Ch. 1: Fall Festival
Antoinette woke with a huge stretch and yawned, glancing over at the clock on the wall. As usual, she’d awakened early. Sitting up and swinging her legs over the side of the large bed, she looked over her shoulder at Jon with a smile, his eyes opening at her first movement and watching her. She motioned a kiss his direction and headed for the shower, large enough for two and custom fitted with full-length water jets and a special dryer for his fur.
“Better hurry up, mon cher,” she told him with her rich French accent. “Red and Marsha said they would meet us in the dining room for breakfast at seven and that we’d be leaving at eight.”
“Right.” Jon leapt out of the bed and met her at the door to the shower, luxuriating in their recent wedded bliss by bathing each other, followed by her brushing his thick fur as the vents blew warm air to dry him in time for their meeting. By the time they were ready to leave, the clock read only five minutes to go.
As they crossed the Plaza on their way to the cafeteria, she glanced at the “sky” above them. Although the Base that housed the Defenders lay concealed under Raccoon Mountain, the ceiling reproduced the sky outside in real-time holography. Antoinette still didn’t understand the technology, but since her arrival only months earlier, she’d become used to it and accepted the display as ‘real.’ It made the entire plaza feel like a town square instead of a cave buried hundreds of feet beneath a mountain.
Red and Marsha met them at the door to the dining room, along with Marsha’s four-year-old daughter, Cindy. A big man for his youth, Red wore a grin as he held little Cindy seated on his shoulder with one hand and Marsha’s own slender hand in the other.
“Glad to see you could make it, Tracker, old boy,” Red called out. “I was beginning to think we’d have to leave you two behind and enjoy the folk festival all by ourselves!”
“Oh, hush up, Charlie,” Marsha chided. “We just got here ourselves.”
“Are these American folk festivals anything like the French ones,” Antoinette asked.
“I don’t know, Antoinette,” Marsha replied. “Since the Bloody Years, people don’t do as much traveling as they used to. I’ve never been overseas, not even for my job with the news department at the station. What are they like?”
Antoinette thought for a moment. “We would have beaucoup food and drink, music and games. And dancing! Traditional music with much dancing and performances!”
Red nodded his head. “That sounds a lot like ours, though we don’t have as much history as you do. Probably don’t have as much drink as you do, either. You might see beer, but nothing more. At least, not for sale.”
“Then I think not we should eat too much for breakfast. If food is there, we should eat now only enough to reduce our hunger. No?”
“Sounds like a good idea to me,” Marsha replied. “Though I don’t think that will be much of a problem for Charlie and Cindy. He eats enough for a horse and what she eats for breakfast wouldn’t satisfy a bird,” she added, laughing.
“Well, if you’re going to call me a horse, maybe I should change my code name. How about Red Stallion? Would that work?”
“Silly. You just take care of Cindy there and don’t hit her head on any door frames, or I’ll make sure your bruises match hers!”
“Yes, Ma’am,” Red replied, grinning. “Watch your head, little one. Low bridge.” He ducked, making sure Cindy cleared the oversized doorway with feet to spare.
After passing through the buffet line, they chose a table in the middle of the expansive room that was somewhat separate from most of the early morning diners. Once they’d taken their seats and started eating, Red spoke up.
“I’ve signed out hovercar three for the day. It’s an unmarked, open top model with heavier force fields to make up for the lack of armor. Since we’re all somewhat going in our civies, I thought a civilian-looking vehicle would be less noticeable and not draw as much attention to Tracker, here, when we arrive. It also means that getting in and out will be easier if there’s any emergency; not that I expect one.”
“Always pays to be prepared,” Jon pointed out. “It wouldn’t be the first time something unexpected happened while we’re out. At least with Castile finally down for good, I don’t have to worry about them trying to kidnap me again.”
“Yeah, but if not Castile then it’ll probably be someone else trying to cause trouble. It’s not like Castile was the only group we had to worry about.”
“Stop that, you two,” Marsha interrupted. “This isn’t a mission we’re going on, it’s a pleasure jaunt. We’re going out to have fun for once. Keep that up and you’ll drive Tracker back into his shell, after we all worked so hard to pull him out of it.” Jon’s ears fell at the reminder of how isolated he’d kept himself from the others before meeting Antoinette.
“Look at him,” she added. “Toni, see if you can get his ears up. He’s got nothing to be afraid of today.”
Antoinette stretched up and whispered something in Jon’s vulpine ear, causing it to twitch as he turned, looking shocked. “You wouldn’t!” he whispered sotto voce. She nodded, tugging sharply at the waistband of his kilt. “Okay! Je pas entretien des missions ou du travail pour le reste du jour!”
