Paranormals (Book 2): We Are Not Alone (44 page)

Shining Star finally tossed the wasp off, but rather than regaining his feet, he was clutching at his wounded neck. The wasp, on the other hand, was back in the air, hovering a few feet above the Taalu, waiting for an opening.

The walrus barked something at the wasp, and the triclops chimed in as it clambered to its feet. All three moved toward one another. Yet again, the Noctoponm were all up while Home Team was dwindling.

“Asimov—”

“
Hey, don’t even say it, man! You’ve seen what they can do to my robots. I’m not going anywhere near them.
”

“Unless you do something,” Takayasu snapped, “what’s to stop
them
from coming near
you
? You said they already killed you— your body. You want to give them a chance to finish the job?!”

Asimov grumbled under his breath, which sounded bizarre coming from Daneel’s vocal speakers.

“If there’s anything you can do, you better do it now!”

“
Hey, I
got
it, all right?! Just ... give me a second.
” Shaking his head, he turned toward his burning home and stood still for a moment.

Takayasu didn’t have time to wait for whatever Rick Miner had in mind. With the Noctoponm coming together, he could test his damn sonic emitter against all three of them at once. He drew an arm back to throw it.

“
Wait, wait!
” Asimov blurted. “
Don’t fry any of
my
shit, all right?
”

Before Takayasu could ask, he saw more plumes of dust erupt in front of the compound. Several more.

“
If I’d had any idea how dangerous these rogues were,
” Asimov was complaining, “
I’d’ve pulled out all the stops from the get-go. Now I’m stuck in this damn robot ...
”

Takayasu could see what appeared to be a dozen robots emerging from the ground, all of them as dirt-encrusted as the first three. But what was more important, the Noctoponm saw them as well. The triclops pointed them out, jabbering in its alien language, then gestured toward the ones still clinging to its back — the walrus moved to its partner and batted those robots away.

As the wasp settled near them, the walrus studied the robots, then looked over at Powerhouse (who was again making progress getting back up) and Shining Star (collapsed to the ground), then at Vortex and Shockwave, then finally at Asimov and Takayasu himself — it barked something to the others, which earned an apparent acknowledgment.

To hell with this
, Takayasu thought, and he drew his arm back once more to throw his sonic emitter at them.

Too late. The walrus raised its arms toward its partners, and all three Noctoponm crouched and leaped, soaring away from the battlefield with such ease that Michael first thought they were flying, except the wasp’s wings were motionless. They traveled in an arc that would bring them back to earth several hundred yards out.

“
Hey, what the hell are they doing now?
” Asimov asked.

A portal irised open, and Takayasu realized that their ship had been present the entire time, veiled out in the darkness, away from the burning compound and from the conflict. Had they only known, they might’ve had the opportunity to disable it.

The three Noctoponm landed — light as a feather, courtesy of the walrus — and entered the ship. Seconds later, the portal irised shut and the vessel rose into the air, gaining altitude with increasing speed ... and then the veiled ship disappeared against the night sky.

After a belated moment, Takayasu realized that his hand was still cocked to throw the emitter. He lowered it and found himself promising the device, “Maybe next time.”

“
Where the hell did they get a plane like
that
?!
”

“Long story.”

Asimov looked around at his horde of robots, all now stationary as they stared toward where the ship disappeared. “
So, is that it? Are they gone?
”

“That would be nice,” Takayasu told him, “but I doubt it.” He hustled off to check the wounded, starting with his partner.

TAKAYASU AND VORTEX

Michael managed to get his team airlifted by helicopter to a hospital in Cheyenne. He instructed their PCA pilot to relocate the jet to the nearest runway — private or public, he didn’t really care so long as the jet was fueled and ready to go up again on a moment’s notice.

Their injuries were assorted, but luckily, a blanket explanation of “fighting paranormal rogues” fended off most questions. Still, a miscellanea of PCA field agents and local and state police cordoned off as much privacy within and around the hospital as they could manage.

Mark’s injuries were the most straightforward, highlighted by a fractured cheekbone and probable concussion, resulting from the blow to his face.

