The Angel of Earth

by

Rodford Edmiston

Part Seven

The UN officer hurried from his vehicle towards the ruin of the building, from which smoke still rose lazily in the setting sun. He was sweating from more than the tropical heat and humidity.

"Report," he said, after quickly exchanging salutes with the senior officer on scene.

"We got a report of an attack on the brothel," said the Lieutenant, his voice dropping in volume as he got the last word. "We thought the rebels had blown the place up, since they've repeatedly complained about the activities here. However, there's no bodies. The manager and his staff were found in the woods nearby, naked and dazed. The workers and customers we still haven't found."

"They've been found," said the Captain, tone deadly. "The customers, anyway. Downtown, chained naked to the central plaza fountain. Took a while for the police to verify their identities. We've got a national army General and three colonels, four governmental ministers from three different governments and a couple of ambassadors among those humiliated by whoever did this! Now, where are the girls?!"

Without them there was no income. Without income, the bribes to both those officials he couldn't deceive and local law enforcement would stop. Without those bribes, people whose job it was to enforce the laws, rules and regulations prohibiting exactly the activities which were part and parcel of the brothel's business would stop looking away.

"Nobody has seen them," said the Lieutenant, looking worried. "All the records are missing, too. When we finally found the safe and got it open it was empty!"

The Captain had a sinking feeling. As well as an overpowering sense of certainty. His operation had finally grown too large for someone to ignore. The girls and the records were likely in the hands of humanitarian investigators and the press, respectively. If that were true... Well, not only was his career with the UN peacekeepers over, but likely his freedom, as well. If he were caught. He resolved to execute his contingency plans as soon as he returned to his base.

Not realizing that his fake ID papers and bank account information were with the brothel records, instead of in his personal safe.

* * *

The police chief got off the phone and sighed. His community was a small incorporated entity not far from New York City, and often treated as a suburb of it. However, it was a distinct community with a distinct population. As well as distinct problems. He pushed back from his desk, rose and went into the squad room. His intention was to go to dispatch and have them tell all officers responding to a report of a rogue empowered to get back to their regular business. That the "emergency" was simply the last in a series of carefully staged pranks which had gone too far. The boy's mother - whom he had just been talking to on the phone - had spelled this out clearly, with enough details to be convincing, and offered to bring her son to the station. However, she was worried about her son or even herself being shot by the officers who currently had her home under siege.

The Chief pulled his office door shut behind him, and took three steps before consciously registering the scene before him.

Several people in colorful, distinctive costumes were talking with a plainclothes sergeant. The Chief of course recognized them as members of The Protectorate. The main man - The Grand Protector himself - was talking quietly but firmly with the sergeant. Neither The Grand Protector nor his people had spotted the Chief, yet. The sergeant was facing away from him, was focused on the visitors, and did not see his boss. Chief Stanford moved casually to the dispatch room, hoping to avoid the attention of the guests just now. He succeeded, entering the dispatch room without interruption.

"Tell Lieutenant Slaymaker to end the cordon," he said to the head dispatcher. "Everyone there is to get back to their regular duties. I just got off the phone with the mother of the suspect, a woman whom I know from previous incidents. She swears neither she nor anyone else in the house are being held against their will, despite what the 911 caller said. She also promises that she will bring her son in herself, as soon as all the officers withdraw. She just wants to keep this as low-key as she can."

"Right, Chief," said the middle-aged woman. "So, did the kid get swatted?"

"More like he was too convincing. He's a smart kid, but easily bored. I know him, too, and the father. The son isn't malicious; he just is very bright and overly fond of tricking people with what turn out to be harmless pranks. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to tell what looks like a full third of The Protectorate they aren't needed."

The head dispatcher smirked at that wording, then moved to a mic at an empty station. The Chief left the small room and went back out into the main one.

"What's the problem?" he asked, in a loud, firm voice, as he approached the group of intruders.

"We received a report of a rogue empowered man causing a problem," said The Grand Protector.

"We also got that report," said the Chief, nodding. "Fortunately, it turned out to be bogus. There was a prank, but no property damage and no-one hurt.

"So you aren't taking this seriously," said The Grand Protector, looking irritated.

