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Our Paranormal Chernobyl Stranger watched his prey get out of his car and enter the alley. It was time to get some answers. "Let's away," he said quietly, and stepped off the roof of the building. The masked man dropped like a stone and landed like a cat: his feet touched as silently as paws; his new, powerful leg muscles flexed to absorb the impact. He stayed for a moment where he had landed, crouched in the shadows a mere fifteen feet from his target. The man was Italian-looking, with coal-black hair and skin too tanned for the Chicago in November. He wore a stylish overcoat and beautiful shoes. A large diamond shown on his right hand. Stranger had followed the man since the Art Institute, when Stranger had noticed him following the odd ones—the archer who'd called himself Crossfire, the woman in armor, and the boy who could surround himself with a coppery glow. The same people that Stranger himself had been following. Stranger had tracked the man from above, hopping from rooftop to rooftop. The odd ones followed an ordinary looking man in a suit to a tavern a few blocks away. They stayed there for an interminable time, the smell of sausage and grilled onions drifting up out of the vents, torturing him. At least Stranger's ears had stopped ringing, a side effect of being slammed by the body of a 400-foot giant. The diamond man watched from a doorway down the street, unmoving except for the time he withdrew a small phone from his pocket and called someone. A car pulled up to the tavern and another man in a suit got out—police? He certainly looked it. A little while later Crossfire, the police, and the other odd ones piled into the car and left. Mr. Diamond started moving. Stranger followed the man easily until he reached his car, something long and black and beautiful. Theo August had never driven a car, and Stranger was so new to the world that he had never even sat in one. He knew he'd never to be able to keep up with the vehicle if it reached the open road, but fortunately the car's progress was hampered by the terrible traffic jam made by the giant's appearance. Stranger kept pace easily, and when the man parked alongside an alley, he was ready to pounce. "How," said Stranger from the darkness, "is a diamond like a telephone?" The man spun to face him, coat flying open, hand reaching for his shoulder holster. "Jesus H. Christ!" he exclaimed. Stranger leaped and took the pistol from his hand. He'd been shot enough today. He tossed it over his shoulder, then grabbed the man by the shirt and held him up against the wall, feet dangling. "I said, how is a diamond like a telephone?" "What the hell's the matter with you!" the man shouted. "Are you fuckin' crazy?" Stranger made a sound like a gameshow buzzer. "ONNNK!" With his free hand, he reached into the inside pocket of the man's coat and plucked out the cell phone. "Right question, wrong answer. Or vice versa." With his thumb he pressed the re-dial button. The phone number displayed on the LCD: 312 555-2410. "The correct answer is: You notice them when there's a ring. Get it?" Disappointingly, the sound on the other end of the line was more of beep than a ring. Stranger waited for a second beep while Mr. Diamond struggled in his grip. Unfortunately, the man had started screaming for help. The line was picked up in mid-ring. "Hello?" It was a man's voice. Or maybe a woman's. "Diamante?" "Why did you call me?" Stranger demanded in mock anger. He had to raise his voice over Mr. Diamond's shouting. "Who is this?" It was worth a try. There was a slight pause, then a click as she (or he?) disconnected. Some people were so — "Rude!" Stranger gasped. He was suddenly twenty feet in the air and rising, yanked up by a dozen metal tentacles. He looked up and was surprised to see that the tentacles were connected to a huge white sphere hovering silently above him. It must have been more than fifty feet in diameter. An electronically amplified voice boomed out: "YOU ARE UNDER CITIZEN'S ARREST! DO NOT STRUGGLE AND YOU WILL NOT BE HARMED!" As Stranger struggled to overcome his profound sense of confusion, he began to recognize the sphere. Oh yes, it was much larger then before, but the tentacles and the floating round shape were quite distinct. He had lived under its thumb for most of his youth. The doctors were always to quick to pronounce his latest cure in the from of some new "happy pill." It took years of over-medication to build up his resistance, but right up to the end he was forced to take them. And the great gel cap which was holding him appeared to be of a "Sam's Club" size that even he could not shrug off. "No, not again. I will not be forced to live under your influence ever again!" Stranger shouted in fit of rage. Tuesday, 12:45 pm "A blimp? So low?" Without thinking about what she was