wing realized it didn't matter. The Crimson Avenger had appeared to battle the Hangmen. It stood to reason, Wing realized, that the Hangmen's masters would be his next target.
Ollie kicked open the front door and barged inside, arrow at the ready as the pair swiftly stormed through the rooms. Wing paused in the sitting room, glancing over antique furnishings, a portrait of a handsome couple from the turn of the 20th century, hung over the fireplace mantle. He looked over to the archway into a dining room, where Green Arrow had been met by gasps and a couple of fearful cries.
“Who do you think you are?” demanded a man's voice, both angry and rattled at once.
“Um, well...” Ollie looked over the half-dozen people around the dining room table, the dinner meal being festively enjoyed up to a few moments ago. “See, we're...looking for an anarchist network...and some guy called Hood running it...” He sounded less insistent than he meant as he kept looking over the harmless scene he'd barged in on.
“I'm Hood. Arthur Hood, and I own this establishment, and I will not have masked vigilantes barging in on my guests because they feel they can!” the voice declared in return, gaining some confidence now as he noted the hesitation in the archer.
Wing looked down at the knickknacks on the mantle, and paused at a small glass candy dish holding several coins. His finger moved them around dish until he saw a penny with a strange symbol. He nodded with a satisfied look and glanced over at Green Arrow. “We're here.”
Ollie's smile widened and his eyes narrowed. “Everyone not an anarchist terrorist can leave now,” he stated as he drew the arrow on Arthur Hood. The guests all screamed and dashed away, leaving him with the building's owner. “Though I'm guessing we're not dealing with the most honest anarchist terrorists, are we?”
“I do find it hard to believe that none of them were in on this, but it's unimportant,” Wing said as he held the penny up to reveal a black Maltese Cross etched on one side. “The symbol of the Dark Cross cult, from Crimson Avenger's earliest days.”
“Don't take this any further, Arrow,” Hood warned. “You don't have to be a part of this. You aren't a Soldier. You don't want a piece of this.”
Ollie arched a brow, amused at the warning. “Thanks for the courtesy, Art. Now let's say you take us to your secret lair, huh? If it makes you feel better, let's just say I'm Soldier for a Day.”
“Stupid, brash, arrogant,” Hood muttered as he stepped over to the fireplace, took the coin from Wing and slid it into a nearly invisible slot on the mahogany mantlepiece.
“Flattery's not gonna get you on my good side, Art,” Ollie said with that smug look on his face as the two heroes heard a click inside the wall and the back of the fireplace slid open. He nudged Hood's back with the blunt arrowhead. “Go on, play tour guide.”
“Fine,” Arthur replied as he moved through the newly-opened space and entered a lift, Wing and Green Arrow following close behind. An electric hum and swift descent soon brought the small room down into the earth as the doors opened up onto a rounded room filled with an array of computers, monitors and sensors, a dozen men in gray tunics marked with the same symbol from the penny manned the stations.
“Hey there, fellas. Anything good on?” Ollie smirked as the Cross members started up from their chairs. Wing wasted no such words, diving in among them, several swift, skilled blows dropping three before the group could realize what was happening. The arrow shot out and exploded between another three of the members as Hood took the opportunity to dart away to a far end of the room.
The remaining six Dark Cross members closed with Green Arrow and Wing, fists and kicks lashing out in a furious, but brief battle. When it was done, Ollie looked around for Arthur while Wing started to look over the monitor stations and the notes assembled at each.
“Pulling out your super-weapon, Hood? Ready to blast us poor little heroes into oblivion?” Ollie taunted as he stepped up behind Arthur, net arrow ready to fire.
Arthur Hood merely turned around from the small desk he hunched over and grinned. “Not at all. You got me. Busted up our little cell. Right on time. Right on schedule. I'm sure you'll get all the answers you need to find our main temple here. And I hope you two can keep to your punctuality.”
Ollie gave Hood a quizzical look, unnerved at the cult leader's calmness. “This was planned?”
