🚀 go-pugleaf

[[Continued from Part Three]]




     Thirty six hours later, we woke up in Morocco.  It was a safe enough
place -- we knew no one there.  Both of us were more or less recovered.
     "Well," she said, spreading jam on a pastry, "we have found ourselves
in the same profession.  Indeed, in the same competition."
     "Yeeeeees," I said, not trusting my sister when she got that tone in
her voice.
     "Well, we separated to better hide from the Police in France,
following that first night.  But we have both soaked the Earth in blood
since then.  It seems ridiculous to be apart.  Unless you prefer it."
     I thought about that.  There was some appeal to being alone.  To
walking the Earth beholden to none but your own desires.  It was good
enough for the Red Cat, after all....
     But we were not the Red Cat, for all we had done.
     "No," I said.  "We should be together."
     She nods.  "We're not calling ourselves Black and Blue."
     I laughed.  "You're right.  Nor are we Cats.  It simply doesn't fit."
     "You are so right, Le Chat Noire."
     I rolled my eyes.  "So what?"
     "Well... gun metal is sometimes called blue steel, and your color is
black and mine is blue, and swords are called `steel....'"
     And so we became S&S.  Steel and Steel.  I was Black Steel, she was
Blue Steel.  We worked together, and we worked apart, but sharing the
profit.  And we were very very good at it.  We did the same sorts of thing
-- she took most of the contract assassinations, I took most of the
penetration and elimination.  We both worked as bodyguards.  Sometimes she
would act as cover for me, sometimes I would act as her guard and lookout.
We took to wearing kevlar bodysuits in our color.
     Though we had chosen Noms du Mort, we did not habitually encounter
paranormals.  We were trying to be smart about it.  Oh, certainly there
would be a thrill in it, but we were not of their caliber and we knew it.
We were simply operating in a different league and environment.
     Which is not to say it never happened.  After all, Super heroes are a
touch like algae.  You do not see them or expect them until your pool turns
green and you have to send your guests home.  Gabrielle fought and killed
the British Hero Windshrike -- she tricked the aerokinetic into an
alleyway, where he hadn't the room to deflect bullets.  I slew the
legendary German Wotan, who thought himself safe in his power armor.  I
shattered his eyeslit lens with a thrust that continued on into the eye
behind.
     This did not change, until we were first contracted by a madman.
     Well, their music has stopped.  For now, at the least.  Perhaps I
should go for a walk.  Clear my head.  Or talk to Frakes about... I don't
know.  Things.  If I can pry Frakes away from Oracle and her pet financier.
     And now I am in a poor mood again.  This all has a fouler taste than I
expected.  It shouldn't have had to come to this.  Our supremacy was
assured.  We do not need these tinkertoys and horrors to win our fight.  We
should need nothing but ourselves and the power at our command.
     But it all went wrong... as wrong as my core belief was, my
foundation.  As wrong as Gabrielle and I were for so many years....
     No, I will not succumb to bitterness.  We will achieve our victory.
The belief was not flawed, no matter how wrong our perceptions were, that
led to it.
     Gabrielle was contacted by a friend, who had a special job for us.
The elimination of a number of researchers following a certain course of
study.  This was acceptable to us.  We were promised an extremely valuable
reward.  This was not acceptable to us.  The business of murder involves
money up front, always.  This is for the protection of both parties.  It
prevents us from wasting our time, and prevents our clients from wasting
their lives needlessly.
     That night, a courier delivered five million dollars... but asked to
be given the chance to show the other reward following the job's
completion, and take the money back if we agreed.  This, we found
acceptable.
     I do not know what these five scientists were working on.  I do not
know what marked them for death, but one by one we killed them.  Doctor
Roger Piermont.  Doctor Soo-Yee Ghu.  Doctor Angela Whitcomb.  Professor
Alan Forrest (and three of his assistants, who had the unfortunate fortune
to be working late with the good Professor) and Doctor Walter Shinobi.  We
alternated -- I would kill one, Gabrielle would kill the next, and so
forth.  It was almost like a game.
     Shinobi was the most difficult.  He set off an alarm.  We had to kill
several campus security and some students.  There is little point to
