"Still Flying, Still a Fool"
Jan. 30th, 2025 06:44 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
dochermes"Still Flying, Still a Fool"
11/6-11/8/2024
I.
Twenty-eight thousand pounds of armored car lifted straight up into the air and were gone from sight within seconds. It was a clear morning in early October with plenty of bright sunlight. Only eleven people nearby the South Valley Credit Union got a good look at the event, and only one had the alertness to whip up his phone and take four seconds of blurry, poorly framed video. Online media played this footage obsessively for a week, a number of TV channels also ran it once or twice. The two uniformed guards had just entered the credit union and ironically did not witness their car being stolen. The strange event was quickly and thoroughly dismissed by the general public as an amusing hoax of unknown purpose. But the Swift Security Company, which had lost the considerably expensive vehicle as well as its cargo of three hundred million dollars, did not laugh.
Gliding smoothly along at two thousand feet, where it was not visible to the naked eye of an observer on the ground, the dark green armored car slowed and then descended to a rift deep in the scenic Poconos. Neatly as any helicopter, it settled down within a ring of a half dozen all-terrain vehicles. Ten men in sturdy work clothing stood back and watched the landing. On the ground were two heavy duty acetylene torch kits, crowbars and other tools. Standing away from the others was a single figure in a black business and tan topcoat.
Riding on the roof of the stolen armored vehicle was the notorious Flying Fool. A man of average height and build, he was wearing a snug one-piece jumpsuit of a light blue color which made him difficult to spot from the ground. A black flight helmet with tinted visor concealed his face. The Fool's garment had wrist to elbow gauntlets set with complex control panels, and the leather belt supported six pouches big enough to hold a dinner plate in each one.
Secured in a flat holster on that belt was a small .32 LCP. In all his many heists, the Flying Fool had not yet needed to use it. He had both a personal and a professional dislike of violence.
"Right on time as always," announced the man in the business suit. "Well done. Check your account."
Glancing at a screen on his left gauntlet, the Fool nodded. His amplified voice boomed down through a speaker in his helmet. "Correct amount deposited and locked. All right then! I believe our transaction is concluded then."
"My boss has another job in mind for you," called up the man in the dark suit. "He would like a speedy small yacht suitable for little trips between Florida and Cuba."
The Flying Fool laughed. "I'll start shopping right away! Have fun cutting open your Christmas present, boys." With that, he tapped a button on his cuff and shot silently upward into the sky. Spinning as he rose, leveling off at three thousand feet, the Fool swung around to zip quickly back toward the border between Pennsylvania and New York. Inside the crash helmet, David Woodley was grinning. He loved his life.
II.
Jocelyn Garimara's duty that night was inspection of the garage beneath KDF headquarters. Big enough to hold two cars at once, at the moment only the new maroon Jeep Ranger was there. That vehicle had already had its fuel, oil, tires and battery checked. Moving around the benches and shelves that ringed the walls, she went through a checklist of all the necessary tools and supplies. The only item low was windshield wiper fluid, not the most urgent supply but she made a note of it.
At thirty-eight, she looked to be in her mid-twenties at most. The Kumundu martial art training and Tagra tea with its enhanced healing made her as fit as any Olympic gymnast. Only five feet one and not more than one hundred pounds, she moved with a dynamic restlessness born of excess vitality. Jocelyn had the rich dark brown skin, straight coarse black hair and distinctive facial bone structure of her tribe in Northwest Australia, with large dark eyes that always seemed a bit pensive. Her accent had long since been muted by a life of world travel.
Three months had dragged by since her Red Spectre had been shattered. It showed no signs of ever returning. That sensation of carrying living lightning coiled in her chest was gone and for the first time since puberty she was only a normal, flesh and blood Human woman. Conflicting emotions mixed relief at not having to rein in that great power with a sense of deep loss. But Jocelyn's life as an outsider from both white Australians and her own people had left her guarded and she habitually kept her true feelings to herself. Even to her teammates here in the Kenneth Dred Foundation, she was opaque.
Along one wall was a series of twelve niches, each of which held a heavy-duty canvas knapsack. Each KDF member kept one of these travel bags ready with their field suit, weapons and assorted personal items so that they could snatch it up instantly to leave instantly. Her own bag was number 6. Since losing the Red Spectre, she had added some more of the miniaturized Trom-sized devices to compensate. Jocelyn studied the screen on her Link device and was pleased she had reached the end of the checklist. Three minor items needed to be replenished, that was all.
Just as she was clipping the Link back to her belt, the small flat device beeped twice. That brought her instantly to full alertness. "Yes, captain?"
The familiar trusted voice of Lauren Sable Reilly said, "I've got some action for you, Joss. Report to the hangar with your travel kit."
"On my way!" she laughed. Jocelyn felt she was presentable in what she was already wearing... sneakers, black jeans and her favorite waist-length denim jacket over a bright yellow T-shirt. No need to change. She grabbed her knapsack and tugged its straps across her shoulders as she hustled from the garage. The Midnight War was on again!
Within three minutes, Jocelyn stepped into the hangar which took up the entire top floor of the headquarters building. As always, she felt a little thrill of excitement seeing the sleek sharklike shape of the black stealthcopter CORBY. The top rotors were turning slowly. No logos or identifying numbers showed on the fuselage of the completely illegal craft.
Standing by the right forward hatch was her team captain, helmet cradled in the crook of her arm. "Wheels up in thirty seconds," Sable said. "I'll brief you on the way."
Securing her knapsack in the passenger compartment, Jocelyn swung up into the co-pilot seat. Sable was already adjusting her safety straps and punching final buttons. The interior of the cockpit glowed with subdued pastel green and blue status lights. Any of them turning red would be immediately noticed. "Here we go."
Overhead, the segmented steel roof rolled aside to reveal the night sky. The CORBY rose smoothly straight up, making no more noise than a stiff breeze. As the roof panel closed again, Sable brought the copter up to five thousand feet and turned its nose west. Showing no external lights, the black craft was as good as invisible at night. A ground observer standing by the KDF building would have caught only a brief glimpse at best before the CORBY was gone.
Setting a course into the ship guidance, Sable said, "You remember the Flying Fool from the Coronet case a few years ago?"
"Oh, sure. He's a wanker, not a stand-up scrapper. Your average Girl Scout could deck him with no trouble."
That made Sable laugh. "Fair enough, fair enough. He's not usually a violent criminal. The one big black mark on his record is the death of that one man that fell ten stories to the pavement when the Fool was abducting him. Even if he didn't intend it, that's negligent manslaughter during the commission of a felony. It's called felony murder."
"Yeah. I forget what state that was in, but he could easily get the death penalty for that. From what I remember, his name is Dave Woodley. His father worked for John Grim, and Grim got hold of a Trom gravity shield. Woodley's dad studied the mechanism and Woodley himself finally figured out how to make his own gravity shields, they're not as good as the original of course. As you might expect."
Sable's gaze was constantly moving over dials and gauges, over the row of small monitor screens, at the terrain that showed below through the light enhancement windscreen. "We're only going a few hundred miles, Joss. It's not worth hitting Mach-plus for just a few minutes. Anyway, Woodley makes good money taking commissions for various millionaires and underworld figures. He steals vintage cars, yachts, statuary, heavy items that are hard to move. And yesterday as we saw on the news, he made off with an entire Swift armored car."
