Paranormals (Book 2): We Are Not Alone (37 page)

That whine Cooper had heard was from Vortex’s lasers, the same lasers that had sliced off his right ear. But this time those lasers were aimed up at the side of the building, almost all the way at the top.

“Can’t see anything,” stated the Lieutenant.

“Don’t worry, I got him.”

Vortex’s lasers sliced away a chunk of the corner, and a second after that the air right below it rippled like a desert heat wave. Was that Shockwave’s doing? Shouldn’t it tear the building up—? No, a quick glance revealed whatever it was coming from Vortex again.

“Got him,” Vortex repeated with conviction. “I’m bringing him down.”

“All guards,” the Lieutenant snapped, “stun guns on the center of that vortex. Be ready to fire if I give the word.”

“Don’t worry,” Vortex said; it sounded like he was clenching his teeth, but otherwise his voice was pretty relaxed, given the circumstances. “He’s not going anywhere.”

The “heat wave” distortion angled down toward the ground a few yards away. The area where the distortion ended bulged in a roughly spherical shape, pulsing and writhing nonstop.

“I can’t see anything at all,” Taka-whatever repeated to Vortex. “Not like our friends’ veil. He’s completely invisible.”

“Not to me, he isn’t.”

Shockwave stepped up to join his partner and the superhero. “He sure could do a lotta damage, open a lotta locked doors, bein’ able to turn invisible like that.”

Taka-whatever nodded. “
Completely
invisible. Just like the beacon.”

The PCA guards formed a ring around the bulge, but every one of them made sure not to get between Vortex and his prize.

“How you wanna do this?” Shockwave asked the other two.

Vortex, who was unbuttoning his PCA guard’s jacket to reveal his superhero costume underneath, answered, “He’s struggling, but it doesn’t feel especially enhanced — he’s stronger than us, but not by much. I can hold him for a while longer, but not indefinitely, and I doubt he can breathe well — my vortex wave squeezes pretty tight even at its lowest setting.”

“When you drop your vortex ...” the Lieutenant began.

“You can bet he’ll make a run for it. He was clinging to the side of the building up there, so I’m guessing he’s pretty squirrely.”

“Then I’m glad I procured this just for the occasion.”

The Lieutenant reached inside his trench coat and brought out a weird-looking gun. He aimed at the vortex mass and pulled the trigger.

Instead of the loud
bang!
Cooper was expecting, the gun issued a percussive
pop!
Something shot into the vortex wave, instantly shattering, and for a split-second, the vortex was decorated with a fine, swirling fluorescent orange mist.

A paint pellet!
Cooper realized.

 Then the mist condensed, and just like that, their invisible captive was visible ...

... but what the hell
was
he?

Even in a world of paranormal freaks, this guy was pretty unique and creepy. He (it?) was crumpled in on himself, so it was kind of difficult to make out too much, but even so, Cooper could tell that he was squat, lumpy, with weird shoulders and hips. His head, which was turned sideways across one puffy forearm, was dumpy and stretched; to Cooper’s eyes, it looked almost toad-like — a toad’s head coated with bright orange paint.

The Lieutenant tucked the paint gun back into his coat. “Mister Cooper, can you please drop your shield?”

Cooper balked. “Do I have to?”

“If you would, please,” Taka-whatever said, and Cooper noted that the Lieutenant did not order him to do so. “I would like to illustrate a point to our friend here.”

“... okay.” Swallowing hard, Cooper turned off his shield.

Keeping his eyes on the orange-painted suspect, the Lieutenant helped Cooper to his feet, then asked Vortex, “On the right ear, you said?”

“Yeah,” Vortex answered, and his voice betrayed some strain. “Right on the burn.”

Taka-whatever nodded and reached up to the side of Cooper’s head.

Cooper pulled away. “What’re you doing?

“Making sure this punk stops harassing you.”

For the first time in God knew how long, Cooper smiled; a second later, he chuckled, and it felt mighty good. “Now you’re talkin’ my
language, Lieutenant. Go ahead.”

The Lieutenant probed around his damaged ear, but he didn’t probe very long before he locked in on something and tugged. It didn’t hurt, exactly, but it certainly didn’t feel good.