“That goes for you too, Red,” Antoinette said.
“What’d he say?” Red asked, confused. “What’d you say?”
“He said he would not talk about work any more today, under threat of losing his kilt if he did. I’m sure Marsha will help me pull your pants off if I need to.”
“Unka Charlie’s gonnal lose his pants!” little Cindy crowed loudly.
“No!” Red swept his gaze around the dining room, where a number of the other diners had raised their heads at the little girl’s call. “No more! Not one word!” He lowered his head and began shoveling scrambled eggs into his mouth.
“Of course, that threat really wouldn’t work on Jon, Marsha. He’s as much a nudist as I, or would be were it not for human body-shyness. Honestly, if he didn’t wear his kilt and cape, he would care less, isn’t that right, Jon?”
“True. Without them I could move a lot easier. But then, even Doctor Carter pointed out that clothing and jewelry are what tends to tell others that you are sapient. Without them, most people would probably think of me as the animal I came from–the animal I believed myself to be. At least–until I met ‘Nette, here. I still don’t like going out in public, but I can’t get used to it if I don’t go out, can I?”
Marsha shook her head. “No, I guess not. I have to admit I never understood you before, Tracker, but then, you really didn’t want us to, did you?”
“No, I didn’t. I figured the less you knew about me, the more I could simply serve as a tool and be left to my own devices between missions.”
“Jon, remember what I told you,” Antoinette warned, slipping her fingers into the waistband of his kilt.
“No, ‘Nette. This is just as important to me as the trip is to you, today. You taught me more about myself than I ever knew. Were it not for you, I’d probably still be a slave of the General and working to enslave the Earth to the Valani usurpers instead of working with FORCE and Earth’s governments to help restore Isan-ira to her throne. The usurpers know about me, but they don’t know about the rest of the Enhanced. If they ever find out that Isan-ira is heading a counter-revolution from Earth, they’re going to have a bigger fight than they’ll expect.
“But that also means we’re going to need to get that drive unit back from Blacksnake, soon. If he does anything to damage it, then Isan-ira and Shal-ir can’t fly back to Val to head the revolt. Knowing the Valani honor system, that would be as demeaning to her as Shal-ir claiming the throne for himself. And for a matriarchal society, that’s pretty low.”
“I told you what I’d do if you talked work again, Jon. Give me your kilt,” Antoinette demanded, holding out her hand. Jon unbuckled his belt and started to remove his kilt when Marsha interrupted.
“Not now, Antoinette. Wait ‘til we’re in the aircar. Some of the people here are barely used to you swimming in the Plaza pool in the nude; no need to embarrass them in broad daylight by parading Tracker through the base without his kilt.”
“Tres bien. You get off this time, Jon. But one more word about anything other than where we’re going today means you ride all the way down to the festival without your kilt. And you get to answer all of Cindy’s questions yourself.”
“Um … don’t you think …?”
“You know the conditions, Jon. If we have the children, then I will make that decision, but Cindy is Marsha’s little girl. If you don’t want to teach her about certain things, then you know what to do.”
“Right.” With that, Jon emulated Red by keeping his mouth full while the two women talked about the trip and the differences between American and French traditions.
An hour later, the hovercar slipped through the narrow tunnel leading out to the Tennessee River and turned downstream, accelerating to an easy fifty miles per hour as it skimmed over the relatively smooth water. Antoinette hugged Jon as they rode in the back seat, enjoying the view. Red blew the car’s horn once as he passed a big towboat pushing barges down the river and blew again as they passed the double deck tour boat out of Chattanooga on its way to the festival as well. As the river opened out onto Nickajack Lake, a gusty wind made the water choppy, forcing Red to feed more power to the fans to ride over the waves. Less than fifteen minutes later, a collection of boats near the shore announced their arrival at the Shellmound park on a peninsula sticking out into the river just above the Nickajack Dam. Goosing the engine to hop the hovercar over the low bank, Red eased over to VIP parking where he displayed his FORCE and Defenders ID cards. Shutting down the engine he turned to the others.
“We’re here.”
Jon sprang out of the hovercar and reached in to take Antoinette’s hand. Rising to her feet, she let him lift her over the side and landed lightly on her feet. As she reached back into the car to grab a blanket and her guitar case, she watched Jon putting all his senses to work in an attempt to discover any threat to himself or her. Shaking her head silently, she rose erect and slipped her free hand over Jon’s arm.
“Marsha, I think Jon and I are going to find a seat over there under the trees, out of the way. I want to listen to the music for a while and give Jon a chance to get accustomed to the people. If you two want to go on, we’ll meet up later. Okay?”
“Fine by me,” Marsha replied, taking Cindy’s hand.
