Love for the Cold-Blooded (37 page)

Man, she was so smart — and so completely unruffled and cool, too.

Pat went over and hugged her, unruffled coolness be damned. She hugged him back in a bone-crushing way that announced she really didn’t mind. He did get some more grit and dust on him, but it wasn’t as though it made any difference at this point. Pat didn’t know Nessa well enough to be sure she’d welcome a hug, so he held out a fist to her instead. She grinned at him with no trace of timidity or apprehension as she bumped it with hers.

Awesome minions, that’s what they were. Took more than a superpowered alien wrecking ball to shake up this lot.

“There was always a chance that his non-human physiognomy would be able to resist the might of the MCR.” Sir Toby sounded immensely annoyed. “A broad spectrum beam should have been able to entrap his human-analogue mind along with all human ones within range, however. Which it almost certainly did, considering Star Knight did not visit me far sooner. Unfortunately, the mind controlling effect was evidently weakened by the lack of concentration on a single frequency, allowing Star Knight to fight free of the ray’s control with time, albeit at great cost to his strength.”

Pat would have theorized that the Mind Control Ray was useless on Star Knight because there was nothing for it to control, but he guessed that Sir Toby’s theory sounded plausible, too.

“And now that I could theoretically run the necessary tests to calibrate the ray properly for the meddlesome alien, he has ruined my equipment.” Pat had never seen Sir Toby angry before. The unfamiliar emotion turned his face into a thing of sharp angles and severely ascetic lines, eyes narrow and cold. Wow, Pat was glad they were on the same side. “The imbecile has ever been the enemy of scientific progress. Just wait. The time will come…”

For a moment it sounded as though he would go off into a Speech of Frothing Rage in the noble tradition of the Challenger Foiled, but he trailed off instead, shaking his head and digging out his mobile phone. Pat was a little disappointed; Sir Toby gave great speeches, and he’d have loved to hear one live. On the other hand, it was true that this wasn’t the right time or place, and a small handful of minions was entirely the wrong audience. Sir Toby would get a proper setting for Frothing Rage soon.

“Sir Toby?” Nessa stepped forward to sweep into a smart bow, brisk, steel-eyed and determined — the very image of a minion on a mission. “May I have his cape?”

Sir Toby turned a milder version of his frown on Nessa. Which, okay yeah, the question was a little strange at first listen, but really, once Pat thought about it… that cape was pretty much the coolest thing about Star Knight. It was at least as electric blue as his eyes, and it billowed impressively with every movement its wearer made. It was even billowing a bit right now, where it had settled gently over Star Knight’s sleeping form.

“I don’t see why not,” Sir Toby said at last, already lifting his phone to his ear. “Lady Helena? Yes. Code Blue. We will have to adjust the plan.”

While Sir Toby and Hell consulted on what contingency plan to put into effect (they had about three dozen, as far as Pat could tell), Nessa and Pat joined forces to detach Star Knight’s cape from the shoulders of his costume. This turned out to be a lengthier process than might have been anticipated, involving a lot of trial and error, careful maneuvering around hot metal, and plain old frustrated tugging, but they did finally manage to discover the location of the stasis zipper. It triggered for a basic touch sequence of the kind used in department stores; the kind you were meant to reset to a more secure code once you got your item home. Looked like Star Knight hadn’t gotten the memo.

The cape fell into Pat’s hands in a heavy waterfall of fabric, gleaming like blue mercury. Star Knight’s snores never even faltered.

“What about his belt?” Nessa wound the cape around her shoulders like a team flag at a sports event, flushed with victory. “Or his boots. They won’t fit any of us, I don’t think, but what if we put them up for auction? We could take a picture to prove they’re authentic. We’d make a fortune.”

No doubt this was true, but they hadn’t been able to budge Star Knight by even a single centimeter this entire time. He was as immobile and unshiftable as though he were a marble statue welded directly onto the metal lump. They’d gotten lucky with the cape because no part of it had been underneath his body. The belt was a different story, and Pat very much doubted they’d be able to work off his boots, the way he was curled up. Trying for either item seemed likely to earn them first-degree burns, and nothing more.

