4
Vapor swirls around Mechanika's limp form. Several Wheelies in jetpacks land and circle her cautiously, each brandishing some sort of nasty looking cattle prod that hums with energy. I start toward her. I don't know what I plan on doing, but Carrion Crow beats me to it. With a gleeful yell, he produces a pair of big knives in tactical black, and one of the jetpackers goes down before they even know what hit them. I should be more freaked out by the amount of blood pooling below the body, but I'm too busy worrying about Mechanika. I stumble to her side, tripping over broken roofing. My cloaker must still be working because no one really notices me. Thank all the little gods for small favors.
"Mechanika!"
I shake her by the shoulder, but she doesn't respond. I can't see her face through the opaqued visor. I hope that's not a bad sign. I search for a way to release her helm, ignoring the bloodcurdling chaos reigning around me as the rest of the Wheel soldiers converge on the roof.
The Red Lion chooses that moment to land on the roof as well. The fury on his normally kind face would be enough to give even an ECHO-sanctioned S-class Hero second thoughts. He foregoes the fireballs in favor of raw power—unflashy psychokinesis that tosses people around as though they're being batted by a giant, invisible creature. Sure, his massive fire-lions and glowing sigils are spectacular, but this—this is visceral.
Somewhere in the distance, I can hear someone screaming orders to disengage. A bit late for that, folks.
While I'm busy ooh-ing and ahh-ing, Mechanika stirs and coughs. I immediately lose all interest in everything else.
"You're alive!"
"Of fucking course I'm alive, dumbass," she grunts between trying to sit upright. I'm too relieved to take it personally. "Oh my fucking gawd, I'm stuck. Of all the stupid—rat shit—idiotic—grah!"
As her cussing devolves into unintelligible angry noises, I do my best to help her.
"Hang on. Don't move, you're halfway through the roof—"
With some awkward contorting, I manage to wedge my arms under hers. Once I've got a good grip, it's easy to pull her out of the hole, heavy armor and all. Then I sit down, hard, as the universe swims. Mechanika drops in an undignified heap across my legs with a squawk of outrage. The sound echoes weirdly in my head.
"Sorry," I mumble, as my body debates whether now is a good time to vomit. I fight through it and carry my friend as much out of the immediate field of battle as I can.
This vertigo thing is really starting to get annoying.
Between the two of us, we finally get Mechanika's stuck helm off. Underneath, she’s bruised and sweaty, but her eyes still flash cyan. She looks mad enough to spit fire like her dad. I sag down as she finishes unbuckling the rest of her dead armor in record time.
"I was afraid you were dead," I say.
"It'll take more than a few Wheelie shit-flies to ice me," she says grimly. She takes a look at me, and her face creases. “You look like crap. How many times did you switch?"
"Uh..." I try to think back, but my brain feels like it's orbiting itself.
"Never mind. Obviously too many times." She glances up as someone screams eloquently, before trailing into worrying silence. "Oh my fucking gawd, what did you do?"
"I uh—" I gulp. "I thought Carrion Crow could help so I let him go."
"You LET HIM GO?"
I cringe. "Yes?"
"The galaxy's most dangerous man, wanted for at least a dozen separate murders in this system alone, suspected in hundreds of other crimes—and you just, what, decided it'd be a good idea?”
I hang my head. Yeah, that's pretty much how my thought process went.
"You were just supposed to talk to him!"
Mechanika flings down one last bit of armor with a clang and breathes harshly through her nose. Gathering all my courage, I meet her gaze. After a furious moment, her expression changes to one that you might show a clueless puppy who just made a mess on your new carpet. I think I preferred it when she was throwing things.
"We'll discuss this later," she says, reminding me of my mom for a disconcerting moment. "Gotta damage control, before ECHO gets here. Why don't you sit this one out?"
"But your armor—"
She rolls her eyes. "You worry about yourself, buddy. Sit tight."