"Next he'll be stealing your Fort Knox, eh?"
"Please don't give him any ideas, dear. I think there's a strong likelihood he'll try to rob a place called Advantage Research. It's a lab which is receiving a shipment of some rare earths like yttrium and europium,."
Jocelyn grinned, flashing perfect teeth in the dim cockpit. "Oh, I get it. He needs those materials to make more of his knock-off gravity shields! Can't buy them from the someone's trunk in a truck stop. Psst, wanna buy some yttrium, ya know?"
On the ground ahead of them, the diffuse glow of a city brightened the horizon. "That's Corbett. Decent town, population twenty five thousand. There's a leased car waiting for you and I booked a room for three days at the Restwell Motel on Route 16."
"Hey, captain," groused Jocelyn, "Just exactly WHY do we always stay at seedy motels on the outskirts? The KDF can afford a decent hotel now and then. It'd be nice to have room service and maybe a pool on the grounds."
Sable shrugged. "Fewer people around to see us carrying prisoners in and out, or to witness our death duels. We've become a little too public lately. The citizens are better off not knowing about the Midnight War."
"Yeah, makes sense."
"Also, I'm cheap."
"Heh..."
The CORBY touched down silently on the edge of a high school football stadium. Two cars waited in the darkness under some elms. As Sable and Jocelyn hopped out, an older couple emerged from a white SUV rather less nimbly and went to meet them. Jeff and Roberta Denberg hugged the two women warmly.
"Thanks for setting transport up for us," Sable said. "You've been an immense help."
Mrs Denberg's voice was on the verge of breaking with emotion. "Oh. We've only enjoyed the past eleven years of life because of you, Sable."
"That night in Quilt's shack, when he had us tied up and was teasing us about what tortures he was going to try first." Jeff Denberg took a deep breath. "Then you kicked the door in so hard! And you threw a flash-bang grenade right into that monster's face."
Jocelyn broke in, "Wait, you fought Quilt...?! By yourself?"
"Sure. That was right about the time you joined the team."
"Jeez, captain, I am gobsmacked. You never mentioned it."
Sable turned back to the older couple and gestured to the black truck nearby. "That's a Tundra, right?"
"Damn right," said Mr Denberg. "2023 Toyota Tundra, rugged and reliable. I used to own one. All the papers are in the glove compartment. Here's the keys."
"You said to charge it to the KDF and the leasing went smoothly," his wife added. "And like you suggested, we went to a nice Italian restaurant on your dollar, too. I ate twice as much of the stuffed shells as I should have," she added with a satisfied chuckle."
Sable took a second to shake their hands. "Thanks again, I better take off before someone drives by and sees an unmarked unauthorized helicopter just sitting there. Thanks again, you two. Jocelyn, report as developments dictate."
As they watched the CORBY lift off into the night sky, Jocelyn sighed. "I have to shove off, too, I'm afraid. But sometime I really want to hear your story. Sable vs Quilt! Bloody hell..."
"It's too late for us to be out running around, honestly. Very glad to meet you, Jocelyn. It's a great comfort to know you and your friends are out there protecting us."
After the Denbergs drove off, Jocelyn trudged over and climbed up into the immaculate truck. Now to find and stake out the lab they hoped the Flying Fool intended to rob.
III.
At one-thirty the next afternoon, Jocelyn turned over on the queen-sized bed and woke up. After kicking off her boots, she had stretched out fully dressed and fallen asleep. She felt refreshed and energetic. Between her conditioning and the Tagra tea regimen, she could function perfectly well on three or four hours of sleep out of every twenty-four, but she did need that much.
Yawning and stretching, she stared at the wall clock. The vigil outside the lab building had been a waste of time. The Flying Fool must have been flying and being foolish somewhere else that night. By nine-fifteen that morning, with the staff all arrived and people coming and going, she had decided to go to this motel room. Her thought was that Woodley would strike late at night to avoid confrontation.
Jocelyn saw no messages on her Link. She send a terse report to Sable that nothing had happened and got up.
Stripping off her outer clothes, she stood revealed in the skin-tight Trom armor which looked like dark wet silk. Only her feet, hands and head were not protected. She opened the armor on its inner paramagnetic seam and tugged it off. Jocelyn had the sleek hard body of a runner. Snatching the small toiletries bag from her knapsack, she went into the bathroom. A steaming hot shower and some grooming perked her up more. While the inside-out armor hung up to dry, she gave the room a more thorough scrutiny. So drab and unimaginative. Bloody hell, next solo mission she had, she'd pay herself to rent a more ritzy hotel room with some amenities.
For the next few minutes, she studied the KDF file on Dave Woodley. Thirty-eight years old, five feet ten and one hundred eighty pounds, light brown hair and eyes. Nothing special to look at, not bad-looking so much as kind of bland. He seemed obviously at a high level of intelligence with a great record working in electronic innovation and research. He had been in considerable demand before going career thief. If any Human could replicate Trom tech, Woodley was a likely candidate.
As she sat naked, cross-legged, on the bed, a thought came to her. Her Red Spectre didn't seem to be coming back. Without any superhuman abilities of her own, Jocelyn felt realistically that she wasn't contributing anything special to the team. But she had been in the Vault where the KDF kept locked up a hundred occult talismans and weapons. If Sable agreed, Jocelyn could claim something potent like an Eldanaran travel crystal or Malberon's silver hammer and step back up to superhuman status. What else was hidden down there? Wait. The Sceptre...
Finding the Trom armor had dried, she put it on over fresh bra and panties. Then the same jeans and boots, but a clean dark green pullover. Most of her travel knapsack was taken up by the field suit. Jocelyn checked the various miniature tools hidden in slits and inner pockets of her denim jacket. She threaded a detachable holster to her belt, examined the needle-barreled gas-powered pistol that fired their anesthetic darts and watched herself move in the mirror over the dresser. The jacket hid the dart gun well.
Her stomach made an audible rumble. Yes, well, time to fuel up. Jocelyn made one last survey of the room and went out into a crisp breezy Fall afternoon. She had seen a little bistro last night as she had arrived at the motel. Jocelyn drove the leased Tundra to the cafe which had a hand-painted sign, CRESCENT MOON. Inside was a cozy, wood-walled interior with round tables and acoustic guitar music. The menu was mostly Mexican, which suited her fine. A chimichanga with shredded beef and sour cream really won her approval. The ingredients were fresh and the fried burrito had been prepared with care. She finished with a bottle of beer, even though the alcohol had no effect on her because of her elevated healing factor.
Back on duty. She parked across the street from a three story red brick building with its own parking lot. A metal post held a wide blue and white sign, ADVANTAGE RESEARCH - ALEXANDER GRIM ENTERPRISES. She counted twelve cars parked in numbered slots, all respectable vehicles in good condition. Jocelyn walked across the street and headed for the double glass doors of the lab. Her rudimentary plan was to ask for an engineer named, oh, Ben Feldstein, who had promised her an interview for her blog. They would tell her no such person worked there. She would reply that there must have been some mistake, apologize and leave. But she would have had an opportunity to plant a few of the tiny Trom monitor devices in unobtrusive places. After closing hours, those devices would alert her of any break-in of the building and she would be nearby. They also broadcast a signal she could follow on her Link for a distance of up to two hundred miles.