Lincoln was an unusual case of head-to-toe contusions; they couldn’t ice him everywhere at once (and how much would that help his invulnerable tissue, anyway?), so they focused on his neck, back, and major joints, to minimize the swelling as best they could.

Vortex, in addition to a few bumps and bruises, had laser injuries to his left tricep and right thigh — apparently, as he had explained his theory to Michael, the wasp’s exoskeleton reflected his own attack back at him. The hospital staff were tentatively treating them as severe burns, having little experience with this degree of laser trauma, but a
Davison Electronics
employee was en route to hopefully help in that department. Captain Brunn had ribbed Michael for the use of multiple PCA jets, but thus far the Captain had mentioned neither tar nor feathers.

The Grand Lord was the trickiest of all. Callin’s throat had swollen shut from the wasp’s venom, and only his minimal need to breathe had saved him from suffocation. When Michael explained to the doctors that he was paranormal, they collectively sighed in professional frustration over yet another patient who didn’t follow “the rules of medicine.” Callin was also experiencing irregular surges of dizziness, having difficulty focusing his eyes, and was feverish (the hospital had registered a “lethal” fever of 110°, but gestures from Callin had assured Michael that this number was not as deadly for him as it sounded). Similar to Lincoln, the doctors were reduced to the passive approach of trying to lower his temperature.

The emergency response teams had also brought in the body of Rick Miner — the compound was registered as owned by one “Rick Deckard,” but Michael saw through that joke in about two seconds. For now, though, the owner’s name was the only one the authorities could go by, as the body itself had been both crushed and hideously disfigured by a strong acid, just like Ensign Pendler. As for the “spirit” of Rick Miner, he was nowhere to be seen; at some point during the aftermath, the robot Daneel and its metal compatriots had quietly disappeared. Michael did not know how a dozen
robots
could get very far without being seen, but right now, he didn’t really care. Regardless, the PCA associate Asimov had flown the coup.

Next came the part Michael was dreading. While Callin had been prepped for examination, Michael made sure to collect his Taalu communicator. Stepping outside to find a private niche, he activated the device as he had seen Callin do.

“Come in, Lord Larr,” he said, not knowing how else to open.

“
This is Larr,
” the old Taalu man responded, sounding cautious. “
Who is this?
”

“Sir, this is Lieutenant Takayasu—”

“
Where’s Callin?
”

“Callin’s injured, sir. He can’t speak—”

“
How bad is it?
”

“It’s ... not good, but not life-threatening, as near as we can tell.”

“
Bring him here. Right now.
” It was an order.

Under the circumstance, Michael did not take offense. “We’ll get him to you as soon as we can, sir. We’re all in a bad way.”

A pause, then, “
What’s the status of the Noctoponm? We can see they’re in motion.
”

“I’m sorry to say all three are still a threat, sir. We think they retreated because we surprised them by gaining superior numbers. Otherwise ...”

Another pause. “
What can we do?
”

“We could use any indications of the Noctoponm’s exact whereabouts.”

“
Their veil is blurring their convert signals, like before. Naltin’s working on an alternative method; he should have that up and running any time now. But we
think
they’re heading east— Damn it! Naltin, stop them!
”

Bewildered, Michael asked, “Is everything all right?”

“
Fine, we’re fine. Callin’s family just got relayed the news, and the kids want to come to you. Don’t worry, we won’t let them, not now.
”

“All right ...” Now that he’d conveyed the delicate news, he wasn’t sure what else to say except, “I’ll have Callin contact you as soon as he can.”

“
Understood. Thank you for letting us know. We’ve been very worried.
”

“You’re welcome, sir. Takayasu out.”

The second Michael closed the channel, he was on his phone, calling for the east coast branches of the PCA to be placed on high alert. As he hustled back inside, Michael spotted a familiar young black man in casual street clothes talking to a state trooper and a PCA Ensign; the young man was trying to enter the ground floor’s private area, but he wasn’t making much progress. Michael veered in that direction.

“You’re Jeremy Walker,” he said as he reached them.

Walker turned, surprised. “Uh, yeah. Yes, I am. I was trying to explain ...”