“Oh yes.” He glanced past Green Arrow, over to Wing, who was frantically running through the notes and looking at the monitors. “Isn't that so, young man?”
“What's he talking about, Wing?”
“These monitors, these stations, they orchestrate a web of treacherous crimes, each designed to lure out the Crimson Avenger,” Wing stated as he started to piece it all together now. “They're looking for him. They've worked his appearances out nearly as thoroughly as I have.”
“Indeed. And you have a limited amount of time to go and rescue the Crimson Avenger with your new-found information,” Hood said, now bearing a smug smile.
“Rescue? What are we rescuing him from?” Green Arrow asked. “What's going on?”
“They need Lee's guns,” Wing stated. “I don't know why, but they need his guns and they know how to get them.”
“Okay then,” Green Arrow turned back to Arthur Hood. “So about those clues you said we'd dig up here. Let's just cut out the middle-man, shall we?” Ollie's grin came back, and a mean little glint showed that never used to appear before his own government cost him his best. He cracked his knuckles, and as Ollie's smirk grew, Hood's shrank.
*7*
“Wow, this must have been an impressive beat down,” Gimmick said as she pulled the goggles down over her eyes and stepped out from the Star Rocket Racer. She scanned the campus quad, the green lenses scrolling up a number of readings.
“Aye, my Danette is a fierce warrior,” Justin said with pride as the quartet looked around the area. “I am no detective, not even a tracker. I am glad you have arrived to help, Sylvester.”
“Yeah, well, I'm not sure what I'm going to find here, actually,” Skyman answered hesitantly as he pored over the area. “Pat? Haley?”
“Gimmick,” Haley corrected as she looked over at Skyman and stuck her tongue out. She paused and her fingers rotated one of her lens frames. “Hmm.”
“What is it?”
“There's a lot of ionization in the area,” Gimmick answered with a grin as she reached onto her belt and pulled out a couple of tools, walking over to Syl. “It's fading, but there's a specific frequency I bet comes from this Blue Dragon guy, and I can still pick it up. And you, Skybuddy, have a suit humming with sensitive energy that I'm betting I can adjust to follow it like a little puppy.”
Sylvester frowned at Gimmick's words. “You're just loving this, aren't you?”
“Yup!” She grinned and rolled his right sleeve up to expose the skinsuit beneath.
Pat hung a thick arm around Justin's shoulders and pointed at the young lady now reworking several of Skyman's circuits to add the necessary sensors. “That's my kid! Well, kind of.” He smiled as proud as any parent while Justin nodded in silent approval.
*7*
“Good to hear from ya, fellas,” Greg Saunders said in a cheery voice. He sat back in his overstuffed chair, feet propped up on his Ottoman as he talked over the phone. He swirled some bourbon in his glass as he listened to the voices of his friends. “Three different Dragons? Ya don't say, Pat?”
He listened again, a little more intently now, and sipped the dark liquid. “You even have ta ask that question, Justin? Soldiers are there for each other. Ain't no way I'm lettin' some varmint make off with our little Firebrand. Got a clue as yet where yer headed on this chase of yours?”
He listened, but also cocked his head and squinted into the dark corner of his study. He sat up straight now and put the glass down as he stared. He saw Yolanda peel away from the surrounding shadows and smiled tersely, waving her over. “In fact, I jest might be able to get our numbers back up to full strength as well.” He cupped the mouthpiece and whispered, “What's up, li'l lady? You look troubled.”
“I hate to say this, but I need help, Greg,” La Garra answered in a frustrated voice. “I'm outnumbered, and there's some guy named Green Dragon in charge of all this. And he's got a leader guy he called Brother Blue coming in soon, with some kind of package.”
Greg looked up nonplussed at the information. “Uh, fellas? Well, you keep followin' that trail, and let me know how it goes. Seems a lead jest fell in my lap here, and I'm gonna check it out.” He paused and nodded at the response. “Sounds like a plan then. Good luck, y'all.”
“What? What is it? I say something?”
“Say the secret word. It's a common word, something heard around the base all the time,” Greg mimicked as he stood up and plucked his white hat off the coat rack.