doing, Maggie leaned over Hammersmith's lap to take a quick peek. "Not a new paranormal…" Perhaps a hundred and fifty feet above the street was a featureless white sphere, about fifty feet in diameter. And dangling below it was a man in a black hooded shirt wearing a metal mask. He was wrapped up in metal-looking tendrils attached to the bottom of the sphere. Hammersmith said, "Holee smokes." As they watched, the man in black struggled in the grip of the tentacles. Hammersmith opened the car door and slid out; Maggie stepped out after him. Maggie heard the man shout something like "No, not again!" The rest of his words were drowned in the traffic noise. "Holee smokes is right," said Maggie in a stupefied tone. She brushed her hair out of her face, fitted her helmet on, and locked it into place. "Whoever he is and whatever that techno-cthulhu thing is, he looks like he needs some help. I'd rather not pick up the pancake if the guy falls. I'll go and see what's up—I'll be on the police band, keep in touch. You might want to get a chopper here, to track whatever that is." "Got it," Hammersmith said. Maggie fired her jets and left the ground. At least that's not a mutated human—it looks mechanical. Dunno if that's good though—we have enough fish frying, we don't need a mad scientist type throwing his contraptions into the mix for good measure. Hmm… it looks metallic, the construction is seamless and aesthetically pleasing. I wonder how it flies? She approached, circling. I also wonder who this gentleman is. On closer inspection, Maggie could see that the skin of the sphere was indeed some kind of metal, but it wasn't quite seamless: she could see thin lines where the curved plates came together. It wasn't making any noise except for an intermittent hiss—gas jets, perhaps? Then it suddenly did make a noise; an electronic amplified voice from the sphere said, "MAGNITUDE! GOOD TO SEE YOU! THE NAME IS CUE-BALL, WITH A Q." Maggie had never heard of anyone named Cue-ball—or Q-Ball—hero or villain. "THIS MAN IS THEO AUGUST, HE'S WANTED BY THE POLICE! COULD YOU MAKE SURE—" "Hammer time!" Stranger whispered to himself, and threw a little extra into his efforts. The tendrils released— he was too strong for them. The rush of joy that went through him was soon extinguished by another problem: he was one-hundred and fifty feet above the ground, and falling fast. Dolt, thought Maggie as she swooped down to intercept. Splatting on the ground can't be better than jail. "Hammersmith, this is Maggie. Could you confirm an outstanding warrant on one August, Theo?" Hammersmith didn't immediately respond. Maggie picked up speed. The masked man was screaming something; she concentrated and picked the words out from the noise of the wind rushing past her helmet. "Well Ball Boy," Stranger yelled up at the sphere. "You shouldn't know my name unless you were a part of all this." He kept yelling louder as he fell, talking fast. "And what a good law enforcement person, pick up your citizen and fly him way up in the air; not very dangerous, oh no, not at all." He tucked, somersaulting once in the air so that he was falling feet-down. "I don't know what your game is, but you'll find me MORE—THAN—WILLING—TO—PLAY." This last was shouted at the top of his voice. His eyes caught a flash of sunlight at 10 o'clock high. He looked up in time to see the armored woman zooming toward him, arms open. Before Maggie made contact, she heard a click from the earphones, and Hammersmith's voice came on. "Did you say Theo August?" "That's right," said another voice. It was electronically modified and sexless—the same voice from the sphere's loudspeakers—and it was broadcasting on the police band. "The metahuman mental patient you've been looking for." Maggie remembered the name from the city press conference she'd watched in Goran's lab this morning. In a flash, the details of the conference clicked tidily into place. August had gone missing, but the psychiatrist that had been escorting him last night was found dead this morning. The doctor's body was described only as having "metahuman characteristics." August himself was supposed to have metahuman strength levels, and was considered to be "extremely dangerous." The police were definitely looking for him. But she had no more time to think because the masked man—if he was Theo August—was right in front of her. Dangerous super-strong metahuman or not, he's going splatch if I don't catch him, she thought. "Morning Gov'ner," the masked man said. "Seems I've lost my ride. It's for the best I assure you. Please continue on your way and maybe we can meet for lunch sometime." He waved her off as he continued to fall. "I am quite sure that rather large round narcotic with tentacles will be following me down, and I have a feeling it won't be a pretty sight when he catches up with me. So thanks and