She never made it to the entry doors. Over in the far corner of the parking lot, she spotted four men getting out of a car. The aggressive, intimidating way they walked as a group triggered her Kumundu training. They had violent intent toward someone. Without hesitation, Jocelyn picked up her stride and headed straight for them. Even without the power of her Red Spectre, she was fearless.
Details crackled into her perception as she got closer. Four men, all at least six feet tall and solidly built. All in their thirties or early forties. Three white Americans, one with red hair, the final man was of Jamaican descent. They were wearing business suits complete with ties. From the way their clothes fit and how they held their hands, two of them had pistols in their belts. Way too many factors for these to be anything else but professional enforcers, whether for crime or for law enforcement.
Then she saw who they were after.
Closing the door of a gold Nissan Ultima was a man in jeans and a loose red flannel shirt. Hanging at his waist from a shoulder strap was a leather satchel two feet across. Dave Woodley, there was not the slightest doubt. Jocelyn was a hundred feet away and she moved over to be close to the row of cars parked against the Advance research lab. Her armor would protect her effectively against handguns but her head was left exposed. She might need to take cover behind a car. Her right hand reached up under her jacket and closed around the grip of her anesthetic dart gun. Adrenalin shot through her veins.
The four enforcers spread out when they were twenty feet away from the Flying Fool, spreading out in a line. One said quietly, "There you are. The big man wants a little talk with you."
That provoked a sharp bitter laugh. "I bet! Policastro's idea of a little talk always involves breaking a few bones."
"Come on, Woodley, don't do this the hard way..."
The Fool crossed his arms in front of his body and his right hand went up into the loose unbuttoned shirt sleeve where the control cuff could be glimpsed. "As if I trust a gorilla like you."
DThe leader of the enforcers stepped closer and drew his Glock 19 from his belt, keeping it close to his body. The other three thugs began to form a circle. Unnoticed by anyone in that confrontation, Jocelyn Garimara readied herself to intervene.
Suddenly, Woodley began sweeping his arms as if conducting an orchestra. From the satchel, two metal discs the size of dinner plates shot upward and swirled like furious hawks around the four men.
Jocelyn gasped at the unexpected burst of action, then ran toward it with her dart gun in hand. The gravity shields cracked hard against the thugs' heads and chests, knocking them down to the asphalt. They were obeying the instructions Woodley gave by waving his arms. One of the enforcers managed to tackle the Flying Fool and bring him down. The goon held Woodley by the shirt front with one hand and started pounding at his face with the other. One of the flying discs slid in between them and rose irresistibly upward. The thug was lifted ten feet into the air and flipped over to land on his back with a brutal thump.
"Why can't we just do business like reasonable people?!" screamed Woodley. "You guys always make things complicated." He rubbed gingerly at his battered face. None of the four enforcers were still on their feet. The Flying Fool drew his elbows in close to his sides and the two gravity shields hovered protectively near him. Understandably, people across the street had stopped to stare at the bizarre violence. Cars had slowed to a stop. There was a gawking face at every window of the lab building.
The Flying Fool whirled around to see Jocelyn right next to his car. "Oh no! I remember YOU!" He jabbed out his pointing hand in an accusatory gesture. One of the flying discs whipped over, slamming flat against her chest and carrying her bodily off her feet to crash against the side of the building. A normal Human might have had cracked ribs or sternum from that impact. Even Jocelyn was stunned by having the breath driven entirely from her lungs. She slid gasping to a seated position against the brick wall.
Retrieving the gravity discs, the Flying Fool slid behind the wheel of his still-running Nissan. He backed carefully around the sprawled bodies lying in the way and headed for the exit. He paused near where Jocelyn was starting to get up. "Listen! You're the Red Spectre, right? I tried not to hurt you, you understand? Just leave me alone, I'm not bothering you." And he peeled out, turning left on the side street and hurtling right past a corner stop sign.
People were beginning to stick their heads out of the lab building doors. By then, Jocelyn realized that the local police must have received a dozen hysterical phone calls. There couldn't be more than a few minutes before patrol cars would come tearing up. She rose, holstering her dart gun and forced herself to trot across the parking lot. Her enhanced healing kicked in. At a full run, she crossed the street and dove into the driver's seat of the leased truck. People on the sidewalk got a good look at her but that couldn't be helped. She left the scene just as sirens could be heard in the near distance.
IV.
Back at the Restwell, she made a full report to Sable. Jocelyn was seething with embarrassment and self-reproach at how badly everything had gone. "I should relocate from this motel, captain. I expect cops knocking on the door any second!"
Sable's face on the Link screen wore a wry half-smile. "No worries about that right now. I've been following police chatter and phone calls. Not a legal activity by any stretch, but they can't stop our Trom tech. As far as I can tell, no one got your license plate number. The vague descriptions of you are absolutely worthless. And the real focus is on Woodley, of course. The FBI has wanted to grab him for a decade now. That's where all the police efforts are concentrated."
"And he's got a new trick. He makes his gravity shields fly around and controls them by moving his arms."
"Woodley is creative, that's for sure. He used to have to sneak around and plant the discs by hand. Now he has remote piloting. And he can use them for offense or defense. My estimate of him as an opponent has been revised upward."
"Bloody hell, I can still take him," Jocelyn spat. "I'm going to bring that wanker in one way or another. Listen. The signal from the monitor I planted shows he's sixty-three miles north and he's hasn't moved. He's got a hideout. I'm going to find him right now!"
Sable remained cool and controlled. "I don't doubt you, Joss. As a matter of policy, I like to send out a two-member team for even routine chores but there's a lot going on right now. Galvan should be back from Okali tonight and Carlo is returning from Tel Shai in the morning. I'll send one of them foe backup."
"Oh, and what about Policastro? One of those bruisers mentioned him. Bad blood between him and the Flying Fool? I hope!"
"That's why Department 21 Black is moving in. I expect they'll take over. Regular police aren't up to clashes with Alchemists like Policastro."
Jocelyn took the deepest breath she could, then let it out slowly. "I have got to get hold of my damn self. I'll do myself a mischief if I don't. This is just another mission. Tain't nothing personal going on."
"I have to go now, someone from INTERCEPT is calling on the regular phone. Keep me updated, Jocelyn."
"Absolutely." As the connection broke off, she clipped the Link back to her belt. She remembered Woodley's last words about his not hurting her. He hadn't killed the gunmen who had been sent to bring him, either. Compared to coming up against murderous lunatics like Sepulchre or Sanhain, fighting Dave Woodley didn't seem neary as dangerous.
She had set her Link to alert her if the monitor on Woodley's car moved significantly. But Jocelyn realized glumly that wasn't any guarantee of being able to find the man. The car might very well have been stolen. Certainly Woodley of all people had a record of literally swooping off with dozens of cars, so he might steal and then abandon one frequently. Or, if he acted at night for secrecy, he could easily fly anywhere under his own power. She had decided even while leaving the fight scene that she would pursue him immediately.