"We took it seriously enough to track down the culprit and determine what was actually going on," said the Chief, with a calm he didn't feel. "There are no powers involved. I don't know who called you, but you aren't needed."

"We'll be the judge of that," said The Grand Protector, pompously.

He spun around and stormed out, the rest of his team following obediently. The Chief hoped that would be that last he saw of them, but had a sinking feeling it wouldn't be.

* * *

People sometimes speculated on how The Protectorate traveled. The group was large enough they actually used several methods. They had multiple ground and air vehicles - some designed by empowered geniuses - and many could fly. What few outside the group realized was that two of the members could teleport, and that one of those could take along passengers, and even cargo.

The group of costumed, self-appointed law-keepers appeared without warning on the front lawn of the prankster's home. The last two patrol cars were just leaving. Fortunately, the occupants of the rear one saw The Protectorate members arrive. The driver of that car pulled over and called in the event.

"Shit," said Chief Stanford, on receiving the news by intercom at his desk. "Tell the officer who reported that to stop them. Oh, and get Officer Harper there as soon as possible. Maybe they'll listen to another empowered."

Theodolphus Harper was the only empowered member of the city police. Swanson had been doubtful about hiring him, but in the three and a bit years of his employment Harper had proved useful in many situations. The Chief just hoped he'd be as useful in this one.

On the scene, The Protectorate members were marching towards the home when the police car pulled into the driveway, then turned left, going onto the grass to cut them off. The two officers quickly got out.

"You don't have any auth..." the senior officer of the pair began.

He was cut off by a gesture from The Grand Protector. Analysts later pieced together that this was a signal to SuperMind, who took control of both policemen, had them get back in their car and drive away. No-one there seemed to notice the minor sonic boom in the distance which occurred about this time.

Before the members of The Protectorate could resume their march to the front door of the suburban home, Officer Theodolphus Harper landed in front of them. He came in fast and landed hard, not sure what was going on with the two officers unexpectedly leaving in their car. However, something he saw in the back yard on his way to a landing made him both hurried and determined.

"Stop right there!" Officer Harper ordered, holding up his hand. "You have no authority to act in this case. There are no empowered involved. There were some harmless pranks pulled, and someone overreacted."

"No empowered involved?" said The Grand Protector. He didn't show it, but he was furious that this unknown empowered had arrived without him or any of his group noticing ahead of time. He would have words with them later, but right now his full attention was on this interruption. "Seems to me you're empowered, and you're trying to stop us from doing our jobs."

Theo knew he couldn't fight to the entire half dozen members of The Protectorate; not on his own, anyway. As he had flown in, however, he had seen the family from the home fleeing through a gate in the fence around the back yard. He was simply trying to delay these costumed rogues. Theo was caught completely by surprise by a punch from The Grand Protector. This sent him hurtling through the home like an artillery shell, across the back yard at an angle - spraying debris on the fleeing family - and into another home.

The Grand Protector was on him before he could even get back to his feet... if he had been able to get back on his feet. Later reconstruction would reveal severe injuries from that first punch. Theo was quickly struck several more times, about the head and face, driven through the floor and the concrete pad the house was built on, then through that into the compacted gravel and earth below. He was likely dead well before The Grand Protector was interrupted in his berserker attack. The elderly man in the house shot the big, costumed man in the face with a 12 Gauge 3" Magnum load of birdshot.

This did not cause The Grand Protector a serious injury, but getting small, high-velocity pellets in his eyes distracted him long enough for the old man and his daughter to wisely withdraw quickly. Indeed, The Grand Protector didn't see who had shot him, didn't even know he had been shot. He just knew that he suddenly had something in his eyes. He thought it was debris raised by his attack. That was enough to break his train of action.

His assault interrupted, The Grand Protector wiped his eyes, and scowled for a moment at the bloody mess he'd made of Officer Harper. He shook his hands clean, then rose gracefully into the air and flew back to the house where the suspect lived.

There he found that most of his team had forced entry and messily searched. Meanwhile, SuperMind stayed outside, in case more cops arrived.

"They can't find anyone inside," he reported to The Grand Protector. They had communicators, but he kept a mental "ear" on things, so asking him was usually good for a quick update.

"Tell them to level the place. That will bring him out of hiding."