Besides, Pat wasn’t exactly enthusiastic about the idea of fumbling around with Star Knight’s belt. He had the dim suspicion that it might be a violation of the West Sister Dating Rules, even though he couldn’t have said which rule applied to stealing the clothes off the sleeping form of your boyfriend’s obnoxious buddy so you could put them up for auction. The situation might not have come up yet. Pat would have to check back with his sisters about it.

Thankfully, Cat intervened before Nessa could think of another item of clothing they should try to steal. She was brandishing a set of whiteboard markers and an evil grin that showed off her sharp canines. “Forget Star Knight’s belt, my fellow minions. Are we out for petty pranking, or do we want revenge? I have a much better plan.”

She did. She really, truly did.

Star Knight’s invulnerable skin was smoother than a human’s and didn’t give to the touch. It was like he’d been specifically designed to be drawn on with markers. In no time at all, they’d adorned his face with a full, shaggy black mustache that curled luxuriously at the ends, plus a small pointy goatee to complement the look. Heavy, bushy eyebrows for balance, and lastly the crowning touch: Staring blue eyes drawn on his closed eyelids, complete with cute curling lashes that fanned out over his cheeks.

It was easily the most beautiful thing Pat had ever seen on a hoagie, rivaled only by the way Silver Paladin’s ass filled out his quantum armor.

Sir Toby was still on the phone, now giving a series of terse commands to what was probably one of the tech minions, judging by the fact Pat only understood about one word in ten. They had time to take turns posing for mobile phone pictures with the serenely slumbering Star Knight, grinning like mad things beneath their minion masks. They even managed to take a group picture by propping up Pat’s phone on the bookcase. It came out really well: Nessa crouched in front, draped in Star Knight’s cape and holding up both hands split into victory signs, while Pat and Cat leaned in from either side, framing Star Knight’s marker-improved mug with their own masked faces, broad grins plain to see even through the emerald satin.

The group pic was Pat’s favorite. It was also the one they posted to Sir Toby’s official fan page, his blog, and his chatter account, as well as all the other major social networks. Comments began pouring in immediately, and several vicious infoweb flame wars broke out within the first minutes. Everybody was linking to, copying and reposting the image; it was well on its way to going viral within ten minutes.

It was glorious. Star Knight was never going to live this down.

Timing was a big deal in the challenger business. Once again, Sir Toby proved he had what it took: He snapped his mobile phone shut mere seconds after his minions had successfully implemented their ingenious plan, turning to them with an air of brisk command that had them snapping to immediate attention. All three of them managed to be in perfect sync, too. They were on a roll, and were also Just That Awesome™.

“Star Knight’s confederates will not be slow to recover,” Sir Toby said without preamble. “We must act quickly to prepare for their arrival. Catalina, assist the Lady Helena in the entrance hall. She is preparing the stage for my Grand Showdown. Patrick, you’re in command of Team Four — they are fetching a vehicle and will pick you up out back. It’s your job to clear out my lair, and I expect you to be thorough. Klytemnestra, join the communications team in the press room. Everyone, go.”

The stab of disappointment was sharp and undeniable. Pat had been looking forward to witnessing Sir Toby’s Last Stand in person… had even hoped, in his secret heart of hearts, that he might get to play a small active part. He wasn’t about to change his mind about the challenger career as a whole, obviously — he knew what he wanted to do with his life, and fighting hoagies for a living was not it. But his stint as Sir Toby’s minion really had been fun. The man was super cool, his inventions and plans were awesome, and Pat had bonded with his fellow minions like never before. It would have been cool to be there for the end, as well. Particularly since this was definitely going to be a showdown for the history books. Pretty much every hoagie in the city was bound to show up for it.

Except for Star Knight, of course. Ha.

But a minion had to do what a minion had to do, so clean-up duty it was. Wasn’t like it was a bad job, either, especially considering Pat’s previous showdown experiences included being forgotten in a remote stretch of forest (he’d had to hitch a ride back to town after a full-day hike), running around ineffectually in order to ‘add to the atmosphere’ while feeling like a particularly silly headless chicken, and waiting in excruciating boredom while hero and challenger battled it out in an alternate universe. Compared with that, cleaning up a lair was pure gold.