good-bye." Ignoring the man's words, Maggie turned her force fields up and swooped in, catching him by the waist. "I'm sorry, Mr August," she said, "but while you may be able to withstand impacting the street, that pavement is city property and I don't think City Works will appreciate you punching a hole in it, willingly or not. And please don't struggle this time; we seem to be all out of flying catchers for you." Casually-stated cold logic had usually a pretty good intimidation value, but Maggie had a feeling that this August fellow wouldn't be swayed. Stranger did not struggle as Maggie gracefully pull her arm around his waist and slowed his fall. "There is logic in your words bug lady. I would however, ask that you place me down on a rooftop somewhere," he said, pointing down towards some buildings. "Bug… lady?" Maggie said, piqued. "Hey, don't be insulting!" "You see, I was just about to ask this rather shady fellow some questions when the 'Ball-Bearing Kid' decided it would be fun to take me for a ride." "And speaking of shady," Stranger continued as he hung on to Maggie, "Just what is your relationship with that thing up there?" He was not sure who she was or what the orb thingy was, or what their connection was to each other. She seemed confident in herself and did not seem intent on harming him. As far as the flying ball went, Stranger was sure that it was not yet over between them. There was something indeed strange about how the ball thing appeared at just the right time to stop his questioning and how it knew his name. "I think you have more of a relationship than I do, seeing as you've known him longer," she replied. "Do you know who I am?" he asked. "And if so how?" "Depends. If what Mr. Cue Ball said is true, you are one Theo August, and you have an appointment with the constabulary." She waved down at Hammersmith's car. "If it's not true, then I have no idea who you might be. In either case, I'm afraid the rooftop isn't an option. I'm sure my friend the detective here will have questions for the both of you." She turned on the external speakers on her radio. "Isn't that right, detective?" Hammersmith's voice clicked on. "I'd very much like to talk to the gentleman, yes." Holding on to Stranger, she swooped around to regard Q-Ball. The sphere had descended with them. Maggie and Stranger hovered fifty feet above Hammersmith's car, and the sphere was eighteen or twenty feet above them. Traffic had come to a screeching halt, and people were stepping out of their cars to get a better look. "Gosh, I'm sorry," Stranger said. "I thought you were trying to help me by saving me from my fall. Now it seems that you had an ulterior motive in mind. Since you have done me no harm I can only assume that you're not a part of whatever is happening. However, I must ask you to release right away. And as far as the Fuzz goes," Stranger said in a strained voice. "Thanks, but no thanks." The last thing on earth he needed was a run in with the police. "Saint-Calibi," Maggie muttered. "I happen on the scene, I fly up to see you fall, I catch you before you go ka-splatch, and you freak because I happen to be with a cop and you happen to be under a warrant. Talk about gratitude." "Let me go right now," Stranger said. "You can drop me next to the car and we can talk. I really don't like being carried and I am not sure what the ball thing's intentions are. SO PUT ME DOWN." "I am doing just that," Maggie said, landing lightly next to Hammersmith's car. "I'm sure not going to hold you up forever. But you're not going anywhere—I'm releasing you in Detective Hammersmith's custody." She called out to Q-Ball. "You should land your… vehicle and talk to the detective, too. He'll have questions for you." "NO ROOM TO LAND," said the electronic voice from the sphere. It was hovering fifty feet above them, covering them with its shadow. "BUT I'LL BE HAPPY TO ANSWER ANY QUESTIONS. BE ADVISED, THEO AUGUST, THAT I HAVE A VARIETY OF NON-LETHAL WEAPONS AT MY DISPOSAL. IF YOU MOVE TO HARM THE DETECTIVE OR MAGNITUDE, I'LL BE FORCED TO SUBDUE YOU." "Now just hold on," Hammersmith said. "I'm sure there won't be any need for weapons, even if they are non-lethal." "No, there won't be any need at all for anything of the sort, but I would really appreciate it if you did not threaten me again," Stranger said, pointing his finger up at the floating sphere. "You seem to know everyone here and I'm not sure that anybody knows you. So before I listen to another word from anybody I am going to need to see some IDs from all of you—Mr. Hammersmith, Bug Lady, and Flying Ball Guy." Stranger stood a little straighter and folded his arms on his chest. "I mean, who knows who you people really are?" he said, shaking his head. Maggie stared at him. "I have no idea where the 'Bug Lady' bit came from, Mr. August, but I would appreciate if you would quit