Recoil Pt 6-3 (Patreon)

Part 6-3: Two for the Price of One

[A/N: This chapter beta-read by Lady Columbine of Mystal.]

Monday, August 8, 1994

1815 Hours

Ruth leaned forward to address Kinsey. “Pull over there, Sergeant.” Sitting back in the car seat, she caught my eye and pointed at one of the houses on the street. “That's her house there. And in case I forgot to tell you before, I really, really appreciate this.” I could tell that she meant it, which didn't surprise me in the slightest. My superior officer she might be, but as Ruth Goldstein she had none of the arrogance she would've learned at the knee of Max Anders.

Her parents had been a little surprised when she announced she was going out with Kinsey and myself, but they hadn't raised a fuss. I suspected Phil had an idea there was something going on, but the older man had said nothing that might make Deborah worry. Of course, he probably thought it was PRT-related, which it most certainly was not, but neither I nor Ruth wanted to make him worry, so we hadn't corrected that misapprehension.

I looked the house over as Kinsey pulled the car to a halt at the side of the road. We were in a slightly less affluent neighbourhood than the one Ruth had grown up in, but the lawn was well-kept and the picket fence looked freshly painted. Opening the car door, I climbed out. I'd been comfortable in the back seat but I was still a little cramped, so I discreetly stretched to work the kinks out of my spine. As I closed the door again, a black kid exited the house we'd pulled up in front of, and stood at the top of the steps staring at us.

“Aunt Ruth?” he called out, then leaned back in through the front door. “Gramma! Aunt Ruth's here, with some other folks!” He then went back into the house, and the door closed behind him.

“I guess this is the right place,” I said dryly. “Aunt Ruth, huh?”

A nostalgic smile crossed her face as she spoke. “Darlene took me under her wing while I was working with her. I got to meet her family, and we took to each other. I recall a lot of very noisy birthday parties. I'd wondered if they'd still remember me. Apparently they do.”

She led the way through the white-painted gate and up the front path. Kinsey let me go second, while he brought up the rear. Neither one of us was openly armed, but we kept an eye out anyway; through bitter experience, we knew that the unexpected was not only a thing that could happen, but would happen. Of course, he had no idea of Ruth's capabilities; I did, but I wasn't going to count on her to get us out of trouble if it happened.

The door opened again, and a heavy-set black woman stepped out. This, I presumed, was 'Gramma', as her hair was more grey than black and her face showed years of careworn wrinkles. “Ruth, honey!” she said, a warm smile splitting her face. Crossing the porch, she came down the steps and engulfed Ruth in a capacious hug, momentarily lifting the younger woman off her feet. From the remains of her accent, I figured she was originally from California. “It's good ta see you again, swee'pea. How long ya in town for? And who's your friends?” As she set Ruth down, she gave Kinsey and me a searching look. Her eyes narrowed, making me wonder how much she'd seen. “These'd be the PRT folks, then.” Well, that answered that. I'd changed from the sundress into jeans and a light jacket, given that it was likely to get cold later, but she didn't sound the slightest bit unsure about her conclusion.

On second thought, the deduction that we were PRT wasn't hard to make; even in civvies, Kinsey was constitutionally incapable of being anything but a military NCO. “We are indeed, Mrs Hobbs,” I said politely. “Doctor Goldstein has told us about your problem. I'm Captain Taylor Snow, and this is Sergeant James Kinsey.” I held out my hand to shake.

She did so, her firm grip encompassing mine. “I've heard some about you already, Cap'n Snow, an' it's a real pleasure to make your acquaintance.” Letting my hand go, she shook Kinsey's as well. “An' you too, Sergeant. C'mon in, I'll tell ya what I know.” Turning, she led the way up the steps again. Ruth and I followed, with Kinsey bringing up the rear. Darlene's comment about having heard of me already had piqued my interest, but I made a bet with myself that I knew where she was going with it.

The interior of the house was neat and tidy, though still disarranged enough to be homely. I spotted the black kid from before, peering at us from a doorway on the far side of the living room. A moment later, a woman about ten years older than me brushed past him and placed a plate of cookies on the coffee-table in the middle of the living room. She bore a familial resemblance to both Mrs Hobbs and the boy, such that I decided they had to be closely related. “Been a while, Ruth,” she said, then looked askance at Kinsey and myself. “I'd known you were bringin' company, I would'a put somethin' on to cook.” Dusting her hand off on her apron, she held it out. “Mamie Fraser. That little scamp back there is my oldest, Sammy. Any friend of Ruth's is a friend of mine.”

Kinsey and I went through the ritual of shaking hands once more. “Taylor Snow,” I said this time, not sure if Darlene wanted it known who we really were. “This is James Kinsey. Doctor Goldstein saved my life once upon a time.” 'Once upon a time' had been two months previously, but she didn't need to know that.

She raised one eyebrow. “Oh? Don't surprise me at all. Momma always used to brag on her, so I figure she's good at what she does.” She gave Ruth a flashing smile. “You movin' back to Seattle?”

“Sorry, no,” Ruth said as we settled ourselves on the slightly dilapidated sofa. “It's just a temporary visit to recharge my batteries. Good to see you again though, Mamie. How's Daryl and the others?”

“Oh, so-so,” Darlene's daughter replied, waggling her hand from side to side. “You know how it goes. You work, you sleep, you eat, an' you gotta go to work again.”

“Gramma, can I have a cookie?” piped up Sammy from the doorway, eyeing the plate in the middle of the coffee-table.