Throwing her knapsack up on the double bed, Jocelyn stripped off her outer clothing and got into the black field suit. Boots, tight pants, a crewneck shirt and the waist-length jacket with its own inner layer of the Trom armor for extra protection. The helmet was clipped to the outside of the knapsack. Jocelyn transferred the miniature gadgets and weapons from her denim jacket to the field suit, being sure not to overlook any. Made by the Trom, these included flares the size of a pencil, dazzle grenades and smoke bombs the size of grapes, an oxygen membrane for breathing underwater, an extra magazine of twenty anesthetic darts, one of the unlocker devices. There was a diamond-dust edged flexible hacksaw blade in a lapel, there were single-edged razor blades in slits at the top of each boot and the inside of each cuff for escaping from bonds. Each of these had saved her life more than once.
Jocelyn always smirked as she added a few mundane items like her wallet, ChapStick, tissues and a short-handled hair brush to one pocket. No matter what the Midnight War brought, everyday life went on. She made sure her jacket covered the holstered dart gun, snatched up the helmet and hurried out of the motel room. It was overcast and chilly outside with a stiff breeze but she hardly noticed. In the field suit, she had hiked through both blizzards and burning buildings without harm. Back in the truck, she set the Link up on the dashboard where she could see it. A map grid showed a blinking green blip where the tagged car was located. Jocelyn's anger had been replaced by calm determination as she pulled out onto the street. Time to finish this.
V.
An hour and a half later, she had left the Tundra at the end of a dirt trail miles away from the road. Ahead of her was a steep cliff rising up to a ridge one hundred feet overhead. Jocelyn lowered the helmet down over her head and fastened it to her high collar but left the visor up. She stared up to where halfway up the cliff face, a cave opening showed black and open. It was fifteen feet across and ten feet high and looked as if it had been enlarged by Human efforts. Jocelyn gave a remarkably feral grin as she enjoyed the thought of catching up with her target like cornering a badger in its tunnel.
The average person would not have even thought of trying to climb that nearly smooth surface. Experienced climbers would have taken some time to plan an ascent and probably decided on using equipment. Jocelyn Garimara stepped forward, leaped up and grabbed a projection high an inch deep. She hauled herself up, found another hold and began to skitter up the cliff like a spider. She was immensely strong for her size and her low body weight helped her climb seemingly without effort. Within a few minutes, she had both hands inside the cave opening and was raising herself up on both elbows.
One of the gravity shields whizzed past her head, grazing her helmet, and fastened between her shoulders, near her right shoulder. It was held on not by any adhesive or clamp but by the unbreakable force of increased gravity itself. Jocelyn found herself lifted like a scrap of paper in the wind and tugged swiftly into the darkness. The dart gun was already in her hand and she intended to knock this Fool out so he would wake up in handcuffs as the FBI Department 21 Black was loading him into a van.
But the disc spun her blindingly fast in mid-air like a pinwheel. She couldn't breathe. All the blood was rushing away from her head. All her conditioning and enhanced healing couldn't deal with the trauma. For a full minute, she spun and then was slammed down hard to the rocky cave floor, pressed down by a force beyond Human muscles to resist. The dart gun was tugged out of her grasp. Jocelyn gasped as she fought the vertigo and managed not to vomit.
A kerosene lamp on a wooden stand had been lit. At the rear of the cave sat the gold Nissan, brought up here by the flying discs. There was a cot with blankets and a pillow, an open laptop on a folding stand by a canvas lawn chair and a tangle of fast food wrappers. Standing over her, juggling the dart gun in one hand, Dave Woodley made a tsk-tsk sound.
"Aw, come ON! What is this? You guys just won't leave me be, will you?" he complained.
"You never stood trial for the man you dropped ten stories to his death," Jocelyn replied.
"No. No. He wriggled out of his coat and fell. I wasn't trying to kill him. I'm not like that."
"Tell that to the judge. It was manslaughter committed during kidnapping," she growled.
"Like I don't feel bad enough about it. I have been so careful ever since. Listen, I remember you from when I was working in that Coronet gang. Don't let your goddam Red Spectre out or I swear I'll send you flying straight up into outer space. That thing scares me half to death. Okay? This doesn't have to end badly."
Strain as she might, Jocelyn could not raise her chest an inch off the stone floor. But her right arm was bent so that she might be able to get her fingers into the lowest pocket of her field jacket. Yes... "Woodley, ease it up just a bit, will you? It's really hard to breathe."
"No tricks now! You Tel Shai guys are dangerous, I saw you in action." He tapped on the controls of his left cuff panel. "I'll crank it down a little."
"Oh, that's better. Thank ya."
Woodley stepped a little closer. "You're Australian, right? I always wanted to go there, maybe retire under a new identity. I've seen a few Australian movies I liked. RED ROCK MOUNTAIN and that one about spies, what was it, MASTER MINDS?"
"You can watch Netflix in prison," she replied, taking deeper breaths.
"I think what I have to do is get my car down on the road. Then I can retrieve that shield and I'll be long gone before you can chase me." He fiddled with the dart gun. "How'd you find me, anyway?"
"We're like super-heroes, we have all kinds of cool abilities. Listen, Woodley, I think I believe you... mostly. You're a professional thief but you're not bad to the bone. Maybe we can negotiate surrender terms."
"No way. Not gonna happen. I'll always be be still flying, still a fool, I can't change."
"Good on yah, mate." With great care, she had managed to grip a small metal globe from within her pocket. There would only be one chance at this. "You sound like you're going to break into a song next."
The Flying Fool held the dart gun up to get a better look. "Where is the safety hidden on this gizmo? I know I can figure it out."
Using only her wrist, Jocelyn flipped the resonance grenade upward and it landed exactly on the gravity shield. The sharp crack of the detonation echoed dramatically in the cave. These devices were not nearly as strong as regulation military grenades, being designed to do minor damage but to disorient and startle enemies. Instantly, the pressure holding her down vanished as the shield broke open. Jocelyn leaped to her feet like an enraged leopard. A confused Dave Woodley did not have a necessary moment to comprehend what had happened before a small tight fist blasted squarely into the center of his face, spinning him completely around.
Tackling the Fool, Jocelyn knelt over him and grabbed the man's wrists and began smashing his forearms on the ground as hard as she possibly could. The stiff control cuffs broke, tiny circuits popping out and wires dangling free with sparks on the ends. Woodley finally shook off that punch and tried to throw Jocelyn off him, but she drove a knee down into the pit of his stomach. That removed any resistance he might have put up.
When she was satisfied the control cuffs were useless shells of ruined circuitry, Jocelyn flipped the Fool over onto his stomach and secured his wrists behind him with a pair of tough plastic twist-ties. He wasn't wearing his sidearm. The gunbelt hung over the back of the lawnchair, safely out of reach. Jocelyn rose to her feet, her breathing quickly going back to normal as the danger ended.
"Dammit! Dammit! This is my fault," Woodley grumbled. "If I were really tough and hard, I'd have squashed you with the gravity shield and I'd be free."
"Ah, don't wish to be worse than you are," she said gently. "I'm glad you're not a cold killer. This isn't the end of the world. You may be going to prison but I bet it won't be forever. And who knows, a man with your skills is valuable. You might qualify for some work release program."
Dave Woodley wriggled into a seated position on the cold cave floor. "Like what? Like I might get out early if I help you guys fight a monster or two?"
Surprising herself, Jocelyn smiled. "Stranger deals have been made."
1/20/2025
11/6-11/8/2024
I.
