Chapter 2, Part 1: Search

Chapter 2: Tiger Hunt

        Jay landed as Red jetted off after the car. “Now what, Scott? Should we go back to Base and get a strike team together? Take the airbus, and go after those clowns?”
        ”No,” Tracker said.
        Jay turned to him. “Tracker, with an opinion? What is this world coming to!”
        ”Put a lid on it, Jay,” Scott suggested as he turned to Tracker as well. “Why not, Tracker?”
        Tracker looked at them, ears laid back defensively. When he spoke, his voice was low, but determined. “You’re both of you full human. You can’t understand what it’s like to be an animal in your world.” He looked at Scott. “I’m sorry, sir, but I’ll help the tiger, even if I have to do so by myself.”
        Scott shook his head wryly. “No, I can’t really see it from your viewpoint, Tracker, but I think I understand. We’ll help you find the tiger.”
        He turned to Jay. “I’ve informed Base of the Snake personnel. If Magnum or Carfield wants to field a team to go after them, they can do so. Our mission was to find the tiger, and if Snake is after it, then we need to find it first.”
        Jay shrugged. “You’re the boss, Scott. So, what now?”
        ”We need to locate the tiger, and/or the woman that Tracker has associated with the tiger,” Scott said. “Jay, send Lady aloft and watch through her eyes. I don’t want you to fly unless you get a lead from Lady. We don’t want to alarm the populace any more than they already are with this little dust up. Tracker and I’ll scout the ground. Let’s try to stay close enough to support each other. Let’s also try to blend in with the locals.” He pressed a concealed switch in the hem of his shirt and it changed from the Defenders forest-green to a red and white check. Their uniforms were made from ten different styles of two-phase fabric. Under the effect of a mild electrical current, the fabric changed color.
        ”Okedo, Scott,” Jay replied. He ruffled the feathers on Lady’s back, then launched his telepathically linked hawk into the air. His shirt changed to a loud orange and his pants to black.
        ”That’s your idea of blending?” Scott asked. He shook his head, then turned away.
        Tracker returned to the place he’d last seen the tiger. He was happy. He loved the hunt, the unraveling of tangled scent trails. He loved pitting his wits against an elusive quarry. He was the best at this game, and he knew it. It filled him with a deep sense of achievement every time he unsnarled another muddled trail. And this was even better than usual. He was following the tiger, not to injure it but to help it. He was only a tool, but he was a good tool.
        He followed its scent until he came to another wall, and lost it. He cast around to find the scent again, but couldn’t. He straightened up and stared at the wall. “Sir,” he said to Scott, who was following him. “The scent trace reached the wall and vanished. This isn’t the first time that I’ve lost the tiger’s trace at a wall.” He paused for a moment, then said, “Wait here. I’ll be right back, sir.”
        At Scott’s nod, he darted to a broken window nearby, broke out the rest of the glass with his sword hilt, then climbed through. A moment later, he reappeared at the window. “Sir!” His voice was excited. “I found the tiger’s trace on the other side of the wall. It’s enhanced, sir. It’s able to dematerialize and go through objects!”
        ”Very good, Tracker,” Scott said. “That explains why the police couldn’t track it, and why Snake wanted it.” Tracker’s ears pricked at the faint, harsh buzz of Red’s whisperjet. The man landed, knees bent to absorb the impact, then walked over to Scott.
        ”Snake’s car stopped after a few minutes and Vengeance got in. Then it took the ramp onto the Interstate and headed north. I noticed on the way back that people are starting to come out of the woodwork again.”
        ”Okay,” Scott said. “Forget about them for now. We’re trying to find the tiger.”
        ”Right,” Red replied. His uniform changed to bland civilian colors and he pulled a false cover over his whisperjet to conceal it as a backpack. Then he left the deserted warehouse.
        Scott turned to Tracker. “You’re the best tracker we have, and I need you for this. Can’t disguise you, but I’ll be nearby at all times in case you get harrassed.” He put the ball back in his pocket, but kept his hand curled around it.
        Tracker looked at him with no expression on his face, but his ears were back, betraying his anxiety. He knew, consciously, that he could out-fight or out-run any human attackers, but the fear was still there. He felt a glow of respect for Scott for having remembered his fear of the mob. “Yes, sir,” he said, then turned to the door.
        After almost an hour, he heard Jay’s voice over the radio. “Scott? I keep seeing the same six or seven men wandering around. They seem particularly fond of Joe’s Bar and Grill. They’re armed with shoulder-holstered weapons.”
        Tracker scrutinized the people nearby. After a moment, he spotted one of Jay’s suspects. The man was coming out of one of the deserted warehouses and was talking to himself. Tracker focused his hearing on the man.
        ”… not in here,” the man muttered. Tracker saw the radio plug in the man’s ear. The radio made a thin whisper of sound, nearly inaudible even to Tracker’s enhanced senses.
        ”… her room. …”
        ”Ten-four. Continuing search. Out.”
        ”They’re hunting for someone, maybe a woman,” Tracker reported. “Maybe it’s the woman with the tiger.”
        Scott nodded. “Okay. I’ll go order a beer and check out the bar. The rest of you, cover the area.”
        Jay, who was idling nearby, sent Lady circling overhead. Tracker slipped into the alley behind the bar and crouched behind a trash can. Red, his poly-fiber steel armor hidden by his clothes, lounged against a telephone pole to watch the front of the building as Scott entered the bar.