“Sure you can, honeybunch. Take three,” Darlene told him indulgently, then her tone became more serious. “Mamie, can you take him off somewhere? I got things to discuss with Ruth's friends.” By which she meant, I want to talk to them in private, without prying young ears. Semantically speaking, it was identical to the military phrase, Give us the room.

Mamie was definitely sharp enough to catch the subtext, though I wasn't sure if she'd pinged Kinsey and myself as PRT yet. “Sure thing, Momma,” she agreed, scooping up some cookies from the plate. “Come on, Sammy. Let's go check over your school supplies.”

“But school don't start for 'nother whole month!” protested Sammy, but he followed his mother from the room. Her answer was indistinct, but I got the gist of 'better now than too late', with which I totally agreed.

Ignoring the cookies, Ruth sat forward on the sofa, her eyes intent. “Captain Snow and Sergeant Kinsey are in the Intelligence branch of the PRT. There's nobody better at what they do. If anyone can find Patricia, they can. If anyone can find out what happened to her, and who did it, they can.”

“Right.” Darlene looked me over once more, as if trying to see what Ruth saw in me. “Until Ruth told me who you were, I was wonderin' how much you could help. But I've heard some o' what you done, especially down in Texas for them young girls. They been talkin' you up a storm.”

Mentally, I paid out on the bet. I'd consulted with Ruth on the best hospital to refer the girls to in Seattle, and it seemed she'd directed me to the one where her old friend still worked. Which, to be honest, wasn't a huge surprise. Nor was it astonishing that they'd been talking about me. What I'd done for them wasn't extraordinary, at least to me, but it was more than anyone else had been doing for them. I nodded to acknowledge her words, neither downplaying what I'd done nor making a big deal of it. “They're strong. I've got faith in them to get through it together, but sometimes faith needs a helping hand.”

“And ain't that the living truth.” Her shrewd gaze raked over me again. “Normally I'd say you're a bit young to be a captain, but some folks are just born old.” I didn't answer, at least not in words, but she nodded anyway. “Yeah, thought so. I seen that look before. You been at the sharp end more'n once. Okay, so this is all I know.”

It was a familiar story. Patricia Weller couldn't quite afford a car, and the bus timetables weren't convenient for where she lived. To save on cab fares, she and some other nurses had been walking together as far as they could, but on Sunday night she'd gotten out late and decided to go it alone. Unfortunately, she never made it home.

I already had an idea of who the culprit was. Lisa had been keeping tabs on one Ned Hollows, resident of Seattle. Even at the tender age of seventeen, the scrawny young man was an opportunistic thief with little in the way of finer feelings. Morally speaking, he had no problem in hurting someone if they didn't hand over their belongings. Physically speaking, he was not an imposing specimen, which was why he picked on women walking alone at night.

In time, Ned would trigger with the power of adaptive regeneration and eventually become the Slaugherhouse Nine member known as Crawler. Not unlike Dauntless (before Leviathan, that is) his power level would gradually build up with use; by my time he was an obsidian-black inhuman juggernaut, unkillable by any normal means. Ironically, they'd both been killed (Dauntless technically so) by Bakuda's captured bombs, put to (mis)use by the PRT.

It was my intention to cut Crawler off at the pass, so to speak. This was part of an ongoing plan I had to starve the Nine of 'unstoppable' members, so when the time came, they could be removed from the board more easily. While it might've been possible to take them out this early in the game (though Grey Boy was a real problem) they had their roles to play, as did Calvert. I'd get to them when I needed to.

Belatedly, it occurred to me that having someone like Crawler on my side would be a massive game changer. Ruth was a powerful force in her own right, but unlike me she wasn't exactly subtle in what she could do. In addition, she had duties and obligations within the PRT, and I didn't want to make the mistake of assuming she would always be there to help.

Left alone, Crawler would end up being responsible for hundreds if not thousands of deaths. He'd spent decades getting as fearsome as he was, of course; according to Lisa, this was why he joined the Nine. Only in their company could he find the ultimate challenges, capes willing to throw their very worst at him. For my part, I didn't intend to challenge him; challenges carried the implicit assumption that it was possible to win. If I got the chance, I'd give him the choice to either join the side of goodness and light or die. The former was preferable, but I'd settle for the latter if I had to. Success in recruiting him meant that Lisa and I gained a powerful ally, while failure still deprived the Nine of one of their more horrifically powerful members.

However, doing either one did mean I'd have to get out there and find him. While Mrs Hobbs had given me as much information as she knew, and Ruth's knowledge of the surrounding area would be very useful, it still wouldn't have been very helpful to the average investigator. Of course, I wasn't the average investigator.

“Is there anything more you can remember?” I asked Mrs Hobbs. I kept my tone professional, not wanting her to think I was belittling her contribution.

“Sorry, no,” she said. “Can ya help? Cops ain't been able to do jack.” Her eyes searched my face, looking for something; I wasn't sure what.

I nodded firmly. “I believe I can try. You've been very helpful.” Leaning forward, I asked one last question. "What time did these girls, especially Patricia, leave the hospital?"

Darlene caught the significance of the query almost immediately. "Two in the mornin', near enough," she said with enough certainty that I felt I could rely on it. "I tol' 'em and I tol' 'em, go with someone." She settled back in her seat with the unhappy expression of someone who doesn't want to be proven right.

"I know," I replied gently. "And you did exactly the right thing, coming to Doctor Goldstein about this. We'll find out what's happened to her, and we'll put a stop to whoever's doing it." In my mind, I already had a culprit lined up, but I intended to check with Lisa before making any rash moves. Standing up, I brushed my hands off on my jeans. “We'll let you know as soon as we've got something.”

