In the end, Michael decided to go with his gut and play a hunch. Something told him that, inside, Mark Westmore was not that bad of a guy. When the power and opportunity to really strike back at the world for any and all perceived transgressions plummeted into his grasp, he chose
not
to run with it. Oh, he obviously indulged himself to some degree, but, as
Shockwave
, Mark Westmore could be doing a lot worse than mouthing off and pinching behinds.
How best to win his respect? Michael’s guess was to play his game ... but not from the
receiving
end. Go in there, match him attitude for attitude. No
macho
bullshit — Ensign Takayasu was too smart to try matching a Class One with physical prowess — but with whatever Westmore considered
wit
. Let him know that Michael was on to him ... and furthermore, that he was on
his
side of the joke.
There’d been a frightening moment in the shower when Michael thought he might have gone too far, but in the end, it all worked out.
"We waitin’ for somethin’?"
Westmore’s words shook Michael from his reflection. "Sorry?"
"Are we waiting for something?" he repeated without his trademark sarcasm. "What are we sittin’ here for?"
"Your favorite lieutenant commander should be here shortly. He’ll be calling us in for our first assignment."
"Brase? Great." Westmore paused, then added, "Why’s
Brase
giving us a work assignment? Somethin’ big?"
"Something big."
"Got details?"
"Not yet. We’ll get them together."
Westmore grunted at that, playing casual with how impressed he was to actually be kept in the loop. Most paranormal agents, himself as well as the others, were used as little more than cannon-fodder muscle troops. The "real" police work was left for the multitude of norms.
"Takayasu!" Brase called out, revealing that he had been in his office the whole time after all. Michael exchanged a roll of the eyes with his partner, who chuckled in return, and headed over.
Brase, who reminded Michael of Assistant Director Skinner from the old "X-Files" television series — except with more hair — turned his back on them to take his seat, and when he looked up again, he was clearly surprised and annoyed to see them filing in together.
"Ensign Takayasu," the lieutenant commander stated curtly, "this is an assignment break-down.
Shockwave’s
presence is not required."
Westmore tensed, but before he could open his big mouth, Michael took his seat and responded, "Thank you, sir, but he has no other pressing duties at the moment." He gestured for Westmore to join him, which he did.
Brase stared blankly at that, and the three sat in silence for several moments. When it sank in that Westmore wasn’t going anywhere, Brase’s gaze melted into a scowl. "Very well, Ensign. Are you familiar with
Davison Electronics
?"
"Yes, sir: Known to the public for its electronic hardware, drafted into service for the PCA not long after—"
"Yes, Ensign, that’s enough," Brase waved him off. "I don’t need the textbook definition.
Davison Electronics
has been our leading developer of counter-rogue weaponry and equipment. The psi-jammer they beta-tested last year proved its value with over—"
"Yeah, Commander, that’s enough," Westmore interjected, and Michael groaned inside. "We don’t need the textbook definition."
"You secure that attitude, Mister," Brase snapped, his brow furrowing in a dance over his burning eyes.
"Secure
yours
," Shockwave threw back. "If I’m not mistaken, I quoted you pretty good on what you just said to the ensign here. You don’t like how it sounds, maybe you should watch your own mouth."
"Listen, you white trash
prick
," Brase growled. "The PCA’s put up with too much of your shit as it is. If you don’t watch it—!"
"What?
What
did you call me?"
"I called you a
trailer park rat
, and if you even
think
of throwing a kinetic wave at me, the defenses in here’ll fry what little brains you’ve got!"
Westmore bolted to his feet, knocking his chair over behind him. "I don’t
need
a shockwave to tear
you
a new asshole, motherfu—!"
"
Mark
!" Michael bellowed at the top of his lungs, bringing Westmore up short more through force of will than by volume. Shockwave stood his ground, trembling with rage and staring death at the commander. "Mark. Sit down." Reluctantly, tautly, Westmore reached back, righted his chair, and sat. "Mark, I appreciate the gesture, but we do need to address lieutenant commanders with a modicum of respect."
Michael expected Westmore to react badly to what could be construed as betrayal, but he just sat there, fuming, breathing heavily through his nose.
"I’m impressed, Ensign Takayasu ..." Brase began.
"And as for you,
Lieutenant Commander
," Michael turned back, his tone frigid and his eyes as hard as Westmore’s were hot, "I would appreciate it if you treated my partner with the proper
appreciation
and
courtesy
, as any decent superior should to a valuable subordinate and agent ...
sir
."
Brase was dumbstruck. Even Shockwave was too stunned to grin. Brase tried to recover, "Those are awfully big words from an
ensign
, Mister Takayasu."