She leaps into the fray, mowing through what's left of the A. I. B. with some very effective martial arts moves. Though she discarded most of her protection, she left her gauntlets and shin guards on, and they lend serious weight to her punches and kicks. Before the Red Lion could possibly have seen her coming, he jerks to attention and whirls around. I can see his beaming smile from over here. I assume she sent him a ping or something. I’m impressed, because I've never been able to reliably Link up while doing anything involved, like walking. (Then again, I’ve only got a watch. Most people opt for the implant these days.) Mechanika must say something to him, because together they shove away a few Wheelies and make a beeline for Carrion Crow.
Oh shit, I didn't tell Mechanika about Carrion Crow's "life mission." What if he gets the wrong idea and kills them? I've got to do something!
With effort borne of panic, I try to switch for speed. Big mistake. Not only am I still male, but my perception of everything becomes... broken. My vision is obscured by weird lines, geometric shapes, sparks that remind me of lens flare effects. I don't see double; I see quadruple, quintuple, countless. And the vertigo. I sense the planet under me spinning on its axis, hurtling through space at unbelievable speeds, turning and tumbling through infinity...
I move forward as though I'm falling in slow motion. I'm not entirely sure I'm not falling. I watch my friends close in on Carrion Crow at 0.25x speed. The mercenary turns, almost casually, slipping his knife (oh my god) out of some unfortunate Wheelie. We're all on the same side, I want to scream, but it's like I'm completely out of phase with reality.
In the longest ten seconds of my life, as further violence threatens to unfold, finally—finally—the cavalry arrives in the form of the actual, honest-to-god official Heroes of Emerald. The purring whistle of ECHO's parabolic shuttle speeding through the atmosphere is unmistakable. I lift my head (it feels like lifting the echoes of infinity, mirror images of myself raising-raising-raising) to watch as the bright light of Zenith descends from the emerald green shuttle like an angel on wings of fire (mirror images spreading-falling-flying all around her). Dropping next to her I recognize the blue metal shine of the Enforcer. If it isn't just one member of the S-team, then it's all four, so Wrecking Ball and Lightfoot can’t be far behind. Lightfoot might already be on the roof, for all I know. He's so much faster than I will ever be.
Oh shit, oh fuck. The belated realization hits me with the force of a tsunami. ECHO is here, with its entire elite team; and I, Pax Warkin, have just released one of the galaxy's most wanted vigilantes. In direct result of this, I'm practically standing in a pile of bodies on top of a ruined warehouse, with two other vigilantes who are only slightly higher on ECHO's shit list than Carrion Crow because they don't kill people.
I... may have misjudged the severity of my actions.
All at once, I hear Mechanika's voice as if she's standing right beside me. As if that’s the cue, the world whooshes back to normal. Time speeds up. The phases synchronize. My stomach debates another insurrection. Through the chaos, I try to concentrate on what she's saying. The sound of her voice is distorted, kind of like it’s going through water.
"We need to get out of here," she says rapidly, directly in my ear. How is she doing that? Some sort of psychic broadcast? She's definitely not contacting me through the Link, because I couldn't Link up right now if my life depended on it. "Too late for damage control. Let ECHO handle the clean-up."
"Shouldn't we stay as witnesses or—" I cut off, my admittedly shaky train of thought derailing as Carrion Crow neatly evades the mages and rushes at me. Nothing like an armed, masked man in a bloodstained suit to really get the adrenaline thumping. But all he does is take my arm to hustle me along, away from Zenith's probable landing zone.
"I'm with robo-chick. Clean-up ain't my strong suit." He shrugs, so close that I can feel the movement. "I'm on the side of good this time, I'd hate to ruin it by hurting one of the Big Guns."
Mechanika is yelling, blazing cyan. "No one invited you. Let him go!"
"No way," says Carrion Crow over his shoulder. "My mission is to protect the asset. I'mma protect. How we getting out of here?"
Mechanika says, "YOUR MISSION IS WHAT."
"Time to go," booms the Red Lion at the same time. He opens a shiny, non-device-powered portal expertly in mid-air, acting as if blood isn't still dripping from his left hand. "Quickly."
Wait. Holy shit. He can make portals? Holy shit. This is some S-tier bamfery. Holy shit. My burned-out brain loops variations on that theme as I'm practically carried through the portal between Mechanika and Carrion Crow. The Red Lion slips in right at our heels, and shuts the portal just as someone with a deep metallic voice begins shouting something about keeping the peace and resisting lawful arrest.
