The Angel of Earth

by

Rodford Edmiston

Part Thirteen

The interceptor was a marvel of modern technology, capable of flying higher and faster than any other craft on Earth which was limited to airbreathing engines. Yet the only reason it was able to close with the target it had been radar-directed towards was due to that target slowing and descending. As if it were preparing to land. Or attack.

"Intercept Control to Intercept Leader," said the pilot's director, over the radio. Actually there was only one aircraft involved in the attempted interception, thanks mostly to budget cuts, but better to have their enemies think otherwise. "Craft is continuing on course, and continuing to descend and slow."

"Roger, Intercept Control," said the pilot. "I have its infrared track. Still nothing on my radar."

"Be advised that satellite and ground photos show it to be stealth grey and to have variable geometry capability. We see it clearly on our radar."

The ground-based radar was actually an older model, using a longer wavelength than the unit on the aircraft. The radar on the plane was so new, in fact, it often failed. As it appeared to have done this time. Direction from the ground, combined with the rather vague, wide-angle IR detector on the plane gave the pilot a general track to pursue.

"Intercept Control, are you certain this is not something entering the atmosphere from orbit?"

"It approached our border at a constant altitude and speed. It only began to slow and descend many kilometers later."

There had been such a rush to get the interceptor into the air that the pilot had not known any of this before. The few times he had been validly scrambled into the air in the past - that is, the few times which turned out not to be drills - he had wound up chasing space debris falling from orbit, or a suborbital demonstration by hostile neighbors. This current bogey's behavior was... unprecedented.

"Intercept Control, this is Intercept Leader. I am closing but the target is heading for heavy cloud cover. Visual identification may be impossible."

"Roger, Intercept Leader. Assumption is that target is hostile. Proceed accordingly."

Abruptly, the target slowed. More than that, it abruptly and sharply turned and began a steep, spiraling descent. The pilot of the interceptor overshot by a huge amount. What could maneuver like that?! The g-forces alone would kill a living pilot. It must be some sort of drone.

"Intercept Control, target is slowing and diving. I have no visual contact. Over."

"Roger, Intercept Leader. Radar shows the target is landing. Ground forces will handle it."

"Do you want me to orbit for a while, in case..."

"Negative!" said the controller, too quickly and loudly. "Return to base! Ground troops will handle it!"

Well, it was on the ground and there hadn't been any obvious result. That didn't mean it wasn't hostile. It might even be a carrier for a biological or toxin or radiological attack. Wondering if he were being set up to take the fall if the intruder escaped or proved undeniably dangerous, the pilot resolved to make certain he had a copy of his cockpit recorder's memory module before it was removed during ground servicing.

Only as he turned his craft back towards base did the pilot recall what lay below: The home of O Kai Ju. He felt a bit of a shiver, and pushed the throttle further forward. He now knew there were no troops being sent in. They weren't needed.

* * *

Malak - unaware of the attention his approach had garnered, or even that he had been noticed - landed on a hilltop whipped by wind and rain and looked around. His information was that the person he sought was in the only house on the north side of the hill. His destination was obvious; there was a single large home and a couple of outbuildings, all built on the slope below him. The rest was woods. Ignoring the storm, he began walking down the slope, unconsciously holding his wingtips out of the mud.

To say that O Kai Ju (Great Strange Beast) was aging gracefully was not correct. He wasn't aging. He appeared to be in his seventies, was actually almost twice that, but physiologically... he was not even close to the human he currently appeared to be. The son of a master carpenter, his life had been typical for a low-born craftsman in Japan early in the Twentieth Century. Through two world wars and several smaller conflicts, he had supported his nation, his Emperor. The whole time he had worked wood to the best of his ability. Then, during those last desperate days when it looked like the US was going to invade his nation, he volunteered for an experiment.

He was told only that the results would help to create supermen to defend the homeland. What actually happened in his case was the creation of a menace which was almost as much of a threat as the Americans. Even including their atomic bombs.

Fortunately, some of his nation's existing empowered were standing by, in case of just such an emergency. They were able to contain him until his mind - with his usual morality and conscience - could reassert itself. Which included resuming his usual form. Three days later came the unprecedented radio announcement of surrender by the Emperor.

In the decades since then O Kai Ju had been made a part of the newly-organized Japanese defense force, not entirely voluntarily. He learned to fight, despite his peaceful nature. Even back then he was respectfully called "the old man" by other members, including other empowered. Now, long retired, he lived in a home he had built himself, occupying the fleeting days in part with recreating on his small patch of land an era and lifestyle which had never truly existed, but which felt right to him. His main complaint was that his descendants never called, much less visited. Speaking of which, he was a bit startled when the telephone rang. However, he could tell that the caller was not familiar to him. They were not family, not a friend, not one of the government office numbers or names he knew. He had more important things to do than speak with some self-important official or, worse, someone trying to sell him something. He made the annoying bell go silent with a thought.