Michael waved him down. To the guards, he said, “It’s all right, Ensign. I’ll take responsibility for him.” To Walker, he said, “Come with me.”

Grateful, Walker followed.

Guiding the young man into the blocked-off hallway, he slowed until they were closer together and said in a low voice, “I presume you were asking for Steve Davison?”

“Yeah,” Walker said, dropping his volume to match. “My boss, Alan Russell at
Davison Electronics
, asked me to hurry to the airport as quick as I could, that Mister Davison was injured—”

“And you ended up getting a PCA escort here. I know, I helped coordinate that while we were still out in the field. But no one knows any ‘Steve Davison’ here.” He reached a private room, nodding to the Ensign guarding the door as they pushed through.

“I don’t get it. If Mister Davison isn’t here ... then why am I?”

“It’s okay, Michael,” said the patient from the bed. “I’ll take over.”

Walker’s halt was so abrupt, his sneakers squeaked on the tile floor. “
Vortex
?”

The costumed vigilante was quite a sight, and not because of his black and gold uniform. Said costume was in almost humorous disarray: His left arm had been pulled free of the sleeve, but he was still wearing the rest of the shirt and his gloves; the right pant leg hung limp over the edge of the bed, but he was still wearing the rest of the pants and his boots; bandages were evident on both exposed limbs; and his cape, still attached, was slung over the pillow behind him, but had crumpled on one side. Overall, it created an unexpected, unruly mess — decidedly not one might anticipate when meeting a superhero.

“Hey, Jeremy,” Vortex said. “Sorry to drag you here on such short notice.”

All Jeremy said in return was, “I ...”

Vortex reached up for his mask. “Okay, you know, let’s just make this easier. You were getting suspicious anyway, right?” He pulled the mask off, revealing the flushed face of Steve Davison. Removing his psi-band, he scratched at his exposed forehead and smiled at Jeremy.

Walker’s jaw dropped, but not as far as Michael might’ve expected.

Steve grinned and shrugged. “Don’t worry about it. It’s time I dropped the charade in front of Michael here, too. How long should we waste time dancing circles around an open secret?”

“Agreed,” Michael said. “Especially now.”

“Besides, I can finally get away with taking the damn mask off whenever we’re in private. Jeremy, I’ve got some injuries on my left arm and right leg that are a little complicated for the regular medical staff here. I know your healing abilities aren’t all-encompassing, but I could sure use any help you can give me.”

“Yeah ...” Walker said, moving toward the bed. “I’ll do whatever I can, boss. I’ll start with your leg.”

“Great. And when you’re done with me, I’ve got some hurt friends who could use your best efforts, too. Do you think you can do anything for a really, really bad wasp sting?”

“A wasp—? I ... I don’t know.”

“I guess we’ll find out.”

Steve asked Michael, “Where are we?”

“Mark’s having an MRI performed right now.” He glanced at his watch. “He should be done any minute. They’re checking on how much brain trauma the triclops caused when it hit him.”

Walker looked up from removing the bandage on Steve’s leg. “ ‘Triclops’?”

“Jeremy,” Steve said, “you’re about to hear a bunch of wild stuff, okay? Believe me, if I didn’t trust you, I wouldn’t’ve taken my mask off, but I also have to stress how confidential this conversation is. All right?”

Eyes still bugging out a little, Walker nodded and returned his attention to Steve’s thigh.

Back to Michael, Steve asked, “What about Lincoln and Callin?”

“Lincoln should be fine. He’s banged up, but you know from experience how tough he is. Callin’s in worse shape, but it’s hard to tell
how
worse given his ...” He glanced at Walker. “... his paranormal development.”

“Did you get through to his people?”

“Yes, just before I bumped into Jeremy here.”

“How’d they take it—? Ow! Shit!”

Jeremy looked up from where he was massaging around Steve’s injury. “Sorry. What happened here?”

“A pair of laser beams raked it. Same with my arm.”

That, at least, Walker took mostly in stride. “You’re lucky it just hit the meat. If it had incised the bone, there wouldn’t be much I could do. Try to hold still. The pain should back off soon.”