Action Figures - Issue Two: Black Magic Women (30 page)

“Gonna punch you.”

Concorde touches down, interrupting the impending punching. “Squad,” he says by way of a greeting, though I wouldn’t go so far as to call it a pleasantry. There’s nothing pleasant about what we’re heading into.

“Boss,” I say. “I assume there’ll be a briefing en route?”

“Not much to brief you on. Power spike in Salem, growing steadily, no idea what’s going on beyond that.”

And now, the big question. “How sorceress-deficient is this op?”

“Completely. Enigma isn’t picking up for me, Mindforce, Nina...”

“We don’t need her,” Sara says.

“Maybe,” Concorde says, but he doesn’t believe that any more than I do.

“Hold on,” Missy says, fishing her phone out of her ninja suit. She fiddles with it for a few seconds, puts it away. “I texted her and told her what was going on. She’ll be here in a minute.”

Cue exchange of befuddled looks. “Missy, I appreciate the effort, but I don’t think Enigma will —”

Speak of the devil, and she will appear. Astrid, dressed in a suit and tie, of all things, surveys us with a cool, neutral eye. She’s waiting for one of us to cast the first stone. Understandable; she’s given us plenty of ammunition.

“Stuff’s happening in Salem,” Missy says. “You in or what?”

“Let’s roll,” Astrid says.

Concorde and I take point on the mad charge to Salem, while the Pelican takes a somewhat roundabout course in order to rendezvous with the Quantum Quintet over Boston. That’ll make it a full house, or almost so; the Entity, predictably, has not responded to the call to action.

En route, Astrid gives us the lowdown on what to expect, which is frustratingly vague; she predicts Black Betty will be there, possibly with some of her followers/minions/lackeys/whatever, for the purpose of executing the ritual to summon Kysztykc the uber-evil demon god thing. Maybe. Probably.

“And our best course of action is to disrupt the ritual, which will prevent the summoning, correct?” Concorde says.

“Yes. That would be the wisest course of action,” Astrid says. It’s the answer Concorde wants, but...

“Concorde? Channel zero, please?” I say. He glances over at me, questioningly, then switches over to the private line. “What do you think? Can we trust her?”

He doesn’t answer right away. “No. Not in the least,” he says, and sure, he and Astrid don’t see eye-to-eye on — well, anything, as far as I can tell, but the admission pains him nevertheless. “That’s why we’re keeping a close eye on her. You catch her doing anything that doesn’t sit right with you? Do what you have to do. Understood?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Good girl.”

Gaaaahhhh
...

We switch back to the open channel and immediately get an earful of Doc Quantum. “— readings have been holding steady for the last fifteen minutes.”

“Doc Quantum, this is Concorde, repeat that last message?”

“Ah, there you are. I was informing your team that the power spike seems to have stabilized — or perhaps reached a plateau. The energy signature has expanded significantly, but the levels themselves stopped increasing approximately fifteen minutes ago.”

I call up the satellite readings on my headset. A dreary orange circle, perfect in its circularity, encompasses a one-mile radius around a funky little peninsula, which sprouts a second, smaller peninsula that is labeled, inappropriately, Winter Island. Salem apparently has inept cartographers.

“Enigma, talk to us,” Concorde says.

“Something’s wrong. The energy would continue to increase until the spell triggers,” Astrid says, “unless they aborted, but then the magical energy would disperse.”

“Any guesses?”

“One: Black Betty is waiting for us.”

“Or you,” I say. She doesn’t disagree with me.

“What’s the plan, Concorde?” Doc Quantum says.

“Lightstorm and I will do a high-speed flyover, get visual confirmation on our targets. Once we’ve confirmed enemy presence, Gwendolyn, you’re up.”

“Copy that, Concorde. Scramblers are ready to go.”

“Scramblers?” I say.

“You know what a flash-bang grenade is?” Concorde says. “Scramblers are the mother of all flash-bang grenades. They detonate fifty feet over the target, and flatten anything within a quarter-mile radius.”