As soon as the Lieutenant pulled his hand back, Cooper turned to see what it was ... except that it wasn’t anything. The Lieutenant was holding his forefinger and thumb about a quarter-inch apart, like someone saying, “I missed it by that much.” Then he twisted his hand to a different angle, and just like that, Cooper could see a smear of red in the gap between his fingers.

What the hell?

Cooper reached up and touched what was left of his ear. His fingers came away sticky with blood. Not a lot of blood, but it was still damned disconcerting.

“What is that?” he asked.

The Lieutenant answered, “That’s a little hard to explain, but I believe this is how our friend here was able to keep finding you over and over.”

“I’ll check it as soon as I can look away,” Vortex said, his voice tighter than the last time he spoke.

Cooper got it. “My burn,” he said, touching the bloody area again. “That part of my ear’s been mostly numb since Vortex lasered it off. He put it on my burn.”

The Lieutenant nodded. “We can only guess where he’s placed them on the other rogues he’s been hounding.”

For the first time since his ordeal began, Cooper stopped feeling bewildered and frightened by his benefactor-turned-slave-driver — now he felt violated and angry. He looked over at the orange-splattered weirdo. “You son of a bitch!”

“Easy, Mister Cooper. You can go now.”

“Not yet,” Cooper said. “I still want to hear him
talk
. I have to know it’s
him
.”

“Fair enough.”

“Michael,” Vortex grunted, “hurry it up, please.”

“My pleasure.”

Michael took one step forward, staying very clear of Vortex’s line of sight. He held up the whatever-it-was between his fingers so that the red smear, Cooper’s blood, was facing their captive. The guy didn’t move, but Cooper thought he might’ve blinked — it was hard to tell with those flat, slimy-looking eyes.

“We know you’re using a translator,” the Lieutenant said in a raised voice, “so I know you can understand me. I don’t suppose you’d care to explain yourself?”

The thing in the vortex wave sneered.

“It doesn’t really make a difference to me,” Taka-whatever continued. “But it probably will to our new friends. Are you sure you don’t want to plead your case to us first?”

In a strained voice that sounded completely human, “I do not need to request to primitives. It is
you
has to make the request, very soon.”

“That’s him,” Cooper blurted. “That’s him!”

“Fine,” the Lieutenant said to the creature, “have it your way. Vortex, stand down.”

With a sigh of relief and a slump of shoulders, Vortex dropped the wave.

The creature didn’t move at first. Then—

“He’s runnin’ for it!” Cooper cried as he turned on his shield.

“Fire!” the Lieutenant snapped at the same time.

The creature did indeed try to run for it — or rather, jump for it, toward the side of the prison building — but having been crushed in Vortex’s wave took its toll, and he’d barely cleared the ground when he was struck by a half-dozen ECD rounds. Shockwave also had his fists primed and ready, but he wasn’t needed. The creature’s momentum carried it few yards further before it dropped like a rock.

“Ensign Spratt,” Taka-whatever said to one of the guards, “make sure we have a clear path to solitary confinement. We’re going to need broad-range detention for our friend here.” As that guard took off running, he turned to another, “Lieutenant Craig, if you and Ensign Delman could please escort Mister Cooper to D-wing — he’s going to need a shower and a meal.”

Cooper nodded his agreement, but he was still staring at the creature.

The Lieutenant turned his way. “You won’t be making any trouble, will you, Mister Cooper?”

“No, sir,” Cooper said, his voice trembling with so many emotions, he couldn’t name them all. “I won’t be any trouble. I’m done with trouble. I’m sick of it.”

“That’s good to hear, Mister Cooper. For what it’s worth, this fellow’s trouble is just beginning.”

VORTEX, SHINING STAR, TAKAYASU, AND SHOCKWAVE

“That,” Callin stated, “is an Egnolan male.”

The four of them stared at the Egnolan, and he stared back at Callin. After a moment, Takayasu asked, “So he’s definitely another extraterrestrial? You’re certain he couldn’t be an Earthborn paranormal?”

“Reasonably certain,” Callin replied, staring down at the other alien in distaste. “I have never seen one in person before, but I’ve seen images and learned about them from Larr. They have a very felonious reputation, even worse than the prewar-Verauns.”

“And the Taalu,” the prisoner suddenly said, “a reputation for the cowardice. Always running away from to fight.”

If he wanted a reaction from Callin, he did not get it ... unless the reaction he wanted was stolid silence — that he got aplenty.