insulting me, especially right after I saved you from a doubtlessly painful impact with the ground." "I'm very sorry," Stranger said, and his tone seemed genuinely apologetic. "I didn't mean to insult you, but you never told me your name. The reason I am calling you 'Bug Lady' is because of the way that funky armor looks on your body. At least I hope it's armor. It kind of makes you look like a bug. But please, just tell me what you would like me to call you. Oh yeah—my name is not 'Mr. August.' Just call me Stranger." "As far the saving me bit goes, I thank you. You're right in thinking I could do without another doubtlessly painful impact, Ms… What's your name again?" "Thorin. Maggie Thorin." She looked down at her armor. "Yeah, I guess with a lot of imagination you could call it bug-like." "And hey you, Ball Guy," Stranger said, pointing up to the sphere. "How about you let me see your badge now." "THE NAME IS Q-BALL, SPELLED WITH A 'Q.' NO BADGE. I WAS MAKING A CITIZEN'S ARREST. DETECTIVE, I INTERCEDED WHEN I HEARD A MAN CALLING FOR HELP. HE WAS BEING ATTACKED BY THIS—STRANGER. I REALIZED HE FIT THE DESCRIPTION OF THEO AUGUST, AND TOOK IMMEDIATE ACTION." "First, could you turn down the volume, Q-Ball?" Hammersmith said. "OH. SURE." There was an electronic squeal, then: "There. How's that?" "Fine. I'll get back to you in a second. As for me—" He reached into his pocket, slowly withdrew his badge, and showed it to Stranger. "I'm Detective Hammersmith, in charge of the investigation into the metahuman deaths this morning." He carefully put the badge away, all the while talking in a soothing voice. "Now that you know who we are, can you tell me something, Stranger? I'd like to know if you are—or if you used to be called—Theo August." "Yes, I was," he answered. "And as far Q-Ball interceding in some attack, that is bull. I mean, don't you think it odd that the only way you all have recognized me is through Mr. Q-Ball here? He just happens to find me in the middle of this city and makes a citizens arrest? No, I don't think so. Why didn't he call the police—he does appear to have a radio. The only reason you guys know about this is because Ms. Thorin happened along, not because Mr. Q-Ball even tried to inform the authorities. Also, I would love to know where he was taking me, because you can bet it wasn't to any police station," he said, shaking his head. Maggie noticed Hammersmith glance at the patch of sky not blocked by the sphere. Two black specks—helicopters—were heading this way. "Look, Something happened to me last night," Stranger said. "Like the same thing that happened to the giant-guy in front of the museum. Only it was not so bad for me. But after everything that has occurred it just seems too convenient that Mr. Q-Ball happened to find me. His flying contraption seems like the perfect tool to capture any others that could have been affected by his associates' actions. Thus the VARIETY OF NON-LETHAL WEAPONS. Come on, who is this guy?" Stranger said, gesturing toward Q-Ball. "I may have been locked up in the crazy house for a while but even I know a sea urchin when I see one…not that I've ever seen one." "Sea urchin?" repeated the electronic voice. "Stranger has some good questions," said Hammersmith. "Tell us who you are and how you found him." "I'm just a concerned citizen, like Ms. Thorin," said Q-Ball. "In fact, you might say she's my role model. As for Stranger, he was easy enough to spot. From above, a man jumping from roof to roof is fairly noticeable. He'd just dropped from sight when I heard his victim shouting for help." "You just happened to be in the area?" Hammersmith asked. "I was already looking for him. Fifteen minutes ago, a police officer radioed another car and described Mr. August's appearance and put his last known location at the Art Institute. I believe the message is being relayed to the dispatcher as we speak." Hammersmith opened his mouth, closed it, then looked up at the sphere. "That message hadn't gotten to me." His tone was neutral, but there was an edge in his voice. Anger? Skepticism? "And I assure you," the sphere continued, "that I was taking Mr. August to the nearest authorities. There'd not yet been time to call the police. I thought it imperative that I separate him from the man he was attacking." Hammersmith looked at Stranger, then back at the sphere. "Is this man okay?" Before Stranger or Q-Ball could answer, the sound of helicopters became noticeable. "Wait a minute," Stranger said. "Why didn't you call the police when you first spotted me? If I am so easy to follow, why did you wait for me to do something, if you were such a concerned citizen? The time between me jumping down from the roof and then seeing you was at least a couple minutes. Why didn't you call the cops then? And yes, the man is okay—it was guy named Diamante and he was packin' heat. I