killing a college student.  They rarely can fight back, so there is no real
pleasure in it.  It is rather like stepping on ants while jogging.  There
is no real way to avoid it, but if you think about it, it is unpleasant.
     We returned to the rendezvous point, which was in another country.  It
had been our operating procedure for some time to take a job in a country
other than the one the job would be done in, and meet in still a third,
preferably without extradition.  No one had yet attempted murderous
entrapment per se, but there was always the chance a client would lose his
nerve and admit his crime (or at least admit our involvement, at which
point we would have to kill him out of principle and to maintain a
reputation.  Ours is not a service the meek should recruit).
     We appeared relaxed as we sat in the restaurant, awaiting our contact.
Appeared is the keyword.  This was always the most dangerous part of an
assignment.  This was the point someone would know where we were, and could
work to take revenge.  Well, this time we knew there wouldn't be a bomb.
After all, we had their five million dollars -- which would be an expensive
explosion.
     A man in a white coat, with a shock of white hair and a beard joined
us.  "Es and Es," he asked.
     "Indeed," Gabrielle said.  "You have something for us?"
     "Did you bring the deposit?"
     "Assume we did," I said dryly.
     "Oh!  Right.  Of course, of course.  Sorry.  Can't be too careful."
He lifted up a case, and opened it.
     There were two objects inside.  A weapon about the size of a carbine,
but blue and silver, and a rapier with a black-inlaid blood groove running
down it.
     "What are these?" Gabrielle asked.
     "Signatures," the man said with a grin.  "This is a Multicannon.  It
is modular.  Rotate in weapons to suit your needs.  And, the weapon reads
palm and thumbprint, so only its owner -- you -- can use it.  The sword is
pure awesomanteum, save for the inlay, of course.  The edge isn't quite
monomolecular, but it is very very sharp, and no force on Earth can dull
it."
     "Oh... my," I said.
     The man smiled.  "You approve?" he asked.
     "Very very much so," Gabrielle said, examining the weapon.
     "Excellent.  We were hoping you would like them enough to consider
working for us again."
     "In what capacity," I asked.
     "As bodyguards for a certain project in Hartford, Connecticut.  We
anticipate superhuman involvement."
     Gabrielle arched an eyebrow.  "We don't work in paranormal
situations," she said.  "We know our limits."
     "Knew them," the man said with a smile.  "With these signature
weapons, the stakes have raised, haven't they?  Ten million up front, ten
million at completion."
     I looked at my sister, and we nodded in unison.  Truthfully, the blade
seemed wondrous... but more than that, to deliberately joust with the
Gods... *that* would be a worthy fight.  So we went.
     And thus we met Doctor Stanley Unorthodox.  And through him the League
of Unconcerned Scientists.
     Today I realize the League of Unconcerned Scientists was only
effective because it was a front that Andy Awe-Inspiring was working
through.  Which only makes sense -- how else could they have crafted an
awesomanetum rapier capable of slicing a vapor cloud?  At the time I did
not care.  I did not realize Gabrielle and I were on the threshold of
Destiny yet again.
     Doctor Unorthodox's plan was simple -- and utterly insane.  He
constructed a weapon that harnessed the power of the Nun on the Road's car
into an energy surge.  He was to use this weapon to destroy Mighty Guy, who
the good Doctor hated.  None of this meant anything to Gabrielle and I, of
course.  We did our jobs and we did them well.  Indeed, the first
paranormal to attack was a then-unknown called the Dash.  We stopped her,
despite her speed.  It was, of course, luck.  Gabrielle mischambered and
fired a gelatinous substance that was nearly frictionless.  The Dash
slipped and few headfirst into a parked car at rather a high rate of speed.
We also captured a paramedic with delusions of grandeur -- a Michael Green.
We had no way of knowing we were creating the conditions that would lead to
the Adjusted League Unimpeachable.
     And then... Mighty Guy and Trashman appeared on campus.
     Ratman, naturally, was defeated by his old foe.  Mighty Guy was
destroying the University of Hartford in an effort to defeat my sister.
     Which left Trashman and myself.
     Dear Lord... that battle still fires my blood.
     He used a trash can lid my blade could not damage.  It was a shield,
which he used as a weapon.  Even as I used my weapon to turn away his
attacks.  That day changed my life, even though it ultimately led to my