Steve, for his part, was still riding an emotional high from the evening’s previous events. Granted, he felt bad for Lincoln when, halfway to the pit, he’d gotten called away to deal with a more traditional rogue crisis (though Pendler was obviously more relieved than disappointed), but in the end, it was Vortex who was critical to Takayasu’s plan.

Callin had, of course, wanted to take part in their little trap from the beginning, but Larr had convinced him that, if their quarry was indeed an alien bounty hunter, with access to their level of advanced technology, he might detect any Taalu presence. So, with bitter reluctance, Callin agreed to stay behind. Rather than taking off with a Taalu communicator — the technology of which might have blown the trap even faster than Callin’s presence — they had left Powerhouse’s phone behind, with promises to call the instant they had any news to report, one way or the other.

After the trap was sprung, and as Takayasu and Shockwave escorted the prisoner down to solitary, Steve called Callin right away, and in surprisingly little time, he was meeting Callin outside the rogue pit. As they headed for the main gate, Steve grew conscious of activity from above. He glanced up to see a handful of guards gathered atop the prison wall, gawking and pointing at the Grand Lord — two of them were taking pictures with their phones.

“Hey, Vortex!” one of them called down.

“Yeah?”

“Is that guy new to the PCA?” the guard asked. “I don’t recognize him.”

Steve smiled. “He’s not with the PCA. He’s a new superhero!” He whispered to Callin, “Turn on your glow.”

“What?”

“Turn on your glow, your energy aura.”

A moment later, Callin was sheathed within his silvery radiance.

“This,” Steve called up to the guards, “is
the Shining Star!
”

The guards chattered amongst themselves and Steve saw more picturing-taking. Their excitement was palpable.

In that moment, all worries about the bounty hunter’s presence and what that might mean, all aches and pains from his various long-term injuries, all lingering depression over his lost family and misgivings over the fate of their killer ... it all faded into the background. Maybe Callin wasn’t
exactly
what he’d had in mind when he donned the Vortex uniform in hopes of inspiring others to do likewise, but this moment made up for it.

Steve couldn’t help but throw a wave up to the guards as they continued taking pictures, and Callin followed his lead. Regardless of how the President and his staff eventually chose to reveal the Taalu’s presence to the world at large, Callin’s personal presence was about to become common knowledge.

And it felt
awesome
.

Down in the pit’s basement, though, they found a more serious crowd: Takayasu, Shockwave, the warden, two suits whom Steve presumed to be government bureaucrats, and a dozen guards crammed together before the cell at the end of the main corridor. Unlike prison designs of the Alcatraz mold, “solitary” here was treated more like interrogation rooms, offering the immured subject no privacy with its full-wall glass on the hall side — it reminded Steve of the cells from
Silence of the Lambs
. Said “glass” was, of course, reinforced to withstand a paranormal-strength pounding. Each isolated cell sported top anti-rogue technology, and their prisoner, like all other inmates, now bore a psi-jammer on his forehead — any paranormal abilities on his part were dubious at this point (and, if he
was
an alien, would the psi-jammer even work?), but why take the risk?

One of the suits — a large Department of Homeland Security ID hanging directly beneath his temporary PCA badge — had stiffened as Steve and Callin approached the cell. “Excuse me, Lieutenant,” the DHS man said to Takayasu, “but are you sure these, uh ...” He eyed their flashy wardrobe with obvious derision. “...
civilians
are authorized to—?”

“At this time, Mister La Palma,” Takayasu cut him off, “they actually have more authorization than you do. In fact ...” He turned to the warden. “Lieutenant Commander Falkenberg, now that our special operatives are both here, we could use some privacy.”

“Now wait a minute—!” La Palma protested.

Ignoring him, Falkenberg replied to Takayasu, “Not a problem. This fellow hasn’t been very talkative, but I wish you luck.” Turning his boyish smile to the two suits, he extended an inviting arm back toward the stairs. “Well, gentlemen, if you would ...?”

La Palma grumbled under his breath and the other suit just shrugged as they were escorted away. Falkenberg was rounding up his own staff when he said to Takayasu, “I would prefer to leave a pair of guards. If they kept a respectful distance ...?”

Takayasu nodded. “So long as they remain out of earshot, that would be fine.”