“Qué?” La Garra pivoted as he walked by. He held the door for her now and she stepped out of the room.
“It means, little lady, that you jest might hold a mighty important key to things bigger then you thought,” he said with a wink. “Now why don't you just show me about this lead of yours?”
“Okay,” La Garra grumbled. “But mentor or not, you have got to stop this 'little lady' mierda.”
*7*
Danette Arthur slowly woke up, eyes struggling to open, her muscles aching and weak as jelly. She tried to roll off the examination table, but bumped her forehead against a transparent cylinder surrounding her. She pressed her hands up against the barrier and grimaced as she tried to look around.
“You're awake?” Danette saw the muscular shape of her captor come into view now, the thick-bodied woman staring down at her. The woman pressed fingers against the clear surface to match Danette's hand and smiled at her. “I was beginning to worry that Blue Dragon might have damaged you too badly.”
“I'm a sturdy gal,” Danette shot back, frowning, annoyed as her hands started to glow red, flickers of flame licking out from her fingertips. “Let me out, and I'll show you.”
“Oh no,” the captor replied with a sinister smile. She took a step back as she watched Firebrand try and fail to melt her way out of the cylinder. “No, we won't be having any of that. Not after all the effort I've taken to get you this far. You'll stay right in there until the very last minute. And you might get hot enough to burn through your little cage eventually, but can you do it before you burn away all the oxygen, or so hot you kill everyone around you?” She shook her head to answer her own question. “Call me Wyrm Indigo, Firebrand. I can't tell you how thrilled I am to be hosting you.”
“What can you possibly want with me? You call me Firebrand, it has to be from my mystery girl days, but you're...a child,” Danette countered, talking, stalling for time as she let her fires flicker out and dropped her hands back to her sides.
“A child? I guess, to you, sure. But it's back in your Firebrand days. Your Soldiering days. I never ever believed I would get this chance, but the prophecy was right,” the woman chuckled. “Always trust the seers. My new motto.”
“Put your grandmother in jail, did I? Maybe broke up the family crime syndicate? What?” Danette acted tired of the conversation already, using every trick she could think of to get more information from the woman. She could feel movement through her prison, muted by the cage she was in, but she was traveling. Smooth, maybe fast. A plane? I think so. Plane where? Can't figure out a direction, she mused as she played for time and information.
“Much more than that. Much worse than that. You caused my organization to become corrupted by male power and technology and misguided loyalty to an Axis agenda that ruined us for decades,” Wyrm Indigo growled now as she clenched her meaty fists.
“Axis agenda? Male power, technology? What are you babbling about?”
“But the signs are clear, and the threads are coming together, they are, sweet little Firebrand,” Wyrm Indigo continued, not really listening to Danette now. She leaned closer, and glared into the heroine's eyes. “You carry her on you. My mistress. Our mistress. My Nefarious Dragons, they're putting it altogether for me now. It's only hours...maybe a couple of days...away now.”
“Nefarious Dragons?” The words played over Danette's lips for several moments before realization cleared in her eyes. “Dragons. Black Dragons.”
“Ah, you're getting it now. Good. Yes. The Dragon Queen, whom you and your husband so callously dispatched almost seventy years ago,” Wyrm Indigo grumbled, eyes narrowed, licking her lips. “But you carry remnants of her spirit, and I'll soon have the other piece of the puzzle. And she'll be back, and she'll take back the Black Dragon Society and...” Her voice was raising, her eyes becoming a far-off stare, as she stood straight and tall, regal in her zealotry. She stopped, looked around nervously and coughed. “Suffice to say, something I never thought could be done since I took control of the Queen's loyalists is in my grasp.”
“It wasn't callous. It wasn't cruel, it wasn't even intended,” Danette called out as Wyrm Indigo started to leave the area. “We had no chance to save her!”
“Oh, you have a chance now, my Firebrand. You'll have a chance to balance your life and her death. Just you wait and see.” She walked out, and left Danette to consider all the implications of that threat.