Following my lead, Kinsey and Ruth both stood up from the sofa. Neither one gave me so much as a sideways glance to indicate doubts as to my capability to find what had happened to the young woman. Their faith in me was somewhat daunting; while Kinsey had seen me pull some pretty impossible rabbits out of the hat before now, Ruth had no such experience. Unless she'd read my jacket. Which of course she would've, the parts she had clearance for anyway.

I shook hands with Mrs Hobbs once more, watching as her expression edged between cautious hope and faint disbelief. "You sure you can find out what's happened?" she asked. "An' is there any chance she's alive?"

“I've broken tougher cases with less to go on,” I said, telling both the absolute truth and lying through my teeth at the same time. “I can't guarantee any miracles about Patricia's well-being, but we will find the guy and make sure he doesn't hurt anyone else.”

My tone was mild, but Darlene was nobody's fool. She heard what I wasn't saying, and gave me a brief nod of acknowledgement. “I just wanna know, one way or the other,” she said quietly.

“I'll let you know, first thing,” Ruth replied for me. She gave her friend a hug, then led the way out of the house. Nobody spoke as we descended the steps from the front porch and headed out to where the car was parked at the side of the road.

Kinsey unlocked the car and opened the door for us. I got in first, followed by Ruth. It was only when Kinsey had the car going that he half-turned toward where we were sitting in the back seat. “Where to, Major?” he asked.

“Just a moment, Sergeant,” Ruth said. “Taylor, I know you're good, but I expected a little more for us to go on with. Are you sure you can find Patricia and catch the guy who did it, or were you just putting on a show back there? Because if it's the latter …”

Ah. She just didn't want to show any doubts while Darlene was there. I was forcibly reminded of the fact that Ruth, though she knew of my background, thought I was unpowered here in the past. Or rather, that I didn't have any parahuman assistance to draw on. This wasn't true, of course. Neither one knew about Lisa's involvement in the situation, or about how closely entwined her life had become with mine. Or, for that matter, about her capabilities. Even if I told Ruth any details, she'd still recall Lisa as only being a smartass Thinker in a low-end villain gang.

“Not a show,” I assured her. “I've already figured some things out, but we're not going to do anything right now. Or rather, right now we're going to put the investigation on hold. Kinsey's going to be dropping you off at home before sunset so you can observe Elul with your parents. Then we're going to get motel rooms before checking in with the local PRT Director; what's his name again?" I'd gone over the list in the last few days, but we'd been through so many bases the names were starting to blur together in my head.

"Her name is Dyson, ma'am," Kinsey informed me blandly from the front seat. "Director Kathryn Dyson. Her deputy's name is Samuel Kelly."

"Thank you, Kinsey," I replied without missing a beat. "I'll sign in with Director Dyson or probably just Kelly, depending on how busy Dyson is, and set about seeing exactly how much work is needed on their computer systems. I haven't heard of any major information leaks in this area, so maybe we'll get lucky. After that, I'll make a few calls, pull some strings, and see what information I can shake loose from the bushes." I shrugged. “It's amazing what's just lying around sometimes, waiting to be added up into a picture.” Once more, I was mixing truth with falsehood. Information gathering, yes. Via phone call, no. After all, Lisa didn't have a mobile number I could ring.

"Why a motel room?" asked Ruth. "You know you can get on-base housing, right?"

"I can," I agreed. "But on-base housing means we've got to sign in and out. And I'd rather not have anyone notice us walking out the door at a quarter after one. Motels are wonderfully anonymous, that way."

"Make it one o'clock," Ruth said. "That way, you've got time to come pick me up." She must have noticed my startled look and the way Kinsey's shoulders stiffened slightly, because she shook her head in annoyance. "Really?" she asked. "You were going to try to leave me out of it? That's not going to happen." The tone of her voice pointed out that she held the rank of Major, and she wasn't afraid to use it.

Not that I had any particular worries for her safety even if she did come along. If what Lisa had since told me about her powers was accurate (even if the all-knowing roommate sharing my head was irritatingly silent about certain details) there were very few villainous capes in this day and age who could go toe to toe with her and hope to survive, let alone win. In the future, some would arise; I intended to keep that number as low as possible. I was quite aware that this could be considered, broadly speaking, cheating. Whether or not I cared was an entirely different matter.

Kinsey glanced around at us, then put his attention back on the road. “Permission to speak frankly, Major Goldstein, ma'am?” Once again, my attention was firmly drawn to the odd relationship between Kinsey and myself. While outwardly it was little different from that between any officer and an NCO, such a request from him to me would merely be a formality. Kinsey knew that I wanted him to speak frankly and openly at all times and places it was important to do so. Not all officers were like that, and though he knew Ruth was my friend, he didn't know why.

“Granted, Sergeant,” Ruth acknowledged. At the same time, her eyes sought mine. I wasn't sure what the query in them meant, but I guessed she was trying to figure out if Kinsey knew of her true origins, or any of the other secrets I held about her. I kept my face as still as possible, so as not to send a potentially misleading message.

That in itself seemed to convey some meaning to her, because she nodded fractionally as Kinsey spoke up. “Ma'am, I do not know the Captain's plans, but we've worked together before. If I were to hazard a guess, she intends to place herself on the street as bait, and trap the perp that way. Meaning no disrespect, ma'am, but you're a medic, not a grunt. Medics aren't supposed to go into the line of fire.”

Which, despite the careful wording and the extremely respectful tone of voice, boiled down to sorry, boss, but you don't get to play with us cool kids. This led me to a problem; I knew Ruth could take care of herself, but Kinsey didn't. How was I supposed to turn his viewpoint around without outing Ruth to him? Me, he was personally loyal to. Her, he barely knew from Adam.

