Masks XXVIII: Old School

by

Rodford Edmiston

Part One

Vic's new helmet was slightly bulkier than the previous one, but it was also actually lighter. Drake had called Vic to his office for the presentation. While her boss read aloud the note which came in the box, Vic examined her new headgear.

"Ugh," she said, peering it from various angles. "Looks like something a Star Wars Stormtrooper would wear."

In spite of this opinion she put it on. At least it fit well.

"That helmet - if used together with the collar which came with it - is rated for up to Fifty Browning," said Drake, still reading. "Don't ask me how. The Bureau put their tame mad scientists at the Bureau of Special Resources on the job and Brade says they tested successive versions until they got what they wanted."

"It does fit well. I also like the new display. Though the battery is low..."

Bruno Drake was a grizzled man in his late fifties, though he dressed like and in general had the tastes of someone much older. He was of average height, and had short, grey hair and a conservative manner. As was his usual habit, he wore dark pants with dress shoes, a white shirt and a bowtie.

"Nice," Vic said, as she removed and then examined again the new helmet. She grinned at her boss. "Tell them I'll take three."

"You were lucky to get one," her boss replied, holding up a single finger. "However, I can put in a request for one more, as a spare, and it may get here within the next couple of months. So try not to get shot in the head in the meantime."

"Ow..."

"Remember, budgets are still tight after the war. Though they're beginning to loosen."

"So, same functions, but more armor."

"Read the instructions." Which was his way of telling her that he hadn't. Well, that wasn't really part of his job.

Vic appeared to be tomboyish young woman about sixteen years old, but was actually nearly twice that age. She had vaguely Asian features, though with Occidental eyes. Her skin was a bit too brown for a typical Caucasian but not dark enough for either someone from much of India or a native American. This left people thinking she was Mediterranean or Middle-Eastern. Vic had taut muscles and high, firm breasts a bit below average size for her frame. Her slightly broad shoulders tapered to a slightly narrowed waist, which widened into feminine hips. She was obviously in good shape, though without bulging muscles. In this respect, she was a typical female physical super.

Suppressing a sigh, Vic put the helmet back in the box which had been used to ship it to the Detroit office of the Bureau of Special Resources. She took the box and instructions down the hall to her desk, in the Federal Building office she shared with the other employees of the local section of the BSR.

Unfortunately, she only had about forty minutes to study the documentation before a call came in.

"Bureau help is requested for a suspected rogue super acting out," said the male voice on the other end of the line. Details of location and damage already done followed.

"I'm on it," said Vic, quickly writing down the information. "I'll be there in about fifteen minutes."

"Why so long?" said the caller. He sounded both impatient and worried.

"Well, I have to drive from here to there, and even with lights and siren..."

"Just fly here!"

"I can't fly. I have to drive."

"That's too slow!"

"Then get us the budget for a helicopter," said Vic, barely keeping her tone even. "Anyway, I'll be there in fifteen."

She quietly hung up while the person continued to protest, wondering how long he would need to realize he was talking on a dead line. Vic grabbed her new helmet and the case with the rest of her armor and headed for the women's restroom to change. She just hoped the charge she had given the helmet while reading the instructions would be enough to last for this mission. There was still an option available to plug the helmet into her car's lighter socket, but the connector was different from that in her older helmet and Vic didn't want to take the time to dig out the new cord just now.

* * *

Clouds were moving in as Vic approached the scene. As she slowed she saw a trail of mild devastation. To her experienced eye all the damage was superficial. She also saw nearly two-dozen police cars. Why there were so many was obvious; they were surrounding an urban electrical transmission substation, which was just past the end of the trail of destruction. If the damage outside had been caused by the super inside, and the person responsible for all that decided to take out a transformer, a large portion of Detroit could be left without power for hours. Perhaps days, depending on what parts were damaged.

Some of the officers present recognized Vic and her aging Corolla wagon, and waved her through to the person in charge.

"What's the brief?" she asked, once parked and finished with the greetings. She already had most of her armor on but was carrying her new helmet, which was still powered down.

"Physical super with an affinity for electricity," said the Captain on the scene. "He may actually be powered by it. Don't know. He does seem to get more... energetic the more electricity he gets."