Just now, he was focused on a private exercise of the tea ceremony. He not only found this relaxing, he simply liked the taste of green tea. The "old man" enjoyed nuances beyond the palate of any human.

The storm had been going on for some time, and seemed to be getting worse, but he wasn't worried. He had built this house strong. Suddenly, there was a flash of lightning so close the clap of thunder came almost immediately after, causing the sturdy, ornate house to shake and its contents to rattle alarmingly. O Kai Ju had nothing to fear from even the mightiest lightning bolt, but - startled - he reflexively looked up. Then gasped, and rose from his ceremonial-grade matcha, and stepped back, staring in open alarm. Standing on the patio, in the driving rain, was Malak.

"May I come in?" said the angelic figure, his deep voice loud to be heard over the storm.

In spite of his surprise and wariness, O Kai Ju was still a good host.

"Of course."

The winged figure stepped forward and walked into the house, leaving the rain behind. Now perfectly dry, he bowed slightly to his host.

"Is that really you?" said O Kai Ju, carefully. "Or one of your duplicates?"

"This is as real as I get," said Malak, in his deep, calm voice, with a smile and a slight spreading of his hands and wings. He became more serious, bringing his hands together and his wings in. "You have been experimenting with safe methods of empowering people."

"As have you," said the other man, still wary.

"Yes. I was hoping we could compare notes."

While Malak was capable of deception, his normal mode of operation was open and honest. O Kai Ju relaxed.

"Of course. Will you join me in some matcha?"

"I would be honored," said Malak, with a slight bow.

* * *

"So, what have you got for me?" said Mike, into his phone's handset, after his secretary sent the call to his desk. "Anything new?"

"We're trying to get Mannequin to be more involved with the real world," said CornFed, in an apparent non-sequitur.

"Good luck with that," said Mike, rolling his eyes.

"We have gathered some new clues in the Phantom Zoom case, and we'd be very appreciative if you could ask Mannequin for help."

"So you hold back on the info unless I let Mannequin help?" said Mike, obviously upset.

"What?! No! Sorry, I should have made that clear up front. Maybe have broken what I said into two sentences. No, we will provide the information. We're just also asking that you help with this project."

"I'll have to think about that," said the detective, feeling decidedly skeptical. "Helping Mannequin, I mean. They have a reputation of not taking things seriously. Isn't Mannequin also wanted on a bunch of charges?"

"The attorneys on retainer for the clinic managed to get the charges dropped, once they were able to show progress in Mannequin's therapy. This is actually part of that therapy."

"I will take it under consideration," said Mike, carefully. "However, the entire Phantom Zoom project is still a personal interest. Paying jobs come first."

"I understand," said CornFed. "Just keep this in mind. Now, here's what we've found..."

* * *

Mike did keep the request to apply Mannequin in mind. He even called Blackpool to get the federal agent's evaluation of the project. To Mike's surprise, Blackpool was cautiously in favor.

"Even I have to admit Mannequin has made huge strides," said the manager of the Repository. "Though they're still a pain in the ass far too often."

* * *

The plainclothes cop who entered Mike's office a few days later shook hands with the man behind the desk and sat down in one of the guest seats in front of it. His expression was carefully schooled.

"We - the Los Angeles PD - have a case which we think involves powers, but we're not sure. The Empowered Matters Agency won't even look at it unless we can get some evidence of powers use. Which could be an expert opinion from someone whose opinion in such matters they respect."

Mike nodded. He'd actually been employed by the LAPD for such tasks before.

"Where and when?"

* * *

Later that day he met the same detective and some other Los Angeles police at the scene. There was, indeed, so much damage it was clear why the police strongly suspected powers were involved. On seeing the apartment, Mike was inclined to agree. There was a substantial amount of disturbance, some of it involving heavy pieces of furniture which would be difficult for someone without powers to even move. However, that was not proof. He decided so use this situation as a test case.

Mike therefore put in a call to Mannequin, and made an appointment to bring them to the apartment the next morning. The local police were not thrilled at this, but they had few clues and thanks to their experience with the Private Investigator they were willing to trust Mike's judgement. For his part, Mike just hoped the judgements of Blackpool and CornFed were sound in this matter.

* * *

With one plainclothes police detective assigned to show them around and two uniformed officers standing guard at the entrance, the pair of empowered were shown around the crime scene the next morning. Mannequin was on their best behavior, even looking more masculine than usual. The place had already been gone over by several groups of investigators, including the crime scene investigation crew. The detective guide made sure to explain what each of the small, numbered placards denoted. After the tour was done, Mannequin straightened and looked slowly around the room.

"Ah," they said, finally, pointing. "That mirror."

"Look but don't touch," said their guide.

"What about using powers?" said the pale figure, smiling. "Oh, don't worry. I'll leave it just the way I found it."

"Just what are you going to do?" said Mike, suspiciously.