“Sergeant,” Ruth stated firmly. “I understand your intent and I appreciate that you want to keep me safe. However, this is not your call. I believe I am sufficiently well equipped and skilled to be able to handle any problems that might come my way, especially from some jumped-up little street thug who likes to attack nurses.” Her professional detachment slipped a little here, and I was reminded that she was a doctor first and foremost. The best doctors, after all, took great care of their nurses. “And last but not least, if you intend to continue to protest, I will remind you that I outrank the both of you, and I can simply order you to include me in this operation.”

I did my best to conceal my wince. Kinsey had proven himself to be quite an adept barracks-room lawyer from time to time. If Ruth had given me any hint that she intended to go down this path, I would've advised her against it. Unfortunately, it was too late. She'd thrown down the gauntlet, and Kinsey just as readily picked it up.

“That is true, ma'am, and I'm not disputing it.” His voice was a steady rumble. “That said, what we're doing now is most definitely off the books, so we're by definition off-duty for it. As such, rank doesn't apply. If it does, ma'am, I'll be requiring a written copy of that order so I can file it with the local PRT base in the event that later adjudication becomes necessary.”

Ruth's reply showed the steel in her spine. “Very well, then. None of us want this to be officially recognised. However, I am taking a hand in this, Sergeant, even if I have to walk to the hospital and wait all night for you to show up.”

Hastily, I cleared my throat. “Kinsey, stand down. Major, how much combat training and experience do you have?”

There was silence in the car for a moment, broken only by the humming of tyres on asphalt. I awaited her reply, hoping against hope she'd respond in a way that would allow us to both get out of the situation gracefully.

“Captain, I've got more combat experience than my file indicates,” she said flatly, confirming a few suspicions of mine. There was a side to Aster Anders that was hidden even from me, one that Lisa refused to enlighten me on. While I couldn't know the exact details, it seemed I was not the only PRT officer moonlighting with unusual abilities. “The details are classified, but I have been in combat before.”

“That's not a total surprise to me,” I admitted, eliciting a flicker of surprise from her. I wonder what she's been up to? “And it's definitely good to hear. But I've sparred with Kinsey enough times to know how he operates, and vice versa. With all due respect, ma'am, neither of us knows how you are in a fight. Also, do you have a pistol?”

“I don't own a firearm, and I'm no more than an adequate shot,” she said. “But I'm better than average in unarmed combat, and that I've done my fair share of.” She looked from Kinsey to me. “I hope we've dispensed with this 'leaving me behind' nonsense. You're the investigators and I'll follow your lead on that aspect, but I will be attending. I owe it to Darlene to get justice for Patricia.”

I let a faint smile cross my face. “I don't suppose we can keep you away, ma'am. Will you be needing a pistol?” I was pretty sure she'd say no to that, but it had to be asked.

“If you supply one, I'll carry it, but don't expect me to do more than menace people with it,” she said pragmatically, surprising me just a little. “You can do the shooting; I've seen your range scores. But I can watch your six, and make sure nobody gets the drop on you. As the Sergeant pointed out, this operation is most assuredly off the books, and we can't afford to not be on the same page. At the same time, I believe I'm beginning to understand why you two are given so much leeway in your dealings. You're quite adept at explaining matters so that whatever option suits your requirements is also the one you put the most favourable emphasis on. That must be very irritating to some of your superiors.”

I gave her my best bland look, copied from studying Kinsey's expressions. He did it better, but I gave it my best shot. “I'm sure I have no idea what you're talking about, ma'am.”

With a chuckle, she leaned back in her seat. “Of course not. Home, Sergeant, and don't spare the horses. I'll be getting some rest, and seeing you later tonight.”

Only my long association with Kinsey allowed me to spot the subtle relaxation in his shoulders as he applied a little more acceleration to the car. “Yes, ma'am.”

-ooo-

Next Morning

0134 Hours

I racked the slide on the oversized shotgun as Lisa and I rolled up to the big double doors. This is a bad idea.

Her eye-roll was just visible behind the armoured visor she was wearing. “You've been working too hard. And not the 'shoot some asshole in the face' type of work, either. Trust me, you need to unwind, let out some stress. This is just what you need.” Her serious tone was spoiled by the grin she threw me.

Yeah, but roller demolition derby? I hefted the shotgun I was carrying. It was a double-barrel model, with dual magazines fed by a classic pump-action mechanism. I had no doubt that it would kick like an angry mule, which gave me cause for concern, as I was currently on roller-skates. Technically roller-skates. Far more durable and forgiving of rough terrain than standard skates, these were attached to my feet and let me roll from place to place, so I figured they counted as roller-skates.

“Hey, you said let's do something in a post-apocalyptic setting.” Lisa's grin was even wider now. “This is post-apocalyptic as fuck.” In contrast with my pump-action monstrosity, she had a modified AA-12; fully automatic, with a belt feeding into the side of the breech from a box underneath. Hefting the weapon, she hammered its butt against the doors. In response, they opened. “Now's not the time to chicken out.”

Who's chickening out? I just said it was a bad idea. Kicking off, I launched myself down into the huge shallow pit thus revealed to us. There were bowls, half-pipes, walls and full-pipes, all designed to keep the competitors moving and afford a little cover from time to time. From other doors around the arena spilled the aforementioned competitors; to a man (or woman) they were extensively tattooed, clad in piecemeal armour, and sported outlandish haircuts. Besides, you do know I'm probably about to go into a fight anyway.

