They were almost home, flying just north of the Tennessee River and downtown Chattanooga when the scanner locked on the police band: “… cars. All cars. Shots reported in the convenience store, corner of Fourth and Brody.”
”Car forty-three responding. We’re closest, about a mile from the scene.”
“Roger that, forty-three. You have it. Car Two-niner-four, back him up.”
Scott consulted the on-board nav-computer, then keyed on the mike. “Dispatch, this is Defenders Aircar-Four. We are in the air, less than a minute from the scene, with three operatives. Request permission to assist.”
”CPD Dispatch. Uh, welcome aboard, Defenders-Four. Meet Car Forty-three, en route, four minutes.”
”Ten-four. Defenders out.” Scott turned the aircar and dove towards the ground. They landed in the parking lot of the convenience store with the orange and blue FORCE flashers on. Scott bailed out of the car with the med-kit as soon as it touched down and ran into the store. Tracker and Antoinette followed behind, Tracker scanning the area as he ran. The clerk lay on the floor, unconscious and bleeding from a bullet-wound. The cash-drawer stood empty.
”Tracker, you and Tigresse go after them. I’ll see what I can do here.” Scott opened the aircar’s med-kit.
Tracker moved over to the cash drawer, dipping his nose into the tray to get a scent. As he did, Antoinette stripped off her clothing and shapechanged.
Stalking back around from behind the counter, he gestured, “Tigresse, come.” She ran beside Tracker as he padded swiftly down the street. Rounding a corner, she saw two men walking nonchalantly side by side, one a short, wirey man with almost no hair. As she and Tracker approached, the other man, apparently sensing something out of the ordinary, turned.
”Oh, shit!” he shouted, pulling a pistol from his belt and firing at them. Then he ran around the next corner. The shorter man took off between two houses, leaping a low fence to get away.
Tracker pointed towards the second one. “Tigresse. Capture. No kill.” She rumbled comprehension and bounded off. He sped after the gunman.
She spotted her quarry and lengthened her stride, galloping after him. Her prey glanced back. “Get away from me, you sonovabitch,” he shouted. He drew a pistol and fired wildly in her direction. She dodged, then sprang on him, knocking the pistol from his hand in the impact.
He scrambled after it but she pounced on him, driving him to the ground and batted the gun away. Seizing him by the back of his belt, she started to carry him back to the aircar. He screamed curses as he pulled a knife and stabbed her with it.
The blade penetrated her thick hide. Snarling at the stab of pain, she flung him into the air with a jerk of her powerful neck. As he landed, she cuffed his hand, sending the knife flying. She put her face to his and roared. The man stared at her fangs, petrified. She picked him up again by his belt, throwing him over her shoulder and carried him back to the aircar.
A police car sat in front of the store. She pushed past the startled officers and dropped her burden beside Scott. He looked up from the unconscious clerk. “Good, Tigresse!” He glanced at the policemen. “Your prisoner, officers.” The man began to edge away. Tigresse bared her fangs and placed one paw on his chest, claws extended. He froze.
The officer nodded grimly. Relieved of her prisoner, Tigresse turned and bounded out. Tracker was returning with the second man in a hammerlock walking in front of him. He carried the man’s pistol by its trigger guard in his free hand.
”Capture target?” Tracker asked. Tigresse ducked her heavy head. “Good.” She purred and fell into step beside him.
The policeman bound Tracker’s prisoner with a cable-tie and took the gun as evidence, dropping it into a plastic bag. “Was the first man armed?”
Tracker turned to Tigresse. “Have gun?” he asked as he pointed at the first man. Tigresse nodded. “Get gun.” She turned and trotted off obediently. The officer held out another specimen bag. Tracker took it and went with her. They returned with the man’s gun and knife in the bag and Tracker handed the weapons to the policeman.
A small crowd had begun to gather, watching from the edge of the lot at the drama within. Tracker glanced at them uneasily. As he finished his brief report, Tigresse blurred and Antoinette stood up. The officer stared at her, then hastily looked away.
”Uh, anything to add to his report, ma’am?” the embarrassed officer asked.
”I do not know what he said,” she replied as she dressed. He looked puzzled. “When I am in tiger form, I do not understand very well what is said.”
”Just tell him what happened after we separated,” Tracker said.
”I chased him,” she said, pointing at the man she’d captured. She gave her account, her hands punctuating it with quick gestures.
Scott turned to the officers. “It’s all yours now. Unless you have any other questions, we’ll be on our way.”
The officer shook his head. “We’ll take it from here. Thanks.”
As they stepped outside, Scott stopped and looked at the crowd of onlookers. There were mutterings from the crowd, then a man said, “Mutie bitch.” Tracker tensed, his ears went back, and his arm tighened around her waist.
Another man laughed. “Mutie or not, I wouldn’t mind finding her in my Christmas stocking!”
”Get your paws off her, you damn mutt!” a third man yelled.
Antoinette whirled on him, rage in every line of her body, but Scott caught her shoulder. “Antoinette, no. I’ll take care of it.”
She looked at him, hot anger in her voice. “Then do it!”
One of the policemen came out. “Okay, folks. Move on.”
Scott said, “Officer, may I talk to them first?” The policeman nodded and stepped back.
Scott turned back to the crowd and raised his voice. “Be quiet! You, with the news-recorder, catch this.” The reporter focused his equipment on Scott.
”My name is Scott Nolan. Many of you have heard of me. And yes, I am a mutant.
”There is a man in there that was bleeding to death when we arrived. He did not know I was a mutant, all he knew was that he was dying. And now he isn’t.
”Two more mutants risked their lives to catch the scum that shot that man. She was stabbed by the man she caught.” He turned suddenly and unbuttoned Antoinette’s bolero. Pulling up a corner of the bolero, he turned her to reveal the healing pink mark of the gunman’s knife. “She heals quickly, but if that knife had pierced her heart, she would have been dead as any of you.” He dropped the corner of the bolero and Antoinette fastened it as he continued.
He turned to Tracker. “Yes, he looks like a fox. He was made with fox genes, but most of his genes are human, and he is human, too. His ability to follow by scent let him track down the men that shot the cashier, and help put two attempted murderers in jail, where they can’t shoot anyone else.
”So, that cashier is alive, and the scum that shot him in cold blood are in the hands of the police because of three mutants.
”But why? Why did we bother if, as some say, we feel we are better than you?
”Why? Because we aren’t! We are human! We have special abilities, yes, but we risk ourselves because we are human, and we want justice, and peace, and happiness, just like you do. If one of you had been a martial artist, or an off-duty policeman, or a veteran Ranger, or had some other special ability to apprehend criminals, you would have gone after the man’s assailants, just as we did. Why? For the same reason we did — because you’re human.
”Not because you can break boards with your bare hand, or know sixteen ways to kill a man with a shoelace, but for the same reason we did, because you are human. And humans don’t let scum like that prey on them.
”Now, of course, some mutants are insane, or criminal, or think they are better than others. So? That martial artist could also be insane, that off-duty cop could be an enforcer for the mob in his spare time, that Ranger could be a neo-Nazi. But most of you aren’t, and most of us aren’t, either.”
He raised his hands. “Please. Take us on our own merits, each one of us, for what we are, not for what someone else says about us.” He dropped his hands. There was scattered cheering as well as sullen looks.
He turned to the policemen. “Once again, we’ll be on our way. Thanks for letting me have my say.”
At the aircar, Scott opened the door, looked back at the crowd and raised his hand in a thumbs-up salute, then slid into the driver’s seat. “That was quick, clean and easy. And good PR. I’ll get Marsha to write up a press release when we get back.”