“Neat.” And non-lethal, which I appreciate. This entire adventure has been way too deathy for my liking.

“Once the scramblers ha... off, all three t...ms will move in fo...”

“Concorde, repeat that?” I say. “You broke up a little.”

“We lost you too,” Mindforce says. “We’re hit... some int...rfe...nce.”

Yeah, and hitting it right as we reach the edge of the hot zone. That can’t be a coincidence.

“I’ve never enc...tered static li... ...efore,” Concorde says, fading in and out as thick bursts of static clog my earpieces. His next sentence is a collection of individual letters. The only full word that makes it through is an F-bomb, which is when I realize Concorde is no longer flying — he’s falling.

I dive after him. Concorde twists in midair, and he reaches for me as I reach for him. We lock hands in a big knot. I decelerate as gently as possible, to keep him from accidentally wrenching free. God, he’s heavy.

He yells at me, but it’s muffled nonsense. Best guess: his suit, somehow, has completely lost power, which means his comm system — which includes his helmet speaker — is dead. That means the only way he can to talk to me is to pop his helmet, and that means exposing his face.

I can see his face. Oh my God...

Concorde is some guy I totally do not recognize.

“Something killed my suit’s power!” he shouts. “Is your comm system working?”

“No, it’s dead, too!”

“Dammit! Dammit, dammit! You need to drop me and intercept the Pelican before it hits the hot zone!”

Guess what zooms past us at that very second.

THIRTY

The Pelican blows by, listing at a nose-first angle, its running lights flickering once before going out completely. The Quantums’ transport, which looks like a sleeker, slicker version of the Pelican, misses us by a few yards. The resulting turbulence nearly wipes me out of the sky.

Concorde again orders me to drop him, to go after the transports, but I ignore him. I have to trust the others can take care of themselves, at least until I can deposit Concorde on the ground. Two teams of seasoned professionals (and the Squad) should be able to save themselves.

(God, please feel free to lend a hand. I won’t mind. Really. Sincerely, Carrie Hauser.)

Once Concorde is down, I roar back into the sky, but I’m flying blind, somewhat literally; no headset means no night vision.

Sara? I lost you!

Can’t talk!
Sara replies.
Saving asses!

Fortunately, that brief exchange is all I need: our mindlink, when active, establishes a direct line between our brains, which gives me a psychic beacon to follow. I catch up to the Pelican in seconds. It’s falling, but not in a smooth, steep plummet like I expected; it sways and pitches, as though giant, invisible hands were grabbing at it —
clumsy
giant, invisible hands. Two psionics and a sorcerer aren’t enough to keep an airship the size of a semi from dropping like a rock.

Think, Carrie. Think fast.

Gravity. I can negate gravity for myself, and Doc Quantum theorized I could manipulate gravity externally as well, but how? How do I do that?

The Pelican keeps dropping. Dammit, girl, do something or they’re going to die — and die stupidly! Super-heroes don’t die in frickin’ plane crashes like a rock band!

Panic. Anger. An agitated emotional state — the kind of state that shuts down conscious thought, and lets instinct take over.

I fly underneath the Pelican, pressing my back to its belly. I will gravity to go away, and I pray: for my friends and for myself, because dammit,
I did not survive two encounters with Manticore to be smushed into paste underneath a falling airship called
the Pelican.

Worst. Obituary. Ever.

I come way too close to meeting that undignified end. The ground comes rushing up to meet me, rising up from the darkness, lit only by my own glowy self. I punch it, zipping clear of the Pelican as it smacks the ground, skipping off the grass like a stone across a pond. It bounces one last time, hard, then skids to a stop.

Everything is still and silent and much darker than it should be. We’ve come down in the middle of a public baseball field, but I can’t see any lights anywhere. Even the streetlights at the edge of the park are out. Whatever took out our electronics, it’s widespread.

As I swing back toward the Pelican, the side door slides open, and not on its own steam. Stuart pops his head out.

“Any landing you can walk away from,” he says, “am I right?”

“Depends,” I say. “Is everyone walking away?”

