Part Fourteen

The trio tried to dogpile her. At the moment, Vic assumed they weren't using firearms because they didn't want to alert the cops down the block. Or maybe saw the armor and knew bullets weren't likely to work. In the light of subsequent events, she later decided they just weren't thinking too well right then.

Vic hopped into a right sidekick to the gut of the nearest man, bounced off that into a hop away, and - with that leg still in the air - caught the man on the left with a roundhouse to his ribs. Then she bounced from that into a hook kick for the third man, also to the ribs. All three kicks done with the same leg, without putting it down between. Wallace style.

The men dropped. Vic heard noises from beyond the dumpster, reminding her she still had the volume on her helmet turned up. Oh, well; no time to adjust it right now. The electronics were clipping the volume, anyway, so she wouldn't be deafened. Instead, she jumped over the felled men and ran after the sound.

A man carrying a long case was running down the alley, away from her. Despite the hindrance of her armor, Vic quickly closed the distance between them. When the man realized he couldn't outrun Vic, he stopped.

Incredibly, instead of dropping the case to get more speed, surrendering, or going for a gun, the man quickly knelt, put his burden down, opened it and started to pull out a wrapped, sword-shaped object. Vic moved in and smoothly twisted the wrapped sword from the man's grip, then backhanded him on the side of the head when he tried to retake the blade. She was barely able to pull the blow enough not to seriously hurt him with the armored back on her glove. For some reason her blood was up. Vic looked over as her first set of opponents - or the two still able to - came towards her, this time with guns out. She intended to tuck the wrapped sheath into her belt, to leave her hands free if the thieves tried to continue the fight. However, she found herself doing something very different. The sword was demanding her attention.

The wrap was whipped away and she grabbed the sheath in one hand, the hilt in the other. Even through her protective gloves the grip felt prickly and uncomfortable, as if the shape was very wrong for her hands. Yet Vic found herself drawing the sword. She then found herself moving smoothly into a fighting stance, sword held in both hands, ready to use. The pair of thieves stopped. Without Vic saying or doing anything more, the pair dropped their weapons, put their hands on their heads and got on their knees. Then lay flat.

All four of the men who had been in that alley were now down and staying down, presenting no threat. Vic still was barely able to stop herself from applying the edge of that wicked blade to the nearest man, the one who had led the second charge at her. The thieves knew it, too; at least the ones conscious enough to realize what was happening. Vic barely stopped herself from swinging, the man she was about to behead looking up in terror from where he lay on the greasy pavement.

Vic knew, of course, of the martial arts teaching to feel the spirit of the weapon. Before now she had thought that advice was purely metaphorical, and only referred to becoming aware of the balance of the object, the way it moved. Now she realized that in some circumstances it could mean something very literal.

"Down, boy!" she said, firmly, glaring through her faceplate at the sword. The fury and urge to violence subsided, but she had the distinct feeling the blade's acceptance of her dominance was only short-term. Still, for now she was definitely in control. "You guys better be glad I have good training. Now, where's the sheath? I gotta safe this thing before it makes me murder all of you..."

An observer might have thought this was all a performance, to keep the men cowed in their defeat. Which they definitely were. They complied, both of them helpfully pointing to where the sheath had fallen. Vic quickly gathered the sheath and inserted the sword. She tossed the wrap in the case, leaving both those where they were for the moment; her attention was on something more urgent.

"Behave!" she barked at the sword, before tucking the sheathed blade securely into her belt. She pried her hand from the grip, shook it out to make it relax, and sighed. Then she looked back at the cowed men. "Now, before it gets loose again, where's the other sword?"

Once more, they cooperated without hesitation. They were all aware of the legends, had themselves been under the influence of the blade for a while, and were now aware of how they had been acting out of character until Vic mastered that particular sword. The fact that she had mastered it went a long way towards making them cooperative.

"Our boss has it," said one of the men, as the other nodded. "He's been looking for us. And... for that..."

Vic nodded back, then used the cell function in her refurbished helmet to call for police backup and medical help. She needed the former and some of these men definitely needed the latter.

However, as she was using that function she discovered a problem with the refurbished helmet's new equipment. When she was using the cell phone function, the external audio cut out. Vic was, of course, watching the four captured men, and saw the two who were still conscious notice something. Before she could look in that direction her sense of awareness revealed the rapid approach of something. Someone. A large man, closing quickly. Vic reflexively dodged, interrupting her call, though fortunately after giving her location and need for backup.

She successfully avoided this new attacker, but there were others with him. Like the first four, all were fit men with skills and experience. Unlike the first four they had modern melee weapons and were working together to use those against Vic. What followed was almost a dance, involving graceful attacks and defenses, punches and kicks and weapon strikes and blocks, dodges and parries. She quickly noticed that the apparent leader - the big man who had led this attack on her - had a sword strapped across his back. She thought she recognized him and some of the others - including one of those already on the ground - from the photos the FBI had provided. None of the current attackers were men to be taken lightly. Of course, neither were the first four, but for some reason they had been far easier to defeat. Vic could tell these men were good, but there was something else going on.

Time to get creative, Vic thought, deciding to figure out the details later.