"Holy shit," I repeat, out loud this time, as I take in the new locale.
I feel like I'm dreaming. It's peaceful here. Sunny and sandy, with a balmy breeze off a sea so blue it hurts my eyes. The air smells rich and humid in a way that's fundamentally different from the waterfront we just left. Even my broken neurons can tell that we're not on Emerald anymore. The Red Lion can make portals that lead off world. Why is he a vigilante?
Carrion Crow whistles. "This your hidey-hole? I'm jealous. I got roaches at mine. And it stinks. Great view of city skyline though."
He's way too close for comfort. I can smell him: gun smoke, and blood... and burritos?
"Let go of me," I grumble. I yank my arm free, and nearly fall over when I misjudge my own strength.
Right away, Mechanika and Red Lion stand on either side of me. I can feel the tension rolling off them as they stare down Carrion Crow.
"Step away from our friend, if you please," the Red Lion says, ever polite, his hands glowing with heat.
"Give me one good reason why I shouldn't just cut your legs off," Mechanika says, hoisting a small sickle. With the whisper of an arcane word, it whirs to life, becoming a small spinning wheel of blue death.
Carrion Crow lifts his hands, slowly. He doesn't seem especially afraid. "Let's everyone chill. Your concern is heartwarming, but really unnecessary. I was hired by someone to see to the safety—and autonomy! can't forget that—of our friend here."
Neither of them seem to move, but I find myself further behind the father-daughter duo.
"I don't believe you," Mechanika says plainly. "We saw how much the Wheel was offering."
Carrion Crow grins. "There was a better counter-offer. Besides, procurement has never been my thing. Too much of a pain, what with the feeding and the watering and the—"
Red Lion asks, "Who hired you?"
He barely starts the question before the mercenary is shushing him. "Nyup, sorry. Gotta keep client confidentiality."
Mechanika makes an irritated noise. "All right, fine. Say we believe you. Here he is, ta-dah, safe and sound. You can fuck off now."
Carrion Crow rocks on his heels. "Sorry, hun, but I'm not going anywhere. I'm sticking to Pax like the proverbial stink. You're free to try and make me, though."
Mechanika hesitates, as if calculating the odds.
"It's, uh, Switch," I say uncomfortably, more to remind everyone that I'm still here, than because I have any hope of convincing the mercenary I'm not Pax. As all the little gods know, I'm a terrible liar, and worse actor.
Luckily, the Red Lion steps in.
"Enough," he rumbles. "We, unfortunately, have a few more pressing matters to discuss, such as the unholy mess we left behind for ECHO to deal with. It's going to take some doing to unruffle those feathers. Follow me, please."
He leads the way down a little path along the beach, Mechanika still staring daggers at Carrion Crow.
"Yeah, well, serves them right for taking so long to get there," she mutters.
"In their defense, I noticed The Wheel had some obscurions in place," the mercenary says in a helpful tone of voice.
"We had obscurions in place, with high-profile members of ECHO as a specific exception," Mechanika says. She drags the fingers of her free hand through her red hair, curly with sweat. "It was supposed to be a peace offering, for all the good it did. How the fuck did those trigger-happy asswipes know?"
"Maybe they had a picture of me?" I say, unhelpfully. Unhelpful for a number of reasons, but the most basic ones being that:
we were in a secret lair, and I'm confident enough in my friends' abilities to believe that secret does, in fact, mean secret. Knowing my face would have no bearing on that.
I 'm wearing a mask, physically and psychically, and it's actually not that easy to look through the cloaking spell.
Speaking of which, I fumble for the spell and sigh as the wavering around the edges of my vision dissipate. My brain’s still a used sponge, but at least l no longer feel claustrophobic.
Carrion Crow blinks. "Oh hey, you do have a nice ass. I was pretty sure, but it's nice to actually see it."
"Do you just not have a filter—" I start, thinking that maybe I should have kept the cloaker up.
But he's already shifted his attention. He pulls something out of his belt with a little flourish. "Allow me to shed some light. Turns out somebody chipped you."
Three voices yelp as one: "WHAT?!"