“Yeah, but this way you get to have a bit of fun before you get to the main action.” Lisa rolled up a half-pipe and did a mid-air somersault to avoid a heavy crossbow bolt, then replied with a burst of fire that knocked the other guy off his feet. The AA-12 had a slightly lower rate of fire than most full-auto weapons I'd used, but the noise of firing was like a gut-punch. Being hit by it was apparently even worse.

I guess. A big guy with an oversized gut who'd decided to go with a breastplate and a jockstrap came screaming at me with a spiky club in one hand and a skull-decorated axe in the other. I didn't feel like encountering either one up close and personal, so I hit him in the breastplate with two rounds from my shotgun. The report of the double shot was enormous, as was the explosion when the slugs hit. I was caught off-balance as the massive recoil literally flipped me over backward; fortunately, I landed on my feet again. A glance showed my erstwhile opponent lying on his back, out cold, his breastplate sporting a tremendous dent in the middle. Holy crap. You did not say I was carrying explosive rounds.

“Didn't I? Must've slipped my mind.” She didn't even try to make it sound convincing. “Pretty effective, huh?” She triggered the nitrous mode on her skates, and went airborne off of a ramp with a triple flip and spin that made the audience roar with appreciation. On the way, she let off another burst that nailed three more of the opposition, sending them sprawling against the armoured-glass barrier surrounding the arena, in various stages of disrepair.

Slipped your mind, hah. Nothing ever slips your mind. My next opponent ducked into a full-pipe, hiding him from my view. Of course, this hid me from him as well, so I leaned forward and triggered my own nitrous. If I was reading this right, he'd come out the other end and try to nail me with the triple-barrelled assault rifle he was sporting. Building up speed, I launched myself off the top of the pipe, shotgun tracking toward the end of the pipe. Just as I'd predicted, he skated into view, assault rifle swinging around to where he thought I'd be. Unfortunately for him, I wasn't there. 

Even more unfortunately, he was exactly where I expected him to be. I pulled the trigger and both barrels belched flame, blowing his rifle into small metal fragments and sending him sprawling to the floor. I was still airborne at this point, and the recoil sent me spinning end over end. Which turned out to be fortuitous, as there was one more that we hadn't accounted for. I targeted him just before he would've reached Lisa with a revving chainsaw, and fired. The chainsaw exploded dramatically, putting him out of the fight. This had the useful effect of giving me the extra impetus to get my feet under me just before I hit the floor.

As the audience went nuts, Lisa rolled across to end up beside me. “Nice one,” she said. “I liked the double airborne shot.” She brandished the AA-12 to more applause, then started over toward where we were supposed to collect our winnings. “So, I guess you want to know about Crawler?”

If you don't mind, I replied with a grin, slinging the shotgun. This was about as authentic a post-apocalyptic experience as your average dude ranch is of the Wild West. But she was right; it had been fun. Now, though, the fun was over and it was time to get down to business. What will I be getting into?

“Well, for a start, the girl's dead.” She looked apologetic. “Sorry. Crawler's not the one who did it. That was someone else. But he's gonna upgrade to serious harm then murder if he's left alone. And he's not overly careful, so when he does get caught, this one'll be lumped in with the ones he'll be actually guilty of. The DA'll go for the death penalty and he'll have a bad time on death row. Killing women, you see. By the time they actually go to execute him, he'll be primed to trigger.”

That made a certain kind of horrible sense to me. Which is about the last thing we want. So if we track him down now and kill him before he's expecting it …

She favoured me with a beaming smile. “Precisely. And the other one's still in the area, so once you've dealt with Crawler, we can kill two birds with one stone.” She pulled a tablet out of a pocket of her cargo pants and handed it to me.

So to speak, I agreed, tucking it into one of my pockets. The thought I'd had before crossed my mind again, and I voiced it. If he's just been mugging people up till now and hasn't actually crossed that line yet, is there a chance we could rehabilitate him? Get him on our side? I wasn't just asking idly; nor did my distaste for taking human life—as attenuated as it had become—have much to do with the question. It was simple pragmatism; guided by less destructive motives, he'd make for a potent ally against the forces that would be arrayed to combat my efforts to make a better world.

Lisa didn't answer as she collected our winnings; for some odd reason, these turned out to be brightly-coloured bottlecaps. Then, as we skated away across the arena, she turned to me, her expression serious. “I don't know for sure,” she confessed. “He's had a shitty life, and he's been fucked over at almost every turn.”

So have I, I pointed out. And I turned out okay, didn't I? After all, even after everything I'd gone through, I was doing my best to save the world. Well, saving my friends came first. The world could be saved as a side benefit, though I was definitely going to be putting my all into it. As Lisa had once said, it was where I kept my stuff.

“Pfft, yeah, I guess.” Lisa let out an indelicate snort and rolled her eyes. “Joined a villain gang at fifteen, robbed a bank, assaulted heroes, took over the city, gouged a man's eyes out, shot your ex-boss right in the head, choked a superhero to death on bugs … oh yeah, you're a real role model.”

I had to hand it to her; taken out of context, that list of charges was pretty impressive. Which of course was her point. Yeah, yeah, laugh it up. I turned myself around. Can we do the same with him?

“I won't know until we make the effort,” she pointed out. “It would depend on whether it's even possible, and on what approach you use. I won't lie; his life's been shittier than yours by a large degree. His habits may be simply too ingrained. His mother left when he was a kid, mainly because his father was an abusive asshole. He went without a lot of meals when he was growing up, and he got beaten and locked in a closet for no reason.” She grimaced. “There was also, um, other abuse. He's pretty fucked in the head already. Triggering is likely to make it even worse.”