        Ten minutes later, Red spoke softly into his radio, “Scott? One of those guys is heading for the bar now.”
        Scott clicked the radio twice in acknowledgment. “He went into a storeroom in back,” Scott whispered into his radio a moment later.
        Tracker saw a door open and the man stepped out, glanced left and right, then crossed the alley and knocked on a steel door in the opposite wall. It opened and he went in. Tracker reported to the others. A moment later, Scott and Red joined him.
        ”Jay,” Scott ordered over the radio. “I want you to cover the front. If anyone runs, grab them, but do it gently unless they fight back.”
        ”Ten-four, boss-man,” Jay said.
        ”Red, you knock,” Scott went on. “Tracker and I’ll be right behind you. We want to find out what they’re looking for. If they shoot, take them. If they talk, I’ll handle it. Questions?” The others shook their heads. “Then let’s do it.”
        Scott and Red reverted their clothes to the Defenders colors. Red pulled his mask over his head. He plugged in a small connector and the poly-fiber steel hood and armor suddenly became rigid as the molecules realigned under the influence of the mild electrical current.
        Red knocked on the door. A man opened it. He was holding a Cpok III, a gyrojet machine pistol. “Hi! Did you order a pizza,” Red quipped.
        ”Oh, shit!” the gunman shouted. The Cpok hammered, a short burst that sprayed Red with slugs and knocked him back. He grabbed the door jamb as the door was slammed shut against his armored fingers.
        Jay’s voice came over the radio. “Dear me, such bad manners. Does that mean I can play with them?”
        ”Negative, Jay. Okay, team, take ‘em,” Scott ordered.
        Red threw himself against the door and hurled it back against the man trying to force it closed. A spray of bullets ricocheted off his armor as he hurtled inside. He bit back an exclamation of pain as a steel-jacketed slug ripped through his armor, then fired his suit laser at the rifleman.
        Scott charged into the room behind him. A bullet struck his ballistic suit staggering him. Regaining his balance, he threw his stun ball. It hit one of the gunmen, ricocheted off to hit another, then rebounded back towards Scott. He took a quick step, reached up and caught it. The two men struck collapsed, muscles limp under the effects of the ball’s electrostatic charge.
        ”FORCE!” Scott shouted. “You’re under arrest. Drop your weapons. Now!”
        Tracker crouched in the doorway, his valtan at the ready. He could smell the stench of hostility in the room.
        Overwhelmed by the attack, the remaining gunmen dropped their weapons and raised their hands. One bolted for another door. A moment later, Tracker heard him cry out in startlement.
        Scott took several bind-ties from his pocket. Made of poly-fiber steel cord, as flexible as string and several times stronger than steel, he bound the prisoners while Red covered them. As he finished, Jay sauntered in towing the runaway gunman like a balloon. Once in the room, he let go, letting the man float up to the ceiling.
        Scott pulled a card from his pocket and read them their rights. On concluding the simple statement, he began his interrogation.
        ”I’m looking for the woman, too,” he explained. “If you help me, I won’t press charges.”
        The man on the ceiling laughed. “If we talk, we’ll live maybe all of a week. If we don’t, we get a two or three-year vacation, all expenses paid. I got nothing to say. And if you spaceheads talk, you deserve whatever the Boss gives you.”
        ”Hey, Scottie,” Jay said. “How about I take this guy outside and turn him loose. We can see how high he floats before the neg-weight wears off. If he changes his mind about talking before he hits the street, I can always try to catch him.”
        Scott shook his head. “No, Jay. Much as I’d love to, we can’t. Even scum like these have rights.”
        Red’s fists clenched. “More rights than their victims have,” he snarled.
        ”Cool it, Red. Jay, back outside and cover us. Red, radio the police and let’s get rid of the garbage. Tracker, watch them. If they so much as twitch, blast them.” Scott began to search the room, starting with the desk’s splintered drawers. After a couple minutes, Tracker’s ears the wail of approaching sirens. The leader smiled mockingly. Scott heard it, too, and scowled as he looked around the room. Then his face lit up. He walked over to the telephone and picked up the computer notepad beside it. He sat down in the chair by the phone and began to write on the screen with its stylus.
        Alarm flickered over the captured leader’s face.
        In a few moments, Scott was below the program and instructing the computer directly. He undeleted the last several messages which hadn’t yet been overwritten, and studied them for a moment. Then he blanked the screen and returned control to the word processor. He turned to the man and smiled. “Thanks for your help. I’ll be sure to mention you favorably in my report, and see if I can’t get you a reduced sentence.”
        ”I didn’t say anything!” The man paled. Scott shrugged and turned away. Tracker’s nose picked up the man’s surge of panic.
        The sirens died away as two police cars pulled up outside the building. Four officers came in, hands gripping their holstered pistols.
        Scott nodded at the prisoners. “All yours, officers. Assault with a deadly weapon and resisting arrest.” Pointing at the thug on the ceiling, he added, “This man assisted us in finding out what we wanted to know. He helped us without any coercion, and I want it so noted in the report.”
        ”Fuck you, you son of a bitch!” the man snarled.
        Scott smiled. “You’re welcome.”
        One of the officers looked up at the man. “Joey! Well, well. So Cartel is involved, are they?”