With a bit of maneuvering, she got the big man away from those who had arrived with him. This was partly helped by the sounds of sirens approaching; the actions of these newcomers became more urgent after that. Which made them more vulnerable. Vic used one of the big guy's punches against him. She blocked, grabbed his arm with both hands and swung him around, as if to place him in a joint lock. Instead, Vic slammed face-first into a wall. This momentarily stunned him. The second sword was quickly pulled from the makeshift strapping.

Vic stepped back, smiling, now in possession of both swords. The smile faded as she quickly realized the blades were fighting for possession of her! She also realized something else. The air entering her mask was currently unfiltered, and after getting up close and personal with the big guy she noticed something.

"I can tell you like garlic," said Vic, startling him.

Fortunately this, plus the sounds of cop cars getting closer, gave her some time. She secured the second sheath, then drew both swords. The "evil" one was in her right hand, the "good" one in her left. The metal of the blades gleamed in the faint light coming in from the streets at both ends of the alley. The effect was intoxicating. Vic shivered, feeling the temptation to cut loose, tempered with the urge to show mercy. Not unlike being human, actually. She noticed that both groups of thieves were now united against her, and those who were able were drawing handguns.

"I'm wearing bulletproof armor," Vic announced. sweeping her gaze over the group of professional thieves. "I'm faster than you. I have a pair of magic swords. There are police running down the alley from both directions. Your move."

There was a long pause.

"Wellll, apple juice," said Aurness, finally. He tossed his gun aside and put up his hands. The others followed suit.

Detroit police arrived shortly after that, to find the suspects all passively waiting for them. Seeing the armored figure holding the two swords made clear why.

* * *

Michelle looked around as Vic came in, carrying the case with her armor. She smiled, and was about to tell her wife that supper was in the oven. Then she saw Vic's face. Quickly, Michelle rose, took the case from Vic and put it down, and hugged Vic. Then guided her to the couch.

There were no words for a long time. Just the comfort of holding each other.

* * *

"One of the weirdest - and most fortunate - parts of this whole sword adventure," said Vic, to Drake the next day, "or maybe misadventure, was that the swords were never used on anyone! I may actually have been the first person in all this to draw them, after they were sheathed and wrapped during the theft from the exhibit center."

"That is a very good thing," said Drake, with feeling. "From what you tell me even someone not outright killed would likely have been missing limbs. Even if those two blades were nothing more than ancient Samurai swords, with no magic involved."

Vic had the feeling - despite her report - that he wasn't convinced the swords were actually anything but what they appeared to be. She knew better.

"The swords apparently didn't reach full power until some time after they were separated by the thieves. The influence of the younger sword may be what caused the sub-group which had it to go rogue. At least, that's what they're claiming. Even after the swords became more active, they didn't seem to actually do more than generally influence those around them. From what I can tell, the 'good' sword didn't find much good in the men who had it, and mainly just guided them to the other sword. Then I got close, and both swords became more active. It seems they considered my martial arts training appropriate to their intended purpose. They may have even influenced the thieves to attract my attention."

"I think we should all all feel grateful you have had such good training," said Drake, emphatically.

Vic realized this her boss' comment was intended to work as a compliment whether the swords were actually magic or not. She had been rather embarrassed about some of the things in her report - including what she felt from holding the swords and her ability to master them. For one thing, that last sounded like bragging... but Vic realized that her reactions to the swords - and their reactions to her - had to be put down in print. Now, though, she wondered if she should have been firmer in her statements. She had a feeling that many who read the report would dismiss all the supernatural elements as products of her imagination.

"I am very glad the owner is coming to town to take the swords back to Japan," said Drake. "He apparently has never had any problem with them. Though I hear he was not surprised to learn that the legends about them are apparently true. He was also outraged to learn that the exhibitors separated the swords, in spite of his clearly stated requirements they be kept together. He's therefore taking them back, instead of allowing them to resume being on exhibit. I'm just glad you were able to get them into the vault here last night. Into our safe."

"The Detroit police weren't happy about that," said Vic, with a shrug. "I just didn't give them much chance to argue."

Seeing Vic with the swords, with several strong men laying, terrified, on the nasty alley pavement, almost begging to be arrested, had meant there was little objection from the responding officers to anything she said or did. Especially when she deftly sheathed the blades and told the police, flatly, that she was taking them to the property vault at the federal building. Vic had made certain the rewrapped swords were - Together! - in the separate safe reserved for her Bureau, inside the federal building's shared vault. She was very glad the night staff here had access to the vault. As well as that Drake had trusted her with the combination to the Bureau's safe. She made a note to recommend that he get a larger safe; the swords had barely fit, and then only after some rearranging of the contents. Hopefully, the new safe would actually be new. Though Drake claimed the very age of the current safe would make it secure against the efforts of modern safecrackers.

Vic, realizing that her boss was speaking again, shook her head and cleared it of those currently extraneous thoughts. She wondered if that were a lingering effect of handling the swords, or she was just tired. Probably a combination, though she was betting on it being mostly due to a lack of sleep.