Only, it didn't. With multiple sirens approaching, The Grand Protector called his people together in the front yard. He put the most favorable view on the mess they had made which he could.

"Well, that fake cop delayed us long enough for our prey to escape. We'll head back to headquarters and wait for the locals to find him again."

Gateway, their teleporter, quickly got them out of there.

* * *

"They can't cover up killing a cop in a US city!" said Sam, outraged.

"The Protectorate is putting their own spin on things, of course," said Gadding, as he held a council of war at The New York Glory that afternoon. "Their public relations arm says that 'everyone knows' there are no empowered employed by legitimate police departments, so of course the guy was a fake, no matter what city officials are saying now. Also, he was alive but unconscious when The Grand Protector left him. If he's actually dead, someone else did it. If Harper actually is dead."

The Editor in Chief threw a wire service printout on his desk in disgust.

"Skeptics are demanding to see the body. Then saying it doesn't look anything like Harper."

"This is crazy!" said Sam, throwing his arms wide in protest. "They can't possibly get away with this. Are the feds finally coming down on them?!"

"No," said Gadding, sourly. "In fact, they've ordered the city to drop all charges against The Protectorate. They claim that those are pure politics, a way for city officials to avoid blame for letting the original perpetrator get away."

"Someone has to do something about them!" said one of the other reporters. "Now they're murdering cops!"

"If the feds are still supporting them, I don't see who is left to go after them," said another.

"Most of The Protectorate are vulnerable to conventional weapons," said Melody, thoughtfully. "Several police departments have now issued shoot on sight orders and issued armor piercing ammunition for the rifles their officers carry in their patrol cars. I suspect this will result in a few dead members of The Protectorate... and a lot of dead cops."

"So the feds are still protecting them," said Sam, sourly. "Why?! Do they have something on some politicians or what?!"

"Whatever the secret to the immunity of The Protectorate, their situation is bizarre," said Melody. "The Protectorate is doing some good work, but they're also killing people. Including, now, a cop. Not all that far from here, either. Yet their publicity department either ignores the offenses, or minimizes them, while playing up the good works. So, The Protectorate know as an institution they're doing wrong but they keep doing it."

"I think it's more a case of the people on the team doing whatever the Hell they want, and their PR people trying to manage the mess they cause," said Sam. "Of course, the feds are acting just as crazy. Despite increasing calls to disband The Protectorate and even prosecute some members, the President and his people claim all that is politics. According to them, The Protectorate hasn't done anything wrong."

Melody rose and began pacing, obviously upset.

"Melody," said the Editor in Chief, "sit down. Please."

She did, though with obvious reluctance.

"I think you need to work on something else for a while."

"Are you telling me to drop my work on exposing The Protectorate?" said Melody, tone carefully neutral.

"No. I'm telling you to work on something else for a while. You've become so emotionally connected to the situation with The Protectorate that you've lost your objectivity. You can come back to them after a break. Meanwhile, others are working on The Protectorate. Find something else to do for a while."

"All right," said Melody, though again reluctantly. "In that case, I need to make another trip to the chemical Repository. I was planning on that, anyway, though later. Am I authorized?"

"I have no problem authorizing another trip," said the Editor in Chief, with a slight smile. "Your articles about what is happening there are very popular. I am a bit surprised you are still finding so much of interest there, though."

Left unsaid was that it might be better for her and the paper for her to be away from the office - and all of New York - for a while. Especially if The Protectorate took offense at her most recent exposés on their excesses.

"A large part of what I'm after this time is something I've written about before, but barely scratched the surface of," said Melody, passionately, actually leaning forward in her chair. "The history tied up in the empowered, especially the history of how they have kept each other in check. Individuals and small groups have occasionally been very influential in setting policy, for other empowered and even normal humans. Of course, what is even more impressive is how often the empowered - even in groups - have been surprisingly ineffective."

Sam and Gadding both nodded. Sam looked especially thoughtful.

"Despite what some of their proponents claim, empowered haven't solved all the world's problems. Though some of them have made a lot of improvements."

"All right," said Gadding, nodding. "You get the material, and do a good write-up with it. Some people have actually claimed that because we're criticizing The Protectorate, we're anti-empowered. That focus you're proposing will make a nice counterbalance to all the unfavorable material we're publishing on them."