defeat.  But worthy loss does not concern me.  It inspires me.  *He*
inspired me.
     Ultimately, the Adjusted League Unimpeachable defeated Doctor
Unorthodox.  His own daughter turned coat against him, his device was
smashed, and with Potentiate they formed their little organization.  And we
went to prison -- a humiliating experience that did not last long.
     However, when we had left, things had changed for us.  We had been
caught.  We had lost.  Our reputation was not what it was, and neither was
work.  As killers, we had ruled our world.  As supervillains... well, we
were not that significant.  Besides, neither Gabrielle nor I had any sort
of ambition to any such thing.
     Truthfully, it was depressing.  To have come so far and break... to
have fought Ogden and won, Trashman and lost... what was there left?
Gabrielle was the same, I know.  And her weapon was powerful, but did not
feel like *her,* any more than my wonder blade did.  But we couldn't just
stop using them.
     It was in this state that Doctor Unorthodox called us for the second
time.  Not for the League of Unconcerned Scientists, this time.  They were
smashed by the Adjusted League Unimpeachable, along with the Awe-Inspiring
Force.  No, this was for something different.
     He was not offering us money, this time.  He was offering us power.
     And there the story mostly ends.  From that day in a Boston
subbasement forward, I was Egoiste and Gabrielle was Arsenal.  My sword is
now energy I create, and my speed and stamina and reflexes are legendary.
Gabrielle *is* her weaponry and armor, and she can bring more power to bear
than an Aegis cruiser.  We fought the Adjusted League Unimpeachable, and
CalForce.  With the Awe-Inspiring Force, we invaded the very home of our
arch enemies.  We created Lady Awe-Inspiring.  We took from their halls a
new Nubermachine, and with it we build our army to overwhelm the world and
take our place as its rightful rulers.
     Just as the Red Cat took Armand's hovel, and everything he ever had.
Just as he took us.
     Which is what has me shaken, watching these godlings and seeing them
enjoy the pain of others in a way none of us did.
     It was after we took this Island, and were preparing to recruit new
members, that Gabrielle and I decided it was time to see home.  We flew in
one of the jets to Grenoble, and from there wandered to our village.  I
wore a black button down shirt, and black slacks.  She wore a blue summer
dress.
     It was so small, so dirty.  The shops were dank.  The tavern that
Jean-Pierre had insulted the Red Cat in was nothing more than a pit where
broken men swilled alcohol.
     We walked to our family's farm.  And there they were.  An old man and
woman on a porch.  Loutish men yelling at their children, who were picking
poor grapes to make bad wine and be sold to undiscriminating groceries.
     We attracted a lot of attention, of course.  Strangers, healthy and
rich looking, wandering a village that time had forgotten.
     We walked to the cottage.  It was, once again, a dilapidated hovel.
What was raised from ash had returned.
     No one stopped us from going in, or wandering around.  Gabrielle saw
the dirty bed she had her virginity taken in.  I saw the dirty well I had
drunk from.  There was an old warped willow stick in one corner.  One of my
so-called practice swords?  One of Gabrielle's arrows?  Who could tell?
     It was smaller than I remembered, and so dirty.  So utterly filthy.
     "Should I destroy it," Gabrielle asked.
     "Whatever would the point be," I replied.
     We went to one of the shops and got a bottle of orange `drink' apiece,
and asked if any legends of Le Chat Rouge had come up.  As it turned out,
they had, elsewhere in the Province.  And so we went.
     He wasn't hard to find.  In fact, he was easy enough to find that
obviously the police weren't looking that hard.  Perhaps a murderous folk
hero in the woods wasn't much of a priority for them.  He was in a tavern,
an old man drinking, and we knew from the moment we walked in that he had
taken it as his.
     Taken it.
     It was full of small, dirty men and women, who clearly revered him.
It was scrubbed, which didn't change the fact that the furniture was old
and worn, and the alcohol was bad and the food worse.
     Still, he sat there, back to us.
     "The Red Cat sees no one he does not seek," a man snapped, shoving at
me.  Another leered at Gabrielle.
     I don't know which of us was more horrified... more enlightened.
"Never touch me," she murmured.  "I only warn once."
     "Oh-ho," one of the dirty little squabblers said.  "The mistress feels
her oats.  Maybe I should have a feel to--"