“Staggering, more like, but hey, could’ve been lots worse.”

Nina is the first person to climb out and, no surprises here, the queen of adrenaline junkies isn’t rattled in the least. “WOO! That’ll wake you up!”

“You are a sick woman,” I say. I crank up the glow, to give everyone some light to work by as they pick themselves up off the floor. I see many a bump and bruise in the Squad’s future, but I don’t see any blood, so that’s a spot of good news. Sara and Mindforce, however, look like death warmed over, and Astrid is right behind them. Great. Three of our heavy hitters, wiped out in the opening act.

“C’mon, you old ladies, up and at ‘em!” Nina says. “We got work to do!”

“Natalie, you’re my best friend, I love you, but please shut the hell up,” Astrid says.

“Any idea what happened?” I say. “Concorde’s suit lost power, my headset’s dead, I don’t see any streetlights on anywhere...”

“Not sure, but it hit us the second we passed into the hot zone,” Mindforce says.

“Yeah, I noticed that, too.”

“Luddite Field,” Astrid says. “Impedes conductivity, prevents electricity from flowing.”

That means no Concorde, no comm systems, no airships...

“Crap!” I blurt out. “The Quantums!”

“Hold on.” Mindforce closes his eyes, steadies himself against the bulkhead. “Got them,” he says, pointing. “That way. Nina.”

“On it. Ladies, you’re with me on Quantum duty,” Nina says. “Psyche, with the comms out, you’re our party line.”

“Okay. What’s a party line?” Sara says.

“Stop making me feel old. Lightstorm, hit the sky, coordinate with Mindforce to zero in on the Raptor, we’ll be right behind you. Superbeast, Trencher, stay put in case Concorde manages to find us, fill him in if and when he gets here. When we’re ready to move out, we’ll give you a shout on the brainphone.”

“Then what?” Matt says. “If the Quantums are down and electricity is all fubar, the scramblers are out of commission.”

“One problem at a time,” Mindforce says. “Get going.”

“You go,” Astrid says. “I’ll take care of Black Betty.”

“You’re staying with us,” Nina says, “until you’re told otherwise.”

Astrid does a double-take. She’s used to Concorde bossing her around, but for Nina to bark orders at her...

“Natalie, come on.”

“Nina Nitro. I’m on the clock, and so are you,
Dr. Enigma
. As long as you’re part of this team, you’re going to follow the game plan.”

Astrid narrows her eyes at Nina, but says nothing.

“You heard the man, ladies,” Nina says. “Let’s get going.”

Looks like the Quantums’ airship has fared better than the Pelican; it sits in the middle of a long strip of roadway, wheels down, as though it made a normal landing.

“Hey! Quantums! Is everyone okay?” I call out. It’s a self-answering question, as all five Quantums are outside the ship. My heart skips a beat when I see Megawatt curled up in her father’s massive arms, unconscious.

Wait.
Five
Quantums?

“You brought Farley with you? On a mission?”

“Do you know how impossible it is to find a babysitter at one in the morning?” Doc Quantum says. Guess I can’t argue that one. “What’s the situation?”

“The Pelican is down, but the Protectorate and the Squad are okay. We’re in something Dr. Enigma called a Luddite Field; it screws with electricity.”

“Not all electricity,” Doc Quantum says, stroking her daughter’s hair. Meg, Doc Quantum explains, dumped her power into the Raptor to keep it functional until they could land. It saved the Quantums’ lives. Unfortunately, it cost Meg dearly — and worse, the Raptor is kerflooey, and with it, the scramblers.

We’re going to have to take on Black Betty face-to-face.

I can’t say how long it took Concorde to find the Pelican crash site, or how long after that it took the three teams to reunite at the Raptor. I can’t say because the Luddite Field has rendered every timepiece among us useless.

And
useless
has become our key operative word for this mission: all our technology is dead, Concorde and Megawatt are effectively out of action, the psionics are barely standing, and Dr. Enigma, in addition to being exhausted, can’t be trusted not to throw us all under the bus.