"Hold on," said Mannequin, raising a hand and looking at the fallen mirror. "It's easier to demonstrate than explain."

The strangely dressed, strange appearing person moved to the broken mirror and crouched before it, frowning in concentration. For a moment the scenario was still. Then, abruptly, accompanied by appropriate, brittle sounds, the frame swung upright, the shards flew back together into the frame to form an intact mirror, which then leapt back onto its proper place on the wall. Mannequin moved quickly to the side, so the others could see what followed.

"Can't hold this for long," said Mannequin, actually sounding a bit strained. "Watch carefully."

What the mirror showed was not the current scene in the room. Instead, they watched as the fight in the apartment went through a fast rewind. Just before the start, the replay paused briefly, then went forward at normal speed, with accompanying sound. The apartment's renter opened the outside door. Three men shoved their way in.

"That's Dyer, a local gang leader!" said the detective, quickly, during the pause. "We didn't know he was involved directly in this. Though we did know that some of his goons were here, and probably involved with the fight and disappearance of Francescas."

There were harsh words between Francescas and Dyer, then a shove of the former by the latter. Francescas spun away from the shove and threw a punch in response, hitting Dyer, knocking him down. Dyer's men then attacked Francescas. Only he provided more opposition than they were anticipating. The brawl quickly became violent and frantic. Francescas kicked one of the men so hard he slammed into the apartment wall beside the mirror, which was shaken loose by the impact.

There were multiple gasps as the mirror fell and broke, ending the playback.

"Did everyone get that?" said Mannequin, looking tired. "Good. I don't think that would work a second time. Or would it count as the third? Well, never mind..."

"No powers, that I could see," said Mike, nodding. "Just big, tough men who know how to fight having one."

"All right," said the Detective. He turned towards one of the uniforms at the door. "Put out an alert for Dyer and his men. They are to be considered armed and dangerous, and their involvement in the disappearance of Francescas is confirmed."

He turned back to Mike.

"Maybe - just maybe - with this info we can find Francescas while he's still alive. Thank you."

* * *

The Pyrenees mountains were especially beautiful just now. The first snow had been accompanied by the first persistent freeze. Late in the day the Sun had finally burned through the clouds and provided just enough energy that the glaze of ice and snow had moistened. Everything was glistening in the late afternoon Sun.

Then the intruders arrived.

They appeared without warning, even to the enhanced senses of the members of the Emergent who made their homes there. However, those worthies did indeed notice the arrival when it occurred. All but one were well below the peak where the intruders appeared, most in the warmer caves. That one was Hanuman, who was in his usual location for meditation, on a bare rock at the top of the highest local peak.

Gateway's portal opened and the lead of the advance team hurried through, securing the small clearing where they appeared. The second team - slower, but with powers of greater reach - came out quickly behind the advance team. Behind them came the team's heavy hitters, including The Grand Protector, himself.

"Secure the area," barked BlasterFX, The Grand Protector's usual field commander. "Locate the target!"

"If you're looking for me," said Hanuman, calmly, "I'm right here."

That might have startled them. For whatever reason, several of the intruders opened fire on Hanuman, with weapons and powers. Soon, everyone with a ranged attack had joined in. Everyone but The Grand Protector. He leaped into the air.

"Cease fire!" he yelled down to his troops, even his great voice barely heard over the commotion of the battle. Then, to Hanuman, "Surrender!"

"It's a little late for that," said Hanuman, who appeared not only unharmed by the barrage but untouched. Somehow, his quiet voice carried to everyone there. "You have already attacked me. Without provocation, I'd like to add."

Hanuman had no interest in fighting these people. However, while none of them were his equal, together they were pressing him. Their telepath in particular. More annoyed than anything, he quickly formed a plan of action to rid himself of this annoyance. All he had to do for the first part of his plan was wait for their leader to grow impatient. From what he knew, that would not take much in the way of provocation. Hanuman decided not to wait. He stood, and stared at the flying man. His armor and sword appeared, in a deliberate goad of The Grand Protector by Hanuman.

The Grand Protector snarled, pulled back, took a moment to build a charge, then fired a ferocious energy blast. When those in his group could see again, all that remained where Hanuman had stood was a cloud of greasy smoke. There was also now a half-molten crater in the rock at the top of the mountain, glowing a dull orange.

"Smoked him!" shouted The Grand Protector.

He landed, and his team congratulated him and held a brief celebration. The only downside to their victory being that several of them had headaches, presumably from the sudden change in altitude. SuperMind in particular seemed to be having problems. They headed home, triumphant.

Watching from concealment on a nearby peak, Hanuman scowled briefly, then quickly instituted measures to prevent being tracked again. He expanded those to include his allies in the Emergent, some of whom were already hurrying to the scene of the battle. He let them know he was unharmed. Then he considered for a bit. Finally, he sent a message to Aaron. If these idiots thought Hanuman was a threat worthy of lethal force, other potent empowered would also be on their list.