Well, I owe it to him to try. I knew what it was like to be pre-judged and cut off from any sort of appeal before I'd really done anything.

“Well, it's always worth a try. At least you have those special loads from Andrea's pet Tinker, if and when you need to use them.” Lisa's tone was light, but she meant every word. She was just as dedicated to my plans as I was, having spent thousands of virtual hours helping me hash them out. I had no idea what I would've done without her. “Oh, and you're nearly at the hospital. Kiss before you go?” Reaching up, she took off her visor.

Her lips tasted of dust and blood and cordite. Gunsmoke stung my eyes, and I blinked.

-ooo-

“I'm awake.” As I spoke, I sat up and opened my eyes. Ruth had been leaning over to shake me awake as Kinsey brought the car to a halt, but sat back again when I spoke. For the purpose of this outing, she'd changed from her earlier clothing into a dark sweater and slacks, along with a wool cap she'd bundled her blonde hair up into. Over it all she wore a light coat, dark blue in colour. Curling up out of her collar and plugging into her ear was a dark-coloured earpiece, the other end of the cord leading to the radio on her belt. Kinsey and I wore identical ones; he'd acquired them while I was doing my work at the base.

“As a surgeon, I've got to be able to sleep anytime, anywhere,” she observed as she unbuckled her seatbelt. “I'd heard much the same about you field-operations types, but I'd never actually seen it in action before. I have to say, I'm impressed.”

Although Kinsey knew about my self-hypnosis techniques, he said nothing. I hid a smile as I undid my own seatbelt; while Ruth was definitely an ally as far as we were both concerned, there was still a certain amount of departmental pride to be taken into account. If he admitted I was unusual in that regard, it would then follow that not all field-ops people could pull it off as well as I could.

“An acquired habit,” I said, neither confirming nor denying Kinsey's implied assertion. “As I said, it helps me regroup my thoughts.” Which, for a certain definition of 'true', was actually the truth.

Ruth nodded, as if this was no surprise. To be honest, it probably wasn't. I didn't know exactly how much detail went into the reports that found their way into my file, but the self-hypnosis thing was probably featured here and there. I'd hardly made a secret of it, after all. “Did it help in this situation?”

I made a mental note to read my file sometime, just for my own peace of mind. “It certainly did,” I said as I got out of the car. “I also got the chance to look over a map. That, combined with some police reports and old arrest records, has given me quite a bit to work with.” The hospital complex loomed in the distance, and I made a show of slowly turning around. “She came this way, didn't she?” I pointed toward the intersection. “Down that way, then if she was taking the shortest direction home, she crossed the road and turned right.”

I was cheating, of course. All the pertinent facts had been slipped to me in the tablet Lisa had given to me while I was still in the hypnotic state. I knew exactly where she'd been attacked, and by whom; a cape calling himself Night Terror, who manipulated darkness like a living thing. Unlike Brian's darkness control, Night Terror could use his powers to physically attack others as well as cause an emotional shift toward, well, terror. He fed off the fear and horror his ability caused in others.

Patricia Weller had died alone, in both physical and emotional agony. I could kind of relate; I'd been there more than once. Night Terror, I decided, wasn't going to take even one more victim. It didn't matter if his crimes were ever enumerated and pinned on him, or if they resided in the 'unsolved' files for the rest of eternity. Or, as in this case, added to Crawler's list of sins.

Whatever we did, we were going to have to deal with Crawler as well. The biggest trick here was going to be convincing Kinsey that I knew what I was doing in taking down two different people in relation to the same crime. Mentally, I revised that; the biggest trick was going to be keeping Kinsey unaware of Ruth's capabilities—she could out herself to him, of course, but that was her decision to make and not mine—while simultaneously not giving away to Ruth that I had a Thinker residing in my head.

“I don't know about turning right,” Ruth said after a moment of thought. “It's entirely plausible, given where she lives.” She gestured at the car. “Are we going to be walking or driving?”

“I need to walk the route,” I said. “Figure out what happened on the way. And, as Kinsey said earlier, I'll be seeing if I can draw him out.” Kinsey and I had already discussed how we were going to be doing this, but I said it out loud anyway. “Kinsey, bring the car, but hang way back. Doctor Goldstein and I will walk. That way, we won't have to walk all the way back to the car once we're done.”

“A suggestion, ma'am?” At my nod, he continued. “Perhaps the Major would prefer to ride in the car as well?” We'd also talked about this; I'd stated it was her choice. He was a little puzzled, I could tell, about why I was giving in to her so much, but it wasn't in his nature to question my decisions. His faith in me overrode his doubts, which I greatly appreciated.

“The Major would not,” Ruth replied austerely. “I appreciate the sentiment, but I'll walk.” So saying, she turned on her heel and strode off down the sidewalk.

What was done was done. I nodded to Kinsey and started off in pursuit of Ruth. She wasn't walking quickly, so I caught up in about thirty seconds and fell into step with her. The night breeze made her coat flap a little, but not so much that it revealed the shoulder holster she was wearing. This currently contained Kinsey's hand-cannon, on the off-chance that she might need it. Of course, I was also armed; the jacket was a size or two larger than absolutely necessary to fit me, which left plenty of room for my shoulder rig.

I knew quite well that the pistol was more window-dressing than anything else for her. If we were attacked by incidental muggers, she would be far more dangerous to them without the pistol than with, which was why I intended to take point in any such encounter. Neither she nor I wished to reveal her capabilities unless it was utterly necessary.