caught him spying on you and the other 'Super Friends.'" "Super Friends?" Maggie queried. "Um, you know… like the Hall of Justice, the Wonder Twins, Zan, Superman. I just meant the group. And what the hell is going on with all the helicopters?" Stranger said, pointing up and looking agitated. "Police choppers," Maggie chimed in. "But I guess we're not gonna need them." But Stranger kept talking. "Oh yeah, and if you get a chance, Detective, try looking into the telephone number 312 555-2410. I think you'll find it's got some connection to all of this business." Stranger began backing away from Q-Ball. A little voice in his head told him that something was up. "I don't think that we should hang around here anymore." Maggie looked at him back into cover as if expecting an attack. Sheesh. Mental patient, they said? Out loud she said, "Aren't you being a tiny itsy little bit paranoid? I guess getting hauled up by a tentacled metal ball can be nerve-rattling… But if he's crooked, there's no reason for him to hang around talking to the cops." "Gosh, Ms. Thorin, you sure do have a gift for understatement. If I learned anything from all my years in the happy house it's that when a shiny fifty-foot floating ball with tentacles tries to grab you, you don't give it another chance." "As far as his not being crooked, I… well, just because he is still hanging around doesn't mean anything. He never really answered my questions. And speaking of paranoid, remember who he is modeling himself after." "Stranger," Hammersmith said intently, trying to get the masked man to focus on him. "I need your help. I need you to tell me what happened to Dr. Haans, and how… all this happened to you. Your life may be in danger. Why don't you come with me and Ms. Thorin, and we'll talk in a quiet place. Those helicopters were called here by me. I'm going to have them escort Q-Ball to a place where they can all land, and then we're going to ask him—or her—some very tough questions." He raised his voice. "Will you cooperate with that, Q-Ball?" "If Magnitude is going with you to provide protection," the electronic voice replied, "I'll go along with that plan." "Protection. Sure," Maggie said. Not like anyone's going to hit anyone. Could you stay calm a sec, everyone? "Sounds good to me." "All I know," Stranger said, "is that we got jumped by some weird looking doctor and nurse. I am not sure what they did to us but Doctor Haans didn't make it. That's all I know." Stranger kept glancing around as he talked. "If you want to go to a quiet place, be my guest, but I have some things to do. I have been cooperative, hell I even saved one of your officers' lives back at the museum, so I will just bid you adieu. If I find anything else I will phone it in." He looked up at Q-Ball. "And you, Ball-Sweat or Goof-Ball or whatever your name is, the next time you see me you just keep on going. Something about you stinks and it's not your exhaust fumes. So, if you're mixed up in any of this I will find out and I will get you. If not, just keep away from me all the same. Oh, and thanks for the lift Ms. Thorin," he said. Stranger started edging toward the middle of the street, his masked face swiveling back and forth, above and behind, like the only yellow-shirted member of the away team in an old Star Trek episode. His mind raced through the events of the last few minutes. Q-Ball seemed to be acting like a real hero type, but something just did not fit. How could he have possibly found Stranger so easily, and just as he was starting to close in on what was happening? It was just too convenient to be coincidence. He had to have someway tracking him. But what could it be? He was sure that something bad was going to happen really soon. He knew that he had to get out of there. "Damn," he thought, "I just know that everyone is going to start pounding me in about two seconds." This is when the detective starts making arrests, I guess, thought Maggie. She tensed a bit. If he does make a run for it I can catch him. I can fly, after all. "DETECTIVE, HE'S GOING TO RUN FOR IT!" Q-Ball blared. His volume was back on full. "STOP, OR I WILL SUBDUE YOU!" Or maybe Q-Ball can subdue him… not a good idea. Maggie glanced meaningfully at Hammersmith, waiting for his reaction. "Oh hell no. How could I run from both of you when I can't even fly?" Stranger said as he was still backing up. "Just remember what I told you, Mr. Spit-Ball: stay the hell away from me. Cause if you come after me again you had better make sure that I'm not still breathing when you're finished. Call it intuition, but I am pretty sure that you don't want me to find you when you are out of that flying gizmo of yours." He stopped next to the manhole cover. "Now if you want some," Stranger said, pointing at Q-Ball. "Come and get some." Maggie noticed that Stranger had moved to the middle of