"And those were awfully
small
words from a
lieutenant commander
, Mister Brase. I suggest you try to leave your military background behind you in your current job,
sir
. The PCA, whatever its choice of nomenclature, is ultimately a law-enforcement agency,
not
the Navy." Michael leaned back in his chair, but no part of him relaxed. "Captain Jarrah himself admitted to not knowing a great deal about the official PCA regulations, preferring to handle situations as they come. If you have a problem with me or my partner, we can all relocate to his office right now. I
can
, however, assure you that as a fresh graduate of the Academy, I
am
more than passingly familiar with the regulations that are on the books. I promise you,
sir
, that my partner’s admittedly out-of-line interruption violates far fewer and less critical regs than did
your
response to him. Now, would you care to take this to the captain,
sir
, or shall we continue with our assignment break-down?"
By this point, Brase was difficult to read. He was clearly
pissed off
, but a flurry of other emotions swirled across his face that were harder to identify.
Michael could not have cared less.
And they say
Shockwave
is the company asshole!
he fumed.
Westmore, whose grin had definitely found its way to the surface, said softly, "Hey, Michael, maybe I
should
step outside, you know what I’m sayin’? It’s probably for the—"
"You are my partner, and you’re not going
anywhere
unless you want to. Do you
want
to sit in on our briefing?"
"Well ... yeah, kinda."
"Then stay right where you are. We
are
still having our briefing, aren’t we, Commander?"
Brase answered by pressing on, in a somewhat crisper tone. "We’ve established
Davison Electronics’
value to the PCA ..."
Westmore noted that with a "good-point" finger waggled in the air — Michael kicked him as subtly as he could while biting back a smirk.
"One of their leading R & D engineers, Richard McLane, was recently dismissed by the company’s civilian owner, Joseph Davison — the
late
owner, that is. Davison and most of his family were subsequently murdered. All indications suggest paranormal involvement, quite possibly with McLane’s cooperation, or
guidance
. His dismissal from the company was reportedly quite tempestuous."
As the confrontation slipped further behind them, Michael focused on the described situation. He could already see where this was going, and why the scuttlebutt had been buzzing over it. It didn’t take a high ESP rating to see the danger in a turncoat with lots of inside information.
"Did this McLane ever work directly with the PCA? In the office, or in the field?"
"No. Strictly technical background, primarily at
Davison
, but also by referral to other developmental companies from time to time."
"He really did a number on the Davisons?" Westmore asked with genuine interest.
Brase gave him a pissy look, but answered straight-forward, "Destroyed the home, charred most of the bodies to a crisp. Paraforensics suggested a rogue with electrical abilities, Class One. The place was basically subjected to multiple lightning strikes."
"Anyone make it out alive?"
"Not on the premises. Davison’s younger son was assaulted a short distance away — he survived. The older son is missing, but there’s little hope that he’ll turn up at this point. The working assumption is that he was simply fried beyond recognition."
"The younger son," Michael asked, "how did he come out?"
"Cuts, bruises, a concussion. Messed up his eyes somehow — had them thinking he’d be blind, but it turned out not to be as bad as they first thought. He’ll be released from the hospital soon."
"Where’d this asshole McLane take off to now?"
Another dirty look before, "McLane’s current whereabouts are unknown. The intelligence division is working on that, and when they finish
their
jobs, that’s when you two will step in."
Michael nodded. Westmore cracked his knuckles.
"Any specific objectives in dealing with McLane?"
"Other than generally kicking his ass, of course."
By now, Brase’s only reaction to Westmore was a tired sigh. "If possible, bring him in. If not, bring him
down
, by whatever means necessary."
"Are there any other agents assigned to our team?"
"Just you and Shockwave until we confirm McLane’s collaboration with multiple rogues. If he has more in his arsenal than this ‘lightning man,’ we’ll reassign other paranormal agents as necessary. If this rogue represents the sum of his influence, they’ll be left to you."
"No problem," Westmore boasted. "I doubt we’ll need the help either way."
"Maybe we should visit Davison’s son," Michael suggested, more to his partner than to the commander. "He might have known McLane through his dad, or maybe his dad said something about the altercation. I’d also like to get as clear a picture as possible about the rogue who—"
A buzzer sounded loudly through the outer office, followed almost immediately by a smaller one right on Brase’s desk. "Sorry, Commander," came Captain Jarrah’s soft voice, "I’m going to have to steal your agents for a bit."
"What’s up, Jarrah?" Westmore called out.
"PCA business," Jarrah answered him directly, "the rogue variety. Two suspects, classes unknown. Great American Bank off of Madison Street."
With a short nod, Ensign Takayasu and Shockwave rose to their feet ...
PCA
The security guard fell to the ground. Choking on bodily fluids that rose unnaturally from his throat, the man futilely attempted to hold his exposed innards in their proper place. Before he truly realized that he was dying ... he was dead.