Twenty-eight thousand pounds of armored car lifted straight up into the air and were gone from sight within seconds. It was a clear morning in early October with plenty of bright sunlight. Only eleven people nearby the South Valley Credit Union got a good look at the event, and only one had the alertness to whip up his phone and take four seconds of blurry, poorly framed video. Online media played this footage obsessively for a week, a number of TV channels also ran it once or twice. The two uniformed guards had just entered the credit union and ironically did not witness their car being stolen. The strange event was quickly and thoroughly dismissed by the general public as an amusing hoax of unknown purpose. But the Swift Security Company, which had lost the considerably expensive vehicle as well as its cargo of three hundred million dollars, did not laugh.
Gliding smoothly along at two thousand feet, where it was not visible to the naked eye of an observer on the ground, the dark green armored car slowed and then descended to a rift deep in the scenic Poconos. Neatly as any helicopter, it settled down within a ring of a half dozen all-terrain vehicles. Ten men in sturdy work clothing stood back and watched the landing. On the ground were two heavy duty acetylene torch kits, crowbars and other tools. Standing away from the others was a single figure in a black business and tan topcoat.
Riding on the roof of the stolen armored vehicle was the notorious Flying Fool. A man of average height and build, he was wearing a snug one-piece jumpsuit of a light blue color which made him difficult to spot from the ground. A black flight helmet with tinted visor concealed his face. The Fool's garment had wrist to elbow gauntlets set with complex control panels, and the leather belt supported six pouches big enough to hold a dinner plate in each one.
Secured in a flat holster on that belt was a small .32 LCP. In all his many heists, the Flying Fool had not yet needed to use it. He had both a personal and a professional dislike of violence.
"Right on time as always," announced the man in the business suit. "Well done. Check your account."
Glancing at a screen on his left gauntlet, the Fool nodded. His amplified voice boomed down through a speaker in his helmet. "Correct amount deposited and locked. All right then! I believe our transaction is concluded then."
"My boss has another job in mind for you," called up the man in the dark suit. "He would like a speedy small yacht suitable for little trips between Florida and Cuba."
The Flying Fool laughed. "I'll start shopping right away! Have fun cutting open your Christmas present, boys." With that, he tapped a button on his cuff and shot silently upward into the sky. Spinning as he rose, leveling off at three thousand feet, the Fool swung around to zip quickly back toward the border between Pennsylvania and New York. Inside the crash helmet, David Woodley was grinning. He loved his life.
II.
Jocelyn Garimara's duty that night was inspection of the garage beneath KDF headquarters. Big enough to hold two cars at once, at the moment only the new maroon Jeep Ranger was there. That vehicle had already had its fuel, oil, tires and battery checked. Moving around the benches and shelves that ringed the walls, she went through a checklist of all the necessary tools and supplies. The only item low was windshield wiper fluid, not the most urgent supply but she made a note of it.
At thirty-eight, she looked to be in her mid-twenties at most. The Kumundu martial art training and Tagra tea with its enhanced healing made her as fit as any Olympic gymnast. Only five feet one and not more than one hundred pounds, she moved with a dynamic restlessness born of excess vitality. Jocelyn had the rich dark brown skin, straight coarse black hair and distinctive facial bone structure of her tribe in Northwest Australia, with large dark eyes that always seemed a bit pensive. Her accent had long since been muted by a life of world travel.
Three months had dragged by since her Red Spectre had been shattered. It showed no signs of ever returning. That sensation of carrying living lightning coiled in her chest was gone and for the first time since puberty she was only a normal, flesh and blood Human woman. Conflicting emotions mixed relief at not having to rein in that great power with a sense of deep loss. But Jocelyn's life as an outsider from both white Australians and her own people had left her guarded and she habitually kept her true feelings to herself. Even to her teammates here in the Kenneth Dred Foundation, she was opaque.
Along one wall was a series of twelve niches, each of which held a heavy-duty canvas knapsack. Each KDF member kept one of these travel bags ready with their field suit, weapons and assorted personal items so that they could snatch it up instantly to leave instantly. Her own bag was number 6. Since losing the Red Spectre, she had added some more of the miniaturized Trom-sized devices to compensate. Jocelyn studied the screen on her Link device and was pleased she had reached the end of the checklist. Three minor items needed to be replenished, that was all.
Just as she was clipping the Link back to her belt, the small flat device beeped twice. That brought her instantly to full alertness. "Yes, captain?"
The familiar trusted voice of Lauren Sable Reilly said, "I've got some action for you, Joss. Report to the hangar with your travel kit."
"On my way!" she laughed. Jocelyn felt she was presentable in what she was already wearing... sneakers, black jeans and her favorite waist-length denim jacket over a bright yellow T-shirt. No need to change. She grabbed her knapsack and tugged its straps across her shoulders as she hustled from the garage. The Midnight War was on again!
Within three minutes, Jocelyn stepped into the hangar which took up the entire top floor of the headquarters building. As always, she felt a little thrill of excitement seeing the sleek sharklike shape of the black stealthcopter CORBY. The top rotors were turning slowly. No logos or identifying numbers showed on the fuselage of the completely illegal craft.
Standing by the right forward hatch was her team captain, helmet cradled in the crook of her arm. "Wheels up in thirty seconds," Sable said. "I'll brief you on the way."
Securing her knapsack in the passenger compartment, Jocelyn swung up into the co-pilot seat. Sable was already adjusting her safety straps and punching final buttons. The interior of the cockpit glowed with subdued pastel green and blue status lights. Any of them turning red would be immediately noticed. "Here we go."
Overhead, the segmented steel roof rolled aside to reveal the night sky. The CORBY rose smoothly straight up, making no more noise than a stiff breeze. As the roof panel closed again, Sable brought the copter up to five thousand feet and turned its nose west. Showing no external lights, the black craft was as good as invisible at night. A ground observer standing by the KDF building would have caught only a brief glimpse at best before the CORBY was gone.
Setting a course into the ship guidance, Sable said, "You remember the Flying Fool from the Coronet case a few years ago?"
"Oh, sure. He's a wanker, not a stand-up scrapper. Your average Girl Scout could deck him with no trouble."
That made Sable laugh. "Fair enough, fair enough. He's not usually a violent criminal. The one big black mark on his record is the death of that one man that fell ten stories to the pavement when the Fool was abducting him. Even if he didn't intend it, that's negligent manslaughter during the commission of a felony. It's called felony murder."
"Yeah. I forget what state that was in, but he could easily get the death penalty for that. From what I remember, his name is Dave Woodley. His father worked for John Grim, and Grim got hold of a Trom gravity shield. Woodley's dad studied the mechanism and Woodley himself finally figured out how to make his own gravity shields, they're not as good as the original of course. As you might expect."
Sable's gaze was constantly moving over dials and gauges, over the row of small monitor screens, at the terrain that showed below through the light enhancement windscreen. "We're only going a few hundred miles, Joss. It's not worth hitting Mach-plus for just a few minutes. Anyway, Woodley makes good money taking commissions for various millionaires and underworld figures. He steals vintage cars, yachts, statuary, heavy items that are hard to move. And yesterday as we saw on the news, he made off with an entire Swift armored car."
"Next he'll be stealing your Fort Knox, eh?"