Not to mention that it was an important task, no matter how lacking in excitement it was bound to be, what with the showdown taking place somewhere else. That Sir Toby was putting Pat in charge showed that he had faith in him, and Pat was not going to disappoint his dread master.

~~~~~

T
urned out Pat was dramatically wrong about the lack of excitement clean-up duty would involve. Who knew.

Everything went off the rails the instant Pat and Team Four arrived at the office park that housed Sir Toby’s lair. That was when Nessa phoned him with the info a hero had split off from the main hoagie forces, and was heading straight for the lair. Pat (as she reported with the kind of brisk coolness that made her an excellent minion, but a less excellent friend) had a head start of two minutes. And guess which hero was going to pay a visit?

Pat tumbled out of the car so hastily he almost landed flat on his face, jumping straight to making pointy finger guns and shouting at the top of his lungs. “Science lab —go!” The dorky one with glasses and the blue-haired one sprinted off. Pat fired his finger guns at the tall one whose mask was always crooked and the one standing next to her. “Admin and personnel!” The tall girl held her mask to her face with one hand as she ran. She was surprisingly fast, which was all for the good, considering. Two were left, and so was: “Storage!” The cute one with the eyebrow piercing and the last one except for Pat himself took off, and so did Pat. They all sprinted across the parking garage and up the stairs in record time, like Nexus herself was hot on their heels. Which she wasn’t, thank all the gods. That would have been all they needed.

He split off from the storage team just inside the lair proper, veering left towards the executive offices when they thundered down the hall to the right, towards the kitchen and storage.

Pat was in the middle of deleting Sir Toby’s data banks when Silver Paladin ran him down in Sir Toby’s secret lab.

Well, okay, strictly speaking it wasn’t a secret lab, but a non-secret office, seeing as how Sir Toby lair still wasn’t anything more dramatic than a rented office space. Plus, Silver Paladin pretty much just threw open the door to Sir Toby’s personal office and discovered Pat inside. It just sounded way neater to be run down in a secret lab than found in an office, okay? Artistic license, kind of thing. Pat was missing the showdown, he felt he was entitled to
some
fun.

Which was also why Pat was diligently trying to coax the recalcitrant AI (which — unlike Ay — was a really basic system and didn’t even have a personality) into scrubbing the data banks properly. Pat was pretty sure the only things Sir Toby had on this computer were cookie recipes, speech notes, bookmark lists to vegan cooking sites and an unfinished memoir that Pat really hoped he’d backed up somewhere. But it was the principle of the thing. When heroes stormed the lair, minions rushed around attempting to destroy the evidence while the challenger grandstanded his way to the final battle. Anything else would be a let-down for everyone involved.

Good thing Sir Toby was doing his grandstanding elsewhere. This lair wasn’t the right setting for anything except conference calls, budget meetings and other such horrors.

Anyway, Pat was wrestling with the stubborn AI when the door flew open, rebounding from the wall with a shudder that only superheroes could manage. Pat didn’t look up, preferring to mutter darkly at the AI and use his remaining seconds to permanently delete several more folders of cocktail recipes and what looked like a draft of Sir Toby’s Final Speech. (“Now is the hour of my great vexation,” seriously? Dude. Pat sure hoped Sir Toby had reconsidered.)

Pat would have known which hero it was even if Nessa hadn’t given him advance notice. Even without the blurred silver haze in his peripheral vision, he’d have known — long before familiar arms boxed him in against the desk, gripping it on either side of his hips. It wasn’t even the scent, really, at least not anything as mundane as aftershave or whatever. No… it was the unique blend of distant rain and building electricity, the sense of a storm that hadn’t broken yet.

Incidentally, there was nothing sappy or purple prosey about that. It was just a metaphor (simile, whatever). That’s what Nick smelled and felt like to Pat when he was wrapped in his Silver Paladin force fields, okay? Simple as that. Even if Pat wasn’t about to tell any of his sisters because he’d never hear the end of it.

“You again,” Nick intoned, all righteous carrying voice. “I knew I would find you here, knew it before I ever even set foot in the villain’s lair. What on earth do you think you are doing, Patrick?”

“Since you ask, I think I’m deleting Sir Toby’s data so it doesn’t fall into enemy hands,” Patrick said brightly. He quickly hit the override to send the deleted files into data nirvana. The AI grudgingly complied.