Mechanika grabs the tracker from his hand. It looks like an antique pager, with an extra large display. In fact, it’s a lot like the one Stink Breath had on him. We all crowd around the tiny device. The display shows a little blinking red dot right on top of the white arrow meant to represent the user. I take a few steps back and forth, and watch as the little red dot wiggles.
That... that's me. Now I really don't feel good.
Mechanika grips the device, looking almost insulted. "Great, just great. You've got an enormous fucking beacon in you, and everyone seems to know it except us."
I feel crawly all over. I feel sick. I feel violated.
"Why would anyone chip me?" I ask. "Who?"
Carrion Crow shrugs. "First guess? Parents. It's always the parents when it comes to nonconsensual medical procedures. You're a super worth keeping track of. Maybe they decided it'd be smart to keep tabs on their investment. Maybe they got some of that fortune-telling power of yours and saw trouble coming."
"For the last time," I all but shout, "I cannot see the goddamned—"
The Red Lion stops me with a bloody hand, his face pale but serious. "We must remove the beacon, before they trace you here."
That quells me. If they find me here, it'll be three secret hideouts I've ruined for my friends.
The Red Lion leads us at a jog to a dwelling built into the low cliffs lining the shore. It's covered in white stucco, with terracotta roofing. Vibrant plants grow around it, their large leaves throwing cooling shadows across the path. Birds I don't recognize chirp and squawk in the verdant shadows.
Inside, it's cool, with rustic tile floors and white plaster walls. An antique fountain trickles in the middle, and sunlight filters through skylights set above it. It's a major step up from the doughnut shop, but it also looks nothing like the hidey-hole of two super-powered vigilante mages.
"Love what you did with the place," Carrion Crow says. "Very nice. Very retired old couple."
Mechanika rolls her eyes, as her dad goes to one side and draws a complicated sigil in the air. The wall in front of him shimmers and dissolves, revealing an archway that leads into a narrow stone hall, rough and old-looking, with mysterious little lights floating along the ceiling.
The mercenary whistles.
"You really know how to make your secret bases. I'd kill for something like this."
Mechanika makes a face. "I bet you would. There are some guest bedrooms that way, choose one and stay in it. Or don't. I don't care. Don't touch anything."
"I love it when a woman bosses me around." The rest of Carrion Crown's chatter is cut off as the wall reassembles behind us. There's a faint thud and muffled shouting. Mechanika looks disgusted, but the Red Lion actually laughs.
I ask, "Is it safe to let him... y'know, run around your secret lair?"
"Don't worry. He can level the whole island and we'll be fine here." The Red Lion winks. "The wonders of multidimensional pocket spells. My specialty, really."
"Oh, okay." As if I know what that even means. I run my hand along the uneven wall as we walk. "What about your arm?"
"It's nothing. I've got a stasis charm on it. Your beacon is more pressing."
"Right. So, uh, how do we unchip me?"
"First we do a scan to locate it. Then we’ll cut it right out."
Boy, Mechanika doesn't mince her words.
"Is it gonna hurt?" I ask, feeling like a child even as I say it.
"You’ve got nothing to worry about," she says with a reassuring pat. "It'll be easy."
Famous last words, I think, as I follow them down the stone passageway.
We soon arrive at an unexpectedly modern lounge area, complete with comfy couches, a couple of holo-desks, and a spotless kitchenette equipped with a high-end auto-chef. However, this lounge seems to have had an arcane laboratory explode in the middle of it. A techy work table cluttered with bits of non-Euclidean machinery dominates the center of the room, while cabinets along the walls opposite the kitchenette house countless mystical instruments. Above, rows and rows of antique books rest in high, protected shelves, while a truly enormous fume hood hangs from the center of the ceiling. The air smells uniquely of incense and machine oil.
"Home sweet home," Mechanika says. "The shielding here should scramble your signal just enough to cause delays, but the closer they get, the easier it's going to be to pinpoint you. We need that chip out, and quick."
"The recliner, I think," says the Red Lion as he goes to the sink to wash away smoke and blood. "Better remove your mask—ah, and the focus gem."
Obediently I pull the mask from my head. The focus gem has me stumped for a second, before I notice a tab. I pick at it, and up lifts the flexible crystal, like a firm slice of jelly. Wild. I lay it gently to one side, on top of my mask, and settle into the recliner.