"Please don't give him any ideas, dear. I think there's a strong likelihood he'll try to rob a place called Advantage Research. It's a lab which is receiving a shipment of some rare earths like yttrium and europium,."
Jocelyn grinned, flashing perfect teeth in the dim cockpit. "Oh, I get it. He needs those materials to make more of his knock-off gravity shields! Can't buy them from the someone's trunk in a truck stop. Psst, wanna buy some yttrium, ya know?"
On the ground ahead of them, the diffuse glow of a city brightened the horizon. "That's Corbett. Decent town, population twenty five thousand. There's a leased car waiting for you and I booked a room for three days at the Restwell Motel on Route 16."
"Hey, captain," groused Jocelyn, "Just exactly WHY do we always stay at seedy motels on the outskirts? The KDF can afford a decent hotel now and then. It'd be nice to have room service and maybe a pool on the grounds."
Sable shrugged. "Fewer people around to see us carrying prisoners in and out, or to witness our death duels. We've become a little too public lately. The citizens are better off not knowing about the Midnight War."
"Yeah, makes sense."
"Also, I'm cheap."
"Heh..."
The CORBY touched down silently on the edge of a high school football stadium. Two cars waited in the darkness under some elms. As Sable and Jocelyn hopped out, an older couple emerged from a white SUV rather less nimbly and went to meet them. Jeff and Roberta Denberg hugged the two women warmly.
"Thanks for setting transport up for us," Sable said. "You've been an immense help."
Mrs Denberg's voice was on the verge of breaking with emotion. "Oh. We've only enjoyed the past eleven years of life because of you, Sable."
"That night in Quilt's shack, when he had us tied up and was teasing us about what tortures he was going to try first." Jeff Denberg took a deep breath. "Then you kicked the door in so hard! And you threw a flash-bang grenade right into that monster's face."
Jocelyn broke in, "Wait, you fought Quilt...?! By yourself?"
"Sure. That was right about the time you joined the team."
"Jeez, captain, I am gobsmacked. You never mentioned it."
Sable turned back to the older couple and gestured to the black truck nearby. "That's a Tundra, right?"
"Damn right," said Mr Denberg. "2023 Toyota Tundra, rugged and reliable. I used to own one. All the papers are in the glove compartment. Here's the keys."
"You said to charge it to the KDF and the leasing went smoothly," his wife added. "And like you suggested, we went to a nice Italian restaurant on your dollar, too. I ate twice as much of the stuffed shells as I should have," she added with a satisfied chuckle."
Sable took a second to shake their hands. "Thanks again, I better take off before someone drives by and sees an unmarked unauthorized helicopter just sitting there. Thanks again, you two. Jocelyn, report as developments dictate."
As they watched the CORBY lift off into the night sky, Jocelyn sighed. "I have to shove off, too, I'm afraid. But sometime I really want to hear your story. Sable vs Quilt! Bloody hell..."
"It's too late for us to be out running around, honestly. Very glad to meet you, Jocelyn. It's a great comfort to know you and your friends are out there protecting us."
After the Denbergs drove off, Jocelyn trudged over and climbed up into the immaculate truck. Now to find and stake out the lab they hoped the Flying Fool intended to rob.
III.
At one-thirty the next afternoon, Jocelyn turned over on the queen-sized bed and woke up. After kicking off her boots, she had stretched out fully dressed and fallen asleep. She felt refreshed and energetic. Between her conditioning and the Tagra tea regimen, she could function perfectly well on three or four hours of sleep out of every twenty-four, but she did need that much.
Yawning and stretching, she stared at the wall clock. The vigil outside the lab building had been a waste of time. The Flying Fool must have been flying and being foolish somewhere else that night. By nine-fifteen that morning, with the staff all arrived and people coming and going, she had decided to go to this motel room. Her thought was that Woodley would strike late at night to avoid confrontation.
Jocelyn saw no messages on her Link. She send a terse report to Sable that nothing had happened and got up.
Stripping off her outer clothes, she stood revealed in the skin-tight Trom armor which looked like dark wet silk. Only her feet, hands and head were not protected. She opened the armor on its inner paramagnetic seam and tugged it off. Jocelyn had the sleek hard body of a runner. Snatching the small toiletries bag from her knapsack, she went into the bathroom. A steaming hot shower and some grooming perked her up more. While the inside-out armor hung up to dry, she gave the room a more thorough scrutiny. So drab and unimaginative. Bloody hell, next solo mission she had, she'd pay herself to rent a more ritzy hotel room with some amenities.
For the next few minutes, she studied the KDF file on Dave Woodley. Thirty-eight years old, five feet ten and one hundred eighty pounds, light brown hair and eyes. Nothing special to look at, not bad-looking so much as kind of bland. He seemed obviously at a high level of intelligence with a great record working in electronic innovation and research. He had been in considerable demand before going career thief. If any Human could replicate Trom tech, Woodley was a likely candidate.
As she sat naked, cross-legged, on the bed, a thought came to her. Her Red Spectre didn't seem to be coming back. Without any superhuman abilities of her own, Jocelyn felt realistically that she wasn't contributing anything special to the team. But she had been in the Vault where the KDF kept locked up a hundred occult talismans and weapons. If Sable agreed, Jocelyn could claim something potent like an Eldanaran travel crystal or Malberon's silver hammer and step back up to superhuman status. What else was hidden down there? Wait. The Sceptre...
Finding the Trom armor had dried, she put it on over fresh bra and panties. Then the same jeans and boots, but a clean dark green pullover. Most of her travel knapsack was taken up by the field suit. Jocelyn checked the various miniature tools hidden in slits and inner pockets of her denim jacket. She threaded a detachable holster to her belt, examined the needle-barreled gas-powered pistol that fired their anesthetic darts and watched herself move in the mirror over the dresser. The jacket hid the dart gun well.
Her stomach made an audible rumble. Yes, well, time to fuel up. Jocelyn made one last survey of the room and went out into a crisp breezy Fall afternoon. She had seen a little bistro last night as she had arrived at the motel. Jocelyn drove the leased Tundra to the cafe which had a hand-painted sign, CRESCENT MOON. Inside was a cozy, wood-walled interior with round tables and acoustic guitar music. The menu was mostly Mexican, which suited her fine. A chimichanga with shredded beef and sour cream really won her approval. The ingredients were fresh and the fried burrito had been prepared with care. She finished with a bottle of beer, even though the alcohol had no effect on her because of her elevated healing factor.
Back on duty. She parked across the street from a three story red brick building with its own parking lot. A metal post held a wide blue and white sign, ADVANTAGE RESEARCH - ALEXANDER GRIM ENTERPRISES. She counted twelve cars parked in numbered slots, all respectable vehicles in good condition. Jocelyn walked across the street and headed for the double glass doors of the lab. Her rudimentary plan was to ask for an engineer named, oh, Ben Feldstein, who had promised her an interview for her blog. They would tell her no such person worked there. She would reply that there must have been some mistake, apologize and leave. But she would have had an opportunity to plant a few of the tiny Trom monitor devices in unobtrusive places. After closing hours, those devices would alert her of any break-in of the building and she would be nearby. They also broadcast a signal she could follow on her Link for a distance of up to two hundred miles.
She never made it to the entry doors. Over in the far corner of the parking lot, she spotted four men getting out of a car. The aggressive, intimidating way they walked as a group triggered her Kumundu training. They had violent intent toward someone. Without hesitation, Jocelyn picked up her stride and headed straight for them. Even without the power of her Red Spectre, she was fearless.