the street so that he was standing right next to a manhole cover. The two helicopters moved in to hover a hundred feet above and to each side of the sphere. "We can't let him escape," Hammersmith said to Maggie. His voice was nearly drowned out by the choppers. "But we're surrounded by civilians." Stranger, despite the din, heard the words "can't let him escape" and "surrounded by civilians." "Gotcha," said Maggie. She fired her thrusters and flew, upright, to where Stranger stood. "I don't think you've understood, Mr. August," she told the man when she was close. "You're wanted for questioning about a murder, and since you seem to be a suspect, your attempting to leave will not improve your chances." Maggie's headsets crackled to life. "Magnitude, you're blocking my shot." It was Q-Ball's sexless voice. "Could you move two feet to your right?" "What chances?" Stranger said. "Do you really think that I don't know what you're all up to? If you all get your hands on me it'll be lock'em up and throw away the key. Not because I did anything, but because I don't fit your ideas of what is normal. 'You're wanted for questioning about a murder' blah blah blah. The robotic way you say that tells me I shouldn't have wasted my time trying to talk with you." Stranger picked up the manhole cover. "Where was everyone's concern when I needed help? Oh, I understand all right—after you ask me your questions it's back to the crazy house. 'We're really sorry, Mr. Stranger, but we can't allow someone as weird as yourself loose on the street. Here, have some thorazine and saltpeter and we'll get you when the electroshock is ready.'" Q-Ball sounded in Maggie's headset again: "He's going into the sewers! You're blocking my shot!" "I'm not going with anybody," Stranger said in a very different tone. "So if you want me to stay, you know what you have to do." Maggie clenched her fists in anger and frustration, pressing so hard that her armored arms shook. If she hadn't been wearing her gauntlets she'd be bleeding from her palms. "You have got to be kidding me. I have no idea why you were being treated in that institution—although right now I suspect paranoid delusions—and my stake in this thing is to find out what happened to that psychologist who coincidentally died when you escaped, and about this whole paranormal-power-creating she-bang." She scowled. "And don't talk to me about normal and abnormal, 'cause you aren't finding a weirder mind than mine." Out of her peripheral vision, Maggie saw the sphere's shadow slide across the ground. Q-Ball was moving. Stranger saw it too. "No shooting yet," commanded Maggie through the headset, hoping against hope that Stranger would listen to reason. "Gee, nobody seems to want to toss you in the funny farm," Stranger said, "but they really should if you think I had anything to do with Dr. Haans' death. But anyway, I really recommend that you duck or something because Q-Ball appears to be about to let loose. As for me, I'm late for a very important date, but I'll see you later!" He did a quick sidestep into the open manhole holding the cover above his head. Two things happened at once: Maggie leaped, arms outstretched to tackle the masked man, and Q-Ball fired. Stranger saw only the armored woman coming for him. He twisted sideways as he dropped, still keeping the manhole cover above his head. Bug Lady's left hand struck his chest and grabbed for his shirt; the material ripped and she tumbled to the ground. A tiny white missile struck the manhole cover and exploded—into thousands of black threads. The threads burst outward, then in a flash contracted in on themselves. The cover became completely enmeshed, and Stranger's hands, gripping the rim, were trapped as well. The backs of his hands banged against the pavement, and his fall stopped with a jerk. Not long ago—yesterday, in fact—Theo August would have screamed in pain as the metal cover came down on his palms and his knuckles shattered against the rim of the pipe. But August was gone now, and Stranger's steel-hard skin barely registered the impact. But he was stuck for the moment—he hung there in the dark, suspended by his hands. _________________ Maggie got up from the ground and moved to where Stranger had dropped into the hole. The man's hands gripped the sides of the manhole cover, which was covered by the black threads from Q-Ball's missiles. "You really aren't being reasonable," she said. With a squeal of metal, the manhole cover creased in the middle and bent upwards. Stranger's hands ripped free of the threads, and then there was silence. Hammersmith ran forward. "Darn it!" he said. Q-Ball hovered closer. "My shot was blocked, Detective," the sphere said over its loudspeakers. "My apologies." "Saint-Calibi," swore Maggie as she pulled aside the bent metal lid and leaped into the hole. She fell ten feet before landing