     Gabrielle popped the miniguns from her arms and swept one side of the
room.  With a leap and twist, I kicked away two and bisected three in swift
motions.
     Within one and a half seconds, there was no one left alive in the room
but the Red Cat, who whirled to his feet, hand on his battered pistol--
     My blade was gone, Gabrielle's guns had sunk back into her forearms.
We both stared, our eyes boring into the Red Cat, looking at his eyes, not
the worn clothes he wore.
     "You... killed--"
     "We killed.  We do that," Gabrielle said.
     "We kill like men," I said.  "And take what we want."
     "Who... who are you," he asked, trembling.
     He did not recognize us.  Why should he?  He had thrown us back, and
moved on.
     "I am Egoiste," I said.
     "I am Arsenal," Gabrielle said.
     "I... oh mon dieu... I... if I have offended... non, non, I live...
sir, madam... please... I am Le Chat Rouge.  Perhaps you have heard of me,
yes?  Perhaps... yes... I can... what can I do?  For you?  I can kill -- I
am good, yes.  Very good.  Or I could take something for you, that y-you
would not sully yourselves to--"
     "You gave us something once," Gabrielle said.
     The Red Cat blinked.
     "And now we are giving it back to you," I said.
     "What... what is that?"
     "Your life," Gabrielle said.  "As you gave us ours."
     And we turned and walked out.
     It was several minutes of walking before Gabrielle leaned against a
tree, her metal skeleton and cybernetic biostructure bending it.  She
laughed, without mirth.
     "What is so funny," I muttered.
     "Us.  Him."
     I nodded.  "He was... so grand.  So wondrous.  And now we learn the
truth."
     "He was terrified of us -- would have licked our shoes if we asked."
     "I considered it."
     Gabrielle turned.  "I thought that the difference between him and our
brothers is that they were bullies, and he was strong."
     "Strong."  I snorted.  "He was no such thing.  Think of it.  When did
he leave us?  When we started to talk back?  At that point, I had practiced
the sword every day for years, hours at a time.  You--"
     "Had trained incessantly with pistol and firearm.  I know."
     "He was scared.  *He* didn't train like that."
     Gabrielle nodded.  "At that point, either of us could have beaten him.
And one day we would have realized it.  So he left us with nothing."
     "No.  He left us with everything.  He just didn't know it was
anything."  I looked at her.  "Gabrielle... he is a legend in these hills.
And why not?  Defy the police and the government.  He does what he wants
and who is to stop him?"  I snorted.  "Because he *stayed* in these hills.
He stayed where he can be the king of the nothings.  Where the modern era
only creeps in."
     Gabrielle sighed.  "That's the point, isn't it.  He stayed, and takes
what he wants because he's stronger and colder than these pathetic dregs.
Which we were too... but when he left us, we left here.  We went into the
world, with nothing but a mastery in death."
     "And now... we are nearly Gods.  Rich, powerful, feared in every
country...."
     "And he is a dirty man bullying people for drinks."
     "He was scared.  Not just of us... but the world.  And so he stays
where he can pretend he's somewhere else."
     Gabrielle looked at me.  "Leave him these hills?"
     I nodded.  "I don't want them, Christ knows."
     And we returned to Grenoble.  I bathed -- I felt I had to.  We took
our jet and we left.
     And here I am, at the end of another year.
     But what have I learned?
     We have created monsters in the name of becoming kings.  We seek to
take this world, to use it better than the fools do now.  Even as the Red
Cat seized Armand's, seized us, and made us better.
     But he did not mean to.  He was a bully, and we followed him and
*believed.*  He was just a bigger, meaner, crueler bully than my brothers.
     Does that make me just another bully in the chain?  Larger, colder,
less caring, less human?
     Oh Gods... Gabrielle... Geneva... Drake... Stig... Frakes....
     I am very tired.
     I do not understand.
     It was not supposed to be this way.






                             Eric Alfred Burns

                                Year's End

                        A Look Back in Four Parts

                     (for Amy, Frob, Gary and Mason)

--
Beta-Cit Eric Alfred Burns  | Takes more than Combat Gear to Make a Man,
<sabre@awenet.com>          | Takes more than a License for a Gun.
http://www.eyrie.org/~sabre | Confront your Enemies, Avoid them when you can,
Writer Type, Poet Boy       | A Gentleman will walk but never run.
Maine Expatriate            |  				--Sting