Details crackled into her perception as she got closer. Four men, all at least six feet tall and solidly built. All in their thirties or early forties. Three white Americans, one with red hair, the final man was of Jamaican descent. They were wearing business suits complete with ties. From the way their clothes fit and how they held their hands, two of them had pistols in their belts. Way too many factors for these to be anything else but professional enforcers, whether for crime or for law enforcement.
Then she saw who they were after.
Closing the door of a gold Nissan Ultima was a man in jeans and a loose red flannel shirt. Hanging at his waist from a shoulder strap was a leather satchel two feet across. Dave Woodley, there was not the slightest doubt. Jocelyn was a hundred feet away and she moved over to be close to the row of cars parked against the Advance research lab. Her armor would protect her effectively against handguns but her head was left exposed. She might need to take cover behind a car. Her right hand reached up under her jacket and closed around the grip of her anesthetic dart gun. Adrenalin shot through her veins.
The four enforcers spread out when they were twenty feet away from the Flying Fool, spreading out in a line. One said quietly, "There you are. The big man wants a little talk with you."
That provoked a sharp bitter laugh. "I bet! Policastro's idea of a little talk always involves breaking a few bones."
"Come on, Woodley, don't do this the hard way..."
The Fool crossed his arms in front of his body and his right hand went up into the loose unbuttoned shirt sleeve where the control cuff could be glimpsed. "As if I trust a gorilla like you."
DThe leader of the enforcers stepped closer and drew his Glock 19 from his belt, keeping it close to his body. The other three thugs began to form a circle. Unnoticed by anyone in that confrontation, Jocelyn Garimara readied herself to intervene.
Suddenly, Woodley began sweeping his arms as if conducting an orchestra. From the satchel, two metal discs the size of dinner plates shot upward and swirled like furious hawks around the four men.
Jocelyn gasped at the unexpected burst of action, then ran toward it with her dart gun in hand. The gravity shields cracked hard against the thugs' heads and chests, knocking them down to the asphalt. They were obeying the instructions Woodley gave by waving his arms. One of the enforcers managed to tackle the Flying Fool and bring him down. The goon held Woodley by the shirt front with one hand and started pounding at his face with the other. One of the flying discs slid in between them and rose irresistibly upward. The thug was lifted ten feet into the air and flipped over to land on his back with a brutal thump.
"Why can't we just do business like reasonable people?!" screamed Woodley. "You guys always make things complicated." He rubbed gingerly at his battered face. None of the four enforcers were still on their feet. The Flying Fool drew his elbows in close to his sides and the two gravity shields hovered protectively near him. Understandably, people across the street had stopped to stare at the bizarre violence. Cars had slowed to a stop. There was a gawking face at every window of the lab building.
The Flying Fool whirled around to see Jocelyn right next to his car. "Oh no! I remember YOU!" He jabbed out his pointing hand in an accusatory gesture. One of the flying discs whipped over, slamming flat against her chest and carrying her bodily off her feet to crash against the side of the building. A normal Human might have had cracked ribs or sternum from that impact. Even Jocelyn was stunned by having the breath driven entirely from her lungs. She slid gasping to a seated position against the brick wall.
Retrieving the gravity discs, the Flying Fool slid behind the wheel of his still-running Nissan. He backed carefully around the sprawled bodies lying in the way and headed for the exit. He paused near where Jocelyn was starting to get up. "Listen! You're the Red Spectre, right? I tried not to hurt you, you understand? Just leave me alone, I'm not bothering you." And he peeled out, turning left on the side street and hurtling right past a corner stop sign.
People were beginning to stick their heads out of the lab building doors. By then, Jocelyn realized that the local police must have received a dozen hysterical phone calls. There couldn't be more than a few minutes before patrol cars would come tearing up. She rose, holstering her dart gun and forced herself to trot across the parking lot. Her enhanced healing kicked in. At a full run, she crossed the street and dove into the driver's seat of the leased truck. People on the sidewalk got a good look at her but that couldn't be helped. She left the scene just as sirens could be heard in the near distance.
IV.
Back at the Restwell, she made a full report to Sable. Jocelyn was seething with embarrassment and self-reproach at how badly everything had gone. "I should relocate from this motel, captain. I expect cops knocking on the door any second!"
Sable's face on the Link screen wore a wry half-smile. "No worries about that right now. I've been following police chatter and phone calls. Not a legal activity by any stretch, but they can't stop our Trom tech. As far as I can tell, no one got your license plate number. The vague descriptions of you are absolutely worthless. And the real focus is on Woodley, of course. The FBI has wanted to grab him for a decade now. That's where all the police efforts are concentrated."
"And he's got a new trick. He makes his gravity shields fly around and controls them by moving his arms."
"Woodley is creative, that's for sure. He used to have to sneak around and plant the discs by hand. Now he has remote piloting. And he can use them for offense or defense. My estimate of him as an opponent has been revised upward."
"Bloody hell, I can still take him," Jocelyn spat. "I'm going to bring that wanker in one way or another. Listen. The signal from the monitor I planted shows he's sixty-three miles north and he's hasn't moved. He's got a hideout. I'm going to find him right now!"
Sable remained cool and controlled. "I don't doubt you, Joss. As a matter of policy, I like to send out a two-member team for even routine chores but there's a lot going on right now. Galvan should be back from Okali tonight and Carlo is returning from Tel Shai in the morning. I'll send one of them foe backup."
"Oh, and what about Policastro? One of those bruisers mentioned him. Bad blood between him and the Flying Fool? I hope!"
"That's why Department 21 Black is moving in. I expect they'll take over. Regular police aren't up to clashes with Alchemists like Policastro."
Jocelyn took the deepest breath she could, then let it out slowly. "I have got to get hold of my damn self. I'll do myself a mischief if I don't. This is just another mission. Tain't nothing personal going on."
"I have to go now, someone from INTERCEPT is calling on the regular phone. Keep me updated, Jocelyn."
"Absolutely." As the connection broke off, she clipped the Link back to her belt. She remembered Woodley's last words about his not hurting her. He hadn't killed the gunmen who had been sent to bring him, either. Compared to coming up against murderous lunatics like Sepulchre or Sanhain, fighting Dave Woodley didn't seem neary as dangerous.
She had set her Link to alert her if the monitor on Woodley's car moved significantly. But Jocelyn realized glumly that wasn't any guarantee of being able to find the man. The car might very well have been stolen. Certainly Woodley of all people had a record of literally swooping off with dozens of cars, so he might steal and then abandon one frequently. Or, if he acted at night for secrecy, he could easily fly anywhere under his own power. She had decided even while leaving the fight scene that she would pursue him immediately.
Throwing her knapsack up on the double bed, Jocelyn stripped off her outer clothing and got into the black field suit. Boots, tight pants, a crewneck shirt and the waist-length jacket with its own inner layer of the Trom armor for extra protection. The helmet was clipped to the outside of the knapsack. Jocelyn transferred the miniature gadgets and weapons from her denim jacket to the field suit, being sure not to overlook any. Made by the Trom, these included flares the size of a pencil, dazzle grenades and smoke bombs the size of grapes, an oxygen membrane for breathing underwater, an extra magazine of twenty anesthetic darts, one of the unlocker devices. There was a diamond-dust edged flexible hacksaw blade in a lapel, there were single-edged razor blades in slits at the top of each boot and the inside of each cuff for escaping from bonds. Each of these had saved her life more than once.