"He could just be intoxicated by it," said Vic, frowning in thought. "I haven't encountered that, but I've heard about it."

"Yeah, well, he went in there and we didn't chase him. Not only is it too dangerous for us in there, we figured that might provoke him."

"Good thinking."

"We can't currently (sorry about that) see him, but we know he's still in there," said the Captain. "He wasn't subtle about blasting open the main gate and we got the place surrounded pretty quick."

"So I need to scout and see what he's doing," said Vic, with a sigh.

"Better you than me. At least your armor is non-conductive."

"True," said Vic. "The electronics in the helmet are hardened, too. Any suggestions for where to enter?"

The Captain unrolled a plan of the substation on the hood of his patrol car.

"This is a few years old but should still be accurate. Over here is a small gate which is out of sight of where we think he is. We don't have the keys, though. There's people from the utility on the way, but..."

"We need to know what he's doing now," said Vic, nodding. "Any drones available?"

"No, sorry. Those are also on the way. Just like one of our neutralizers."

"Okay, I'll reconnoiter," sighed Vic. She turned the power on for her new helmet and donned it, making sure to tuck the collar correctly.

Her armor was pretty much the opposite of stealthy, at least in terms of appearance. However, on an individual human level stealth was more a matter of taking advantage of concealment than patterns of color. Most of the equipment inside the fence was light grey, so her iridescent white armor wouldn't stand out too much.

At the small gate Vic could hear the hum of the electrical equipment over the helmet's earphones, but nothing else. Neither could she see any movement. The gate had a chain and padlock, and she considered climbing the fence. Her armor would protect her from the razor tape at the top. On the other hand, she might need to leave quickly. Vic grabbed the body of the lock, pulled the chain tight and chopped it with her other hand. The hasp broke completely loose from the body of the lock. Vic was mildly surprised; she had expected to break the rusty chain or perhaps even the gate's latch. Apparently, the lock had been there, unused, for a long time. Decades of Detroit weather and pollution had taken their toll. Her gauntlets, of course, protected her hands. She tossed the lock into the unkempt grass at the base of the fence and quietly undid the chain.

Vic had seen the damage outside supposedly caused by the suspect, but there was no sign of anything wrong inside the fence. She hoped she could keep things that way. Vic was a bit antsy about all the high voltage in here. Though she quickly realized that much of what she was hearing was RF interference on her helmet radio.

So much for it being shielded against outside interference.

Oddly, she found the suspect sitting against a leg of one of the stubby towers, sobbing.

"Hey," said Vic, uncertain of the protocol in such a situation. "What's the problem?"

"They won't let me!" the man cried, not even looking around.

Vic remembered that the PA system of her new helmet had improved fidelity. Since he hadn't looked at her, the man might not have realized she had addressed him through a speaker.

"Who won't let you what?" said Vic, still not approaching. As long as she could keep him talking, he was not a source of danger. To her or the substation.

"Get credit for anything I do! I try and I try and I do these great things and they just cover it up!"

Vic wasn't sure, yet, but this sounded like typical paranoia. Of course, she had also met many people who legitimately had grievances about their work being "stolen" by others.

"Are you all right in there?"

Vic started, then realized that the voice was that of the Captain in charge of the police who had the substation surrounded, coming in over the helmet's radio receiver. She cut the external speaker function and continued to listen to the man rant as she replied.

"I've got him talking."

"That's a lot better than..."

His voice was cut off by the sounds of shots over the radio. Then the transmission ended.

Now Vic could hear shots through the audio receptors on the outside of her helmet. She quickly turned the external speaker back on. The suspect apparently hadn't noticed anything.

"...the respect I deserve!" he said. "Well, they can't cover this up!"

"Are you doing that?!" said Vic, gesturing vaguely in the direction of the shooting. "It sounds like the cops are being shot at!"

"No!" said the man, startled.

"You stay here!"

"No problem. I came in here because I didn't want the cops shooting at me."