"Well, the mayor contacted me first thing this morning, on what soon became a conference call," said Drake, with a slight smile. "Multiple members of the city administration joined in, and together they tried to bully me into turning the swords over to them. I made it clear - with support from the State Department - that the swords were owned by a citizen of an allied nation who has influence with his government, and that he was coming to get them. From us."

Vic sighed, and almost yawned.

"It's all speculation, but I think something - maybe the fact that several of the thieves are ex-military, or maybe because the exhibit had them separated for so long - stimulated the swords. They certainly haven't caused any problems I know of since they were reunited. As well as nothing before that except legends and unvalidated cautionary tales."

"No," said Drake, nodding, "they currently seem to be just what they appear to be: A pair of valuable, antique Japanese swords. Let's hope they continue to stay that way."

He nodded, closed one manilla folder and opened another.

"Now, there are important developments in another case," said Drake. "I've asked Captain Miller - who has been appointed the city's coordinator for the Dare case - to meet with us in a bit to give us a briefing. He should be here in about half an hour. So, take a twenty minute break then get back here."

"Yes, sir!"

* * *

"Both of the Dares at the mall were members of a local fetish club," said Captain Miller, once the trio in Drake's office was settled and the meeting was properly started. "They also say they have no memory of becoming her and committing crimes. I say they 'were' members, because the club broke up after a tragedy. One of the main organizers - one Madeline Courtner - was badly injured in a car wreck, and is currently in a coma. What the docs call a 'persistent vegetative state.' Though a light one. She could wake up, eventually."

"What do they mean by 'a light one'?" said Vic, puzzled.

"She occasionally shows signs of increased mental and even physical activity. So far those episodes haven't lasted long, but the doctors are hopeful.

"What do you want to bet those episodes of greater mental activity coincide with Dare's appearances?" said Drake, glancing at Vic.

"Wait, what?!" said Captain Miller. He shook his head. "That woman's in a coma. How could she have anything to do with Dare's activities?"

"Mental powers," said Vic, nodding. "Her unconscious wants to be doing something, possibly because of her inactive state, but her brain is injured and won't let her act normally. So she manifests her power in someone else."

"That's... a pretty far stretch," said Miller, looking skeptical.

"It's rare, but not without precedent," said Drake. "Sometimes it's conscious. There was a case of a mastermind with unsuspected mental powers who was in jail, several years ago. He used his abilities to empower some of his flunkies and make them continue with his operations. Including committing crimes to advance his master plan. Meanwhile, the authorities thought the case was over. Took them a while to catch on to the real nature of the problem."

"There have even been a couple of cases of people who were physically unable to act - one was paralyzed, the other in a coma, like this woman - who were eventually found to be the source of super phenomena," said Vic, nodding. "We studied both those cases at Ramsey. There have also been many, many instances where physical trauma triggered powers."

"Damn," said Captain Miller, looking disturbed. "That would explain everything, but... Even if that's true, how do we stop her?"

"Before anything else, we should talk to her doctors," said Drake. "Depending on what they say, we may have to call in a powers specialist. Likely a mentalist."

* * *

As he entered the federal building room for a hastily called office meeting the next day, Drake was obviously upset.

"Yesterday evening," he said, loudly and slowly, "Madeline Courtner, though unconscious, and against the advice of her doctors, was given Psianninul through a court order."

"Oh, great," said Vic, the only one present besides Drake who knew who Madeline Courtner was.

Their boss quickly informed the other two members of the Detroit office of the Bureau of Special Resources as to the woman's identity, and her likely connection to the Dare case.

"So far, there has been no Dare activity since this forced medication. However, Mrs. Courtner's condition has worsened. The hospital has its own attorneys petitioning the judge who issued the court order to put a hold on it."

"'Mrs. Courtner'?" said Vic. "She's married?"

"Divorced, actually, but she kept her married name. Her ex-husband was also a member of the fetish club, and their divorce is another reason it broke up. In fact, it now appears the breakup was underway before her accident. That just put the finish on things. The wreck which caused her coma occurred when she was leaving a hearing where her appeal to stop the divorce proceedings was rejected. Investigators think her single-vehicle accident - or perhaps even deliberate crash - may have been due to her being emotionally distraught at the time."

"Wow..." was all Cindy could say.

"Now, here's where things get interesting," said Drake, voice rising a bit in volume. "The husband - Alvin Courtner - hasn't been available for questioning. The police haven't been trying for long - just since learning about Mrs. Courtner - but he either hasn't been home or he has declined to speak with them. The family has money, enough to have servants in Mr. Courtner's luxury apartment during the day. He claims his money is the reason his wife fought the divorce; that is, she wanted to continue in the lifestyle to which she had become accustomed. Except she got a generous settlement, so that doesn't really wash. When the servants are there they tell the police Mr. Courtner is not available. When he's supposed to be there alone, no-one answers the door. So far him talking to the police hasn't been mandatory, but that could change."

"I hate getting involved in domestic matters," said Cal, his expression sour.

"In this case we may not have a choice," said Drake. "If Mrs. Courtner is the source of the Dare manifestations, interviewing her ex-husband may be essential. However, for now we are leaving the questioning to the local police. If they can ever get answers from him."