Jocelyn always smirked as she added a few mundane items like her wallet, ChapStick, tissues and a short-handled hair brush to one pocket. No matter what the Midnight War brought, everyday life went on. She made sure her jacket covered the holstered dart gun, snatched up the helmet and hurried out of the motel room. It was overcast and chilly outside with a stiff breeze but she hardly noticed. In the field suit, she had hiked through both blizzards and burning buildings without harm. Back in the truck, she set the Link up on the dashboard where she could see it. A map grid showed a blinking green blip where the tagged car was located. Jocelyn's anger had been replaced by calm determination as she pulled out onto the street. Time to finish this.
V.
An hour and a half later, she had left the Tundra at the end of a dirt trail miles away from the road. Ahead of her was a steep cliff rising up to a ridge one hundred feet overhead. Jocelyn lowered the helmet down over her head and fastened it to her high collar but left the visor up. She stared up to where halfway up the cliff face, a cave opening showed black and open. It was fifteen feet across and ten feet high and looked as if it had been enlarged by Human efforts. Jocelyn gave a remarkably feral grin as she enjoyed the thought of catching up with her target like cornering a badger in its tunnel.
The average person would not have even thought of trying to climb that nearly smooth surface. Experienced climbers would have taken some time to plan an ascent and probably decided on using equipment. Jocelyn Garimara stepped forward, leaped up and grabbed a projection high an inch deep. She hauled herself up, found another hold and began to skitter up the cliff like a spider. She was immensely strong for her size and her low body weight helped her climb seemingly without effort. Within a few minutes, she had both hands inside the cave opening and was raising herself up on both elbows.
One of the gravity shields whizzed past her head, grazing her helmet, and fastened between her shoulders, near her right shoulder. It was held on not by any adhesive or clamp but by the unbreakable force of increased gravity itself. Jocelyn found herself lifted like a scrap of paper in the wind and tugged swiftly into the darkness. The dart gun was already in her hand and she intended to knock this Fool out so he would wake up in handcuffs as the FBI Department 21 Black was loading him into a van.
But the disc spun her blindingly fast in mid-air like a pinwheel. She couldn't breathe. All the blood was rushing away from her head. All her conditioning and enhanced healing couldn't deal with the trauma. For a full minute, she spun and then was slammed down hard to the rocky cave floor, pressed down by a force beyond Human muscles to resist. The dart gun was tugged out of her grasp. Jocelyn gasped as she fought the vertigo and managed not to vomit.
A kerosene lamp on a wooden stand had been lit. At the rear of the cave sat the gold Nissan, brought up here by the flying discs. There was a cot with blankets and a pillow, an open laptop on a folding stand by a canvas lawn chair and a tangle of fast food wrappers. Standing over her, juggling the dart gun in one hand, Dave Woodley made a tsk-tsk sound.
"Aw, come ON! What is this? You guys just won't leave me be, will you?" he complained.
"You never stood trial for the man you dropped ten stories to his death," Jocelyn replied.
"No. No. He wriggled out of his coat and fell. I wasn't trying to kill him. I'm not like that."
"Tell that to the judge. It was manslaughter committed during kidnapping," she growled.
"Like I don't feel bad enough about it. I have been so careful ever since. Listen, I remember you from when I was working in that Coronet gang. Don't let your goddam Red Spectre out or I swear I'll send you flying straight up into outer space. That thing scares me half to death. Okay? This doesn't have to end badly."
Strain as she might, Jocelyn could not raise her chest an inch off the stone floor. But her right arm was bent so that she might be able to get her fingers into the lowest pocket of her field jacket. Yes... "Woodley, ease it up just a bit, will you? It's really hard to breathe."
"No tricks now! You Tel Shai guys are dangerous, I saw you in action." He tapped on the controls of his left cuff panel. "I'll crank it down a little."
"Oh, that's better. Thank ya."
Woodley stepped a little closer. "You're Australian, right? I always wanted to go there, maybe retire under a new identity. I've seen a few Australian movies I liked. RED ROCK MOUNTAIN and that one about spies, what was it, MASTER MINDS?"
"You can watch Netflix in prison," she replied, taking deeper breaths.
"I think what I have to do is get my car down on the road. Then I can retrieve that shield and I'll be long gone before you can chase me." He fiddled with the dart gun. "How'd you find me, anyway?"
"We're like super-heroes, we have all kinds of cool abilities. Listen, Woodley, I think I believe you... mostly. You're a professional thief but you're not bad to the bone. Maybe we can negotiate surrender terms."
"No way. Not gonna happen. I'll always be be still flying, still a fool, I can't change."
"Good on yah, mate." With great care, she had managed to grip a small metal globe from within her pocket. There would only be one chance at this. "You sound like you're going to break into a song next."
The Flying Fool held the dart gun up to get a better look. "Where is the safety hidden on this gizmo? I know I can figure it out."
Using only her wrist, Jocelyn flipped the resonance grenade upward and it landed exactly on the gravity shield. The sharp crack of the detonation echoed dramatically in the cave. These devices were not nearly as strong as regulation military grenades, being designed to do minor damage but to disorient and startle enemies. Instantly, the pressure holding her down vanished as the shield broke open. Jocelyn leaped to her feet like an enraged leopard. A confused Dave Woodley did not have a necessary moment to comprehend what had happened before a small tight fist blasted squarely into the center of his face, spinning him completely around.
Tackling the Fool, Jocelyn knelt over him and grabbed the man's wrists and began smashing his forearms on the ground as hard as she possibly could. The stiff control cuffs broke, tiny circuits popping out and wires dangling free with sparks on the ends. Woodley finally shook off that punch and tried to throw Jocelyn off him, but she drove a knee down into the pit of his stomach. That removed any resistance he might have put up.
When she was satisfied the control cuffs were useless shells of ruined circuitry, Jocelyn flipped the Fool over onto his stomach and secured his wrists behind him with a pair of tough plastic twist-ties. He wasn't wearing his sidearm. The gunbelt hung over the back of the lawnchair, safely out of reach. Jocelyn rose to her feet, her breathing quickly going back to normal as the danger ended.
"Dammit! Dammit! This is my fault," Woodley grumbled. "If I were really tough and hard, I'd have squashed you with the gravity shield and I'd be free."
"Ah, don't wish to be worse than you are," she said gently. "I'm glad you're not a cold killer. This isn't the end of the world. You may be going to prison but I bet it won't be forever. And who knows, a man with your skills is valuable. You might qualify for some work release program."
Dave Woodley wriggled into a seated position on the cold cave floor. "Like what? Like I might get out early if I help you guys fight a monster or two?"
Surprising herself, Jocelyn smiled. "Stranger deals have been made."
1/20/2025
no subject
Date: 2025-01-30 11:57 pm (UTC)Jocelyn seems to have accepted that her Red Spectre may not ever manifest again. Her passing thought about getting some potent talisman to restore her to superhuman status is going to have some results in the next month or two. The KDF have a LOT of powerful artifacts just collecting dust.