with a splash in the fetid water. The shaft ran north and south. Stranger was nowhere to be seen. She heard nothing, and could see only a short distance in each direction. Lovely. Maggie flew back out of the hole. We have a paranoid metahuman on the loose. She landed next to the manhole and made a show of dusting her legs off. At least I'm dry. Thank goodness for force fields. "He got away," she said, frustrated. I really need to work on that nightvision visor. And a scent-tracker wouldn't hurt. Hmm… "Got away?" Hammersmith said, incredulous. "How? Can he teleport too?" Before waiting for an answer, the detective ran back to his car. Maggie's headset crackled to life. "I don't understand," Q-Ball said. "Why did you give up so quickly?" "I don't have any lights", Maggie explained. "Okay then. I'm going to send down a drone—it doesn't need lights. I'll keep in touch by radio—I can, uh, only concentrate on running either the drone or the big sphere, so I'd appreciate it if you relayed my messages to the detective. Okay?" "Great. I'll go with it." She frowned. "I hope it's got some way of tracking our suspect though, because it's dark down there and it's gonna be a maze." "I don't know how we'd track him, but—" There was a click, a short burst of static, then another click. Q-Ball's voice came back, a little less loud than before. "—if you have any ideas, I'd like to hear them." A tiny white ball zipped out of an aperture at the top of the large sphere and sped down towards her. Maggie smacked her forehead. "We could have tried to track him from the rippling of the water. I wish I had thought of this earlier." Dumb, dumb, dumb… Maggie knew she wasn't perfect, but she thoroughly hated it when her wits left her. She had little tolerance for foolishness, especially when it came from herself. She jogged to Hammersmith's car at the side of the road, the small white sphere floating after her. Bystanders were out of their cars and standing just outside the circle made by the larger sphere's shadow. "Detective, can I use your flashlight?" Hammersmith was hunched over in the open door of the car, talking urgently into the radio mic. He looked up and said, "Wait, I'm— what's that? Baby-Ball?" He gestured at the sphere hovering over Maggie's right shoulder. It was a foot and a half in diameter. "This is a drone, Detective, a device I control remotely. It can guide us in the sewers." Q-Ball's voice came simultaneously over the radio in Maggie's ear, and from tiny speakers somewhere on the sphere's surface. The voice from the speakers was high-pitched and hard to hear. Hammersmith had already stopped listening. He issued a few more orders into the radio. The helicopters were to stay in position, and any free squad cars were to be routed to this intersection. The he dropped the radio mic, took two flashlights from the rack under the seat, and handed one to Maggie. "I'm going down there," he said. "Tell them to have nearby manholes watched," said Maggie. "He can't go very fast under there, and he might not want to stay long. If we're lucky he'll pop out the next manhole he sees, and your people can follow him discreetly." "Good idea." Hammersmith relayed that info to the helicopters. She thought a bit. "We can try looking for signs of his passage down there. The bottom of this vase is going to be very muddy, he can't help but leave some sort of tracks. He was not visible nor audible when I got down there, though, so he's moving both fast and quietly. It will be difficult." The group raced back to the manhole. "We won't have SWAT or PRIMUS backup," Hammersmith said. "The nearest teams are already enroute to some kind of metahuman rampage that Waters is covering. So we're it." He looked first at Maggie, then at the tiny sphere hovering at eye level, then up to the fifty-foot ball hanging above them. "I don't know who the hell you are, Q-Ball, but I don't have time to look for more help. I want to make it clear that I want to talk to Stranger. I do not want to start a fight that rips up the Chicago storm drain system. If we get close and he flees, try to subdue him. But if you cannot contain him, let him go. I do not— NOT—want any more dead bodies today." "Do I make myself clear?" "Clear sir," squeaked the drone. "I hope to earn your trust. And may I add—" the drone rotated slightly in Maggie's direction. "If I ask you to move two feet to the right or left, please do so." "I will." She frowned. "I'm sorry. I was hoping we would not need to shoot at him, but our friend seemed quite past reason." Maggie flew down the hole, feet first, stopping a few inches above the water, her belt jets roaring. The drone zipped down after her and floated on its hissing gas jets. Hammersmith began to climb down the rungs set into the side of the shaft. The sewer ran north and south. Maggie switched on her flashlight. "Here we go." |