As we proceeded along the sidewalk at a slow march, it struck me that I was keeping more secrets from my allies than I'd kept from my enemies, back in the day. There wasn't much I could do about that right at the moment, so I chose not to angst over it. Behind us, I heard the car engine start up. As we walked away, it sat there, engine turning over at a slow idle. Kinsey, of course, needed to keep his distance in order to effectively shadow us without tipping his hand.

The sound of the car engine had faded into the distance by the time Ruth turned to me. "So how are you going to do this?" she asked curiously. "I know you're very good at what you do, but there are limits to what observation and deduction can achieve. To be honest, I kind of expected you to demand all the files the PRT had about basically everything, and spend a day or two building a picture that way."

"I could've done it that way," I admitted then casually glanced around, fixing a picture in my mind of what the surroundings looked like. I wouldn't remember everything, but if something seemed out of place the next time I looked, I'd have a good chance at noticing it. "But that would've taken too long, and I'm on a tight schedule as it is. So I'm going to let you in on a little secret."

Ruth's expression barely wavered. "Is this to do with something only you know about?" Which was code for: Is this a future knowledge thing? She didn't bother assuring me she'd keep any secret I passed on to her; we both knew that was a given.

"In a way," I said carefully. Lisa had impressed upon me that the one thing I couldn't tell Ruth about was her. Even hinting about her existence was not a good idea. I wasn't sure why Lisa was being so cautious about Ruth, but I figured she had her reasons. "There's a cape and a normal involved. I came here to kill the normal before he could trigger, and he's the one who's been stalking the girls, but the cape's the one who killed Patricia." I stopped, suddenly aware that I'd said too much.

To Ruth's credit, she took the revelations in her stride. "So she's dead," she observed flatly.  “Goddamn it." For a moment she looked away, then she turned her head and eyed me sternly. "When were you going to tell me about this? Before or after we were attacked by a murderous cape? And what's so special about the guy's trigger, anyway?"

"It's not what, it's who," I corrected her. "You might recall news stories about a guy called Crawler, back in the day?" I didn't need to say any more; the look of revelation that spread across her face was answer enough.

“I know he was a member of the Nine and that he was killed somehow, but I don't know the details,” she said thoughtfully. “It happened after Leviathan, when TV coverage was spotty. He was supposed to be almost unstoppable, wasn't he? Like the Siberian, but different?”

“Yes and yes,” I said. “The PRT dropped one of Bakuda's bombs on him. It turned his entire body to glass. There was basically nothing else that could hurt him by then, I guess. I once saw him survive a power that literally teleported chunks of his body—including bits of his brain—into another dimension. He grew them back faster than they could be teleported away.”

Ruth shuddered. “If I'd required you to convince me he needs to be killed before he gets too powerful, that would've done it.” She gave me a searching glance. “Are these two—Crawler and the other cape—working together? Because if so, it's going to make our job a lot harder.”

“Not to the best of my knowledge,” I assured her. “It's mildly ironic, actually. They've never even met. Crawler—Ned—gets arrested for the murder of Patricia Weller, when it's actually the other guy—Night Terror—who did it. Night Terror's due to leave town in a few days to escape the heat, but ends up with a reputation for committing atrocities anyway. The DA pushes for the death penalty in Ned's case, and he spends the next five years on death row. His trigger event happens when they actually try to execute him. He escapes, killing a few people in the process, and earns a reputation as a crazy guy who can't be killed. When he eventually runs into the Nine, he competes with Night Terror to get on to the team and ends up killing the guy, without ever knowing it was Night Terror who got him arrested for murder in the first place.”

That earned me a snort of dark amusement from Ruth. “The world is a strange, strange place. And I'm not even referring to how we got to where we are today.” She looked around at the sleeping city. “Do you ever stop and ask yourself when life got so strange that this, here, is considered normal?”

I let a grin tug at the corner of my mouth. “When I got powers would be a strong favourite, though to be honest, things didn't start to get really weird until I came back here.” Then I recalled the thought I'd had earlier, and cleared my throat. “On a more serious note, I was thinking that instead of killing Ned, we might try to recruit him. It gets him out of the way as a future problem, and if and when he triggers, we'll have another cape on our side.”

“I … that's an interesting idea,” she said slowly. “I can see the benefits, but there's also downsides to consider. Do you think he'd be willing? Or even loyal, once he joined our side?” Her expression was serious; it was clear she wasn't rejecting the idea out of hand, but nor was she going to blindly accept it.

“He's a street thief and mugger,” I said bluntly. “Every instinct I have says he's motivated by greed and anger at the system that failed him. If he's offered a substantial paycheck to work for me, I'm pretty sure he'd grab it with both hands. So long as nobody came along with a better offer, he'd be loyal. Of course, I wouldn't trust him with any sensitive information, but as a front-line grunt—once he triggers, of course—he'd definitely be worth the expenditure. And better on our side than Jack Slash's.”

After a moment, Ruth nodded. “That's very concise, and I find I agree with your conclusions. It's worth the effort to try. Though where are you going to find the money? We don't pay our Intelligence officers that well.” A wary expression crossed her face. “Or is this something I'm better off not knowing?”

I could imagine where her mind was going to. “Relax. I'm not embezzling money, or defrauding the PRT in any way. In fact, with what I'm planning to do, they should really be paying me more.” The look on her face made me chuckle. “Joke. It was a joke.” Though it wasn't, not really. “No, I have … shall we say, access to an external revenue stream, one that's not legally connected to me. We can definitely afford to pay him whatever it takes to keep him coming back for more.”