"Anything I should do?" I ask, staring at the rough-hewn ceiling.
"Just relax," says the Red Lion, flipping to a page in his ever-present book. "My dear, if you could fetch the scryer?"
Mechanika wheels over a thing that looks like a glass dinner plate balanced in the middle of a copper framework. "Hold still, Pax. This will be over in a sec."
"Okay," I say, just as a flash seems to light up my entire insides. It lasts a couple seconds, during which I can't see a thing, then it's gone. I blink up at identical grim expressions on my friends. Tension crawls up my spine. "What? What's wrong? Can't you find it?"
"We found the beacon all right," says Mechanika. "That's not the problem. Pax, I don't know how to say this, but... it looks like it's inside your head."
"Another pass will confirm it," says the Red Lion, as I struggle to comprehend what I'm being told. He actually looks unsettled, which doesn't help me any. "Usually, these sorts of things are embedded directly under the skin. Occasionally you might see one that's placed between major muscle groups. This is... unexpected."
"Inside my... okay, back up, that can't be right." My voice comes out shuddery. "I'm just a barista. I'm a nobody. This can't be right."
"Let's make absolutely sure it is where we think it is, and then we'll go over what to do about it," Mechanika says in a gentle voice. "Okay, Pax? Can you hold still for a little longer?"
It takes effort to calm my trembling hands, but I take deep breaths like they teach you in the meditation class you have to take before gaining Link access. Halfway through my third breath, the scryer flashes through my body again. They take a little a little longer this time, concentrating on my head. I wonder if light is streaming out of my nose and ears, because that's how it feels, and barely stifle a nervous giggle.
Then Mechanika mutters an expletive, which kills any remaining laughter.
"It's literally embedded in your brain," she says, sounding horrified. "I'm pretty sure this is illegal."
I think they talk some more, but I can’t focus. There's something in my head that shouldn't be there. In my skull, past the bone that's supposed to protect me, in my fuckin' brain. That means, at some point in my life, I underwent a major medical procedure without my knowledge or consent, during which somebody stuck a piece of circuitry into me, for reasons unknown. And now a group of wackjobs are taking advantage of this fucking beacon in my head to kidnap me, for reasons unknown. Oh, and let's not forget how a crazy mercenary with a rap sheet longer than the Equatorial Overpass is apparently being paid by a mysterious client to keep tabs on me, for—that's right—reasons unknown.
"Get it out," I say.
The Red Lion and Mechanika exchange glances.
"Well, about that—" Mechanika begins.
"Get. It. Out."
"What you're asking for is tantamount to brain surgery," says the Red Lion apologetically, "something neither of us is is willing or able to do."
Brain surgery. I admit, I shut down here. Between this bombshell and the battle from earlier, I've got nothing left. I get up abruptly from the recliner and stumble my way back down the stone hall. I don't know what I think I'm going to accomplish by running away like this. I quickly reach the solid wall at the end of the passage. Lacking the arcane know-how to dematerialize the wall, I stand there, exhausted and buzzing and just... sick.
You have no idea how it feels to know you've got something in your head, put there who knows when by who knows who—and it's a huge signal to the universe at large, saying "Here I am! Come and get it!" And it turns out that the universe is a crueler, hungrier place than you ever thought it could be.
Well, maybe you do. I don't know your history. The point is, it's a new experience for me.
I run my trembling hands over my head, looking for—
What? A retro antenna poking through my skull, or maybe an off switch? Better yet, how about a plaque saying, “[insert name here] made this beacon. If you have any questions, please contact us through [Link coordinates]”? I am unpleasantly aware of every sensation under my scalp, every twinge and ache and pulse. Somewhere in there is a little chip, sloshing merrily in my brain stuff. This is the one time I actually want to throw up, and my stomach decides to be inert.
I wish I was back at the coffee shop. I wish I was home, in my crappy little apartment with its annoying lobby ghost that doesn't seem so bad anymore, surrounded by piles of laundry that need washing, maybe with that cat I wish I could adopt. This whole adventure has been real fun. Really, it’s been a blast, but I'd like to go home now.
Please.
***