Vic ran towards the blown-open main gate, beyond which the Captain and his officers were parked. Not only was she still hearing what was obviously automatic fire - in very short bursts - but some of the bullets were hitting equipment inside the substation. Fortunately - due to past events where someone had shot at a power station - the equipment near the fence was armored. Unfortunately, there was no direct path to the main gate from where she had been talking with the suspect. As Vic wove her way around substation equipment, the shooting continued. There were showers of sparks from some of the equipment inside the fence and an increase of RF noise in her helmet audio, much of which was now a loud humming. Apparently, the utility company had not armored enough of the substation components, in either number of items or level of protection.

Vic could see traffic lights and illuminated signs going out in the neighborhood beyond. Officers were also shooting back. Their handguns, shotguns and assault rifles sounded puny compared to the loud bark of the single weapon firing at them.

The hostile shooting stopped just before Vic reached the main entrance to the fenced-in substation. The responding shooting from the police took longer to quell, in part due to ambient noise. The officers shooting simply couldn't tell the attack had stopped.

As Vic went out, there were multiple cries of "Officer down!" One of those hit was the Captain she had spoken with earlier. He had been shot in the upper right arm, and the bullet fortunately missed both bone and important arteries. Helping to reduce the damage done to the people, the bullets fired in their direction were apparently fully jacketed and didn't expand in flesh. With his left hand the Captain switched the audio system of his shot-up squad car to PA mode and called for a cease fire.

With the shooting stopped, the waiting ambulances quickly moved in, the EMTs inside them jumping out to tend the wounded. There was no more shooting.

"The shots came from over there," said the Captain, pale and sweating, obviously going into shock, but still doing his job. "From the direction of that concrete... whatever it is."

Vic didn't know what the low structure was, either; perhaps part of the storm sewer system. On the other side of the small, blocky edifice she found about two dozen large, bottle-necked, fired cartridge cases. Unfortunately, there was no way to track the shooter. Vic could easily see, though, how someone could work their way up to the structure unseen, then use it as cover while shooting short bursts at the police. From the direction opposite where they had been looking, towards the substation. Vic made sure her helmet cams were still recording and looked around carefully, while calling the Captain over her radio.

"No signs of the shooter but there's lots of brass. Better call the forensics people."

* * *

By a minor miracle no-one was killed, though several cops were seriously hurt. Some bystanders in the other direction were also wounded. When Vic checked on the suspect inside the substation she found that the man was still rather timidly waiting for her. She went through the process of arresting him. However, when Vic walked the suspect back towards her Corolla wagon several police officers put themselves in the way.

"We'll take him off your hands," said the senior of the group, in a tone brooking no argument. "He's a suspect in the shooting of several cops, after all."

"No, he isn't," said Vic, outraged that someone was trying to pin that on this man. "He was with me, telling me about all the injustices he'd been put through, when that started. The shooting was a separate event."

"We'll take him," the officer repeated.

Vic could have simply insisted. What would they have done, attack her? However, she realized that while she could easily defeat these half-dozen men confronting here, the prisoner would likely get severely injured in the process.

"I've already arrested him," she persisted. "All legal and proper, and recorded by my helmet."

"We'll take him!" said the officer, more loudly and emphatically.

"You'll be asked to submit your body cam recordings as evidence."

"Too bad," said the officer, stone-faced as the others looked on with increasing discomfort. "Our body cams got broken when we dove for cover."

"Well, my helmet recorder is working fine," said Vic, just as firmly. "Now, get out of my way or get charged with interfering with the duties of a federal agent."

"Yeah, it's your word against us. Right, guys?"

The cop looked around at those with him. Only to see that he was now alone.

"Last chance," said Vic, in an even tone. "Remember all this is being recorded by me. Even if your cams are... broken."

"You won't get away with this!" said the now lone officer, moving away, slowly.

"With doing my job, in spite of you? I think I will."

The officer backed down. With threats, but he got out of Vic's way. She led her prisoner to her car.

"What was that all about?" said the man, in a plaintive tone, as he was loaded into the front passenger seat of Vic's Corolla wagon.

"Just a bit of dick waving on the part of that one guy," said Vic, with a wince inside her helmet he couldn't see. "Unfortunately for him, I don't have one."