“Understood. I'm not going to ask any more questions, because I'm reasonably certain I wouldn't like the answers.” She had a bemused look on her face by now, almost a twin to the one I'd seen on Hamilton's face from time to time. I suspected it meant something along the lines of: I'm not sure what she's up to, but I'm glad she's on my side.

“There's a lot of questions around these days that I would've been a lot happier not knowing the answers to,” I agreed. “The trouble is, once I know the answers, I'm pretty well obliged to doing something about them, if I possibly can. Thus, here and now.”

“Thus, here and now,” she echoed. “Actually, talking about that. Do you have any more details about Night Terror? Powers and capabilities, for instance?”

“Well, yes,” I admitted. “He's a darkness controller. He works better with access to actual darkness, but he can create shadows in the daytime as well. Really bright light gives him problems. The darkness he makes can dull sound and stop ordinary light …” I paused, trying not to feel homesick. His powers are not the same as Brian's, dammit!

“There's more to them though, isn't there?” Her tone was crisply professional. “Otherwise, anyone with a flashlight could deal with him.”

“Well, not a flashlight unless it's a really bright one but yes, there is,” I said. “His shadow's basically a telekinetic field that can form hooks and blades, and attack anyone inside it. Also, if the shadow touches your skin, he can make you feel fear and hopelessness and despair.” I reached across and tapped where the pistol was, under my jacket. “I don't plan to let him get close enough to use it on me. And there's no indication that the shadows are bulletproof.”

“I see.” She nodded slowly. “And does your insight extend to what happened to Patricia?” I could tell from her voice and face that she didn't want to ask the question but knew she had to anyway.

“He's a sadist. Definitely not someone we're interested in recruiting.” I kept my tone flat. “He wrapped his shadows around her and herded her into the park that's up thataway.” I pointed in a vague east-north-east direction. “Then he took his time with her. Afterward, he dumped the body in the lake.” The lake in question was to the north of us, not altogether far away. “In the normal course of events, they find the body in a few days, after Ned's arrested for attacking a couple of woman walking at night. They fight back, and he hurts them fairly badly; one of them dies in hospital a day later. He's charged with attempted murder and two cases of actual murder and while he tells them he's not responsible for Patricia, nobody believes him, not even the public defender assigned to his case.”

“I see.” She looked vaguely nauseous. “So what do you think—”

With a gesture, I cut her off. “Shh! Without turning your head, look to your left.” I did as I was telling her to do, swivelling my eyes to the left to get a better view of the figure now approaching us.

My left hand drifted to the radio that was mostly concealed under my jacket, and pressed the send button. “Alpha two to alpha three, you copy?” I murmured. “Got a hit.”

“Alpha three copies,” he replied at once. “Inbound.” Over the radio, I heard the car engine revving; I turned my attention back to Ned.

Not exactly imposing, he stood maybe five-six, with a scrawny build. In the street-light, I could see he had the hood of his jacket pulled up over his head, putting his face into shadow. One hand was almost casually held behind his back. His approach to us could be best described as a wary sidle.

“Good evening, ladies,” he greeted us in an ingratiating whine. “Either of you got the time?”

I couldn't believe he was actually using that line.

“No, but—” I began. The rest of my recruitment pitch went by the wayside as the breeze momentarily kicked up. My jacket flapped open, and Ned's eyes widened at the sight of my shoulder holster.

“Shit!” he yelped. With an admirable show of reflexes, he turned in that same instant and bolted off down the street like a startled rabbit. There was some sort of hassle with the direction he was going, but I couldn't recall it right at that second; all I knew was if he got away, there'd be a very real problem, either then or later.

“Come on!” I snapped to Ruth, and took off running after him. Immediately, I became aware of an inconvenient fact. Specifically, that although I'd mostly recovered from the damage done to me in the Compound, 'mostly' didn't mean 'totally'. My leg reminded me of this with some minor twinges, which normally wouldn't have mattered, but my lung also chimed in with a deep ache as it tried to pull in a lot more oxygen all of a sudden.

Even with all of that, I would've caught up in short order, but he had an unexpected turn of speed, probably fuelled by terror-inspired adrenaline. Still, I wasn't all that far behind when he turned a corner and disappeared from my sight. A quick glance over my shoulder confirmed that Ruth was pounding along doggedly in my wake. Seeing me start to slow down, she gave me an urgent 'keep moving' gesture. I picked up the pace again and swung out wide to circumvent any opportunistic ambush he might be setting.

With my pistol in my hand, I came around the corner fast … and stopped dead. Shadows hung heavy over the street, shifting here and there in a highly unnatural fashion. Standing in the middle of them was a guy who was most definitely not Ned. In fact, Ned was slumped untidily at the guy's feet, lying in a spreading pool of something that gleamed black in what little light there was; from context, I guessed it was blood. I couldn't see any details of the guy's face or costume, as he was clad from head to toe in shadows. But I knew who he was, and I recalled why it had been a bad idea to chase Ned in this direction. Lisa told me where he was going to be. I just forgot.

And then, just because Murphy loves to make a bad situation worse, Ruth staggered and went to one knee just as she caught up with me. I felt a wave of dizziness pass through me as well, but I managed to keep my feet. Almost instinctively, I knew what had happened. Trigger event. Ruth took the full effect, but I only felt it through Lisa.

At Night Terror's feet, Ned groaned and started to get up again. With the distance and lack of light, I couldn't see him properly from where I was, but his skin looked … rougher. Worse, his eyes and hands were glowing.

Ruth and I spoke at the same time. “Ooooooh crap.”

Part 6-4