“Let me take her,” Red suggested, grabbing the little girl by the waist and tossing her up over his head. Catching her and swinging her down and up again, Cindy squealed with joy.
“You drop her, Charlie, and we’ll both be put out with you,” Marsha warned.
“No worries, lovely lady,” Red replied, swinging Cindy up to a seat astride his neck.
”Elephant!” the four-year-old crowed, drumming her feet against his chest.
As Red and Marsha moved off to view some of the craft tents, only just opening for the day, Antoinette steered Jon over near one of the outdoor stages and laid the blanket down beneath the bole of an ancient oak tree a short distance from the stage, close enough to listen, but not so close that the music interfered with their conversation . Jon settled himself with his back against the trunk of the tree, sitting back more on his haunches rather than fully seating himself on the ground. Antoinette slid back between his legs and leaned back against his chest, pulling his arms around her waist and interlocking her fingers between his.
Not long after the two had made themselves comfortable, Marsha and Red, carrying Cindy on his shoulders, drifted over and joined them.
“We got here a little too early, “ Red announced, lifting the little girl and setting her down. “Half of the booths haven’t even opened yet and almost nothing is ready at any of the food tents. We did get a schedule of the stages and the first group is supposed to be starting here at nine-thirty. Marsha thought if we joined y’all for a bit, we could grab a snack once the food is ready, and tour the booths after that.”
“Fine by me,” Jon replied. “So far nobody seems to have noticed us over here. I have to admit that most of the people I’ve seen and heard seem little different from the people at Home. In many ways they seem more relaxed here. Then again, except for the ones actually working here, it doesn’t look like anyone has anything to worry about.”
“You’re right, Tracker,” Marsha agreed. “Despite the Bloody Years and the social upheaval after that interstellar raid, most people would rather ignore the changes that resulted. I expect most people could care less about Enhanced people as long as they weren’t directly affected by them. If you’ve ever watched any of my video news reports, I’m sure you’ve noticed that the majority of the news never even mentions the Enhanced. In fact, were it not for the Pure Earth League and a few criminal EPs, Enhanced People would probably be considered no different from anybody else.”
“I don’t think so, Marsha. Just look at yourself. Even as recently as a hundred years ago, if you weren’t a caucasian in certain parts of the old United States, you were reviled and prejudiced against. An American of any color in the Middle East was considered an Imperialist. Even certain Asian countries were very xenophobic. The one good thing that occurred from that interstellar raid was that it brought humans together against nonhumans. The problem is, it also created what the Pure Earthers consider as non-humans on Earth. Add to this people like myself or Sasha who are quite visibly non-human, and you’ve just got another group subject to the prejudices of others. I guess what’s worse now is that at least some of the Enhanced can retaliate with a lot more power than their predecessors.
“Maybe it’s a good thing that the Enhanced only make up about one percent of the population. It’s even better that most of them can pass as Normal most of the time. But we’ve already seen what can happen when an Enhance misuses his power. Look at Blacksnake’s gang. If it weren’t for Blacksnake himself, I’m pretty sure Vengeance, Pneumata and the others would either be robbing banks or terrorizing Normals in some other way and just making matters worse for all of us. FORCE has managed to isolate and manage most of the more obvious EPs, but what of the rest? What about the ones that haven’t been discovered yet?
“What about the ones overseas? ‘Nette, does France have a service like FORCE to find and protect Enhanced people?”
“I do not know, Jon. Nobody ever talked about Enhanced persons unless they caused trouble. I do know that Papa and his friends felt much like the Pure Earth people do here. I think that is why he became so abusive as I grew older; he must have seen me do something that I didn’t know I’d done. I guess at the end he didn’t want to admit I was his daughter. In a way, I am glad he is dead, but I wish…”
“Hush, ‘Nette. He can’t hurt you any more, and the tigresse is no longer just a beast in your mind. We’re a team, now; you, me and the tiger.”
“But I killed him!” she hissed back, trying to keep her voice down in her anxiety. “Or at least, the tiger did.”
“Yes, ‘Nette, she did. But she did it to protect herself–and you. She didn’t murder him, dear, she stopped him from hurting you. I’m sure she’ll do it again, too, if it becomes necessary. But at least now she knows when not to kill, too. Right?”
“You are right, Jon.” She settled back against his chest again.
Marsha sat up straight and turned to the others. “By the way, Tracker just reminded me of something. Since we’re mostly out here as civilians today, I need you to call me by my public name; Victoria Killmartin. If anyone asks, I’m doing a report on the Defenders, in particular Tracker and Tigresse. Charlie, if anything happens, try not to get involved if you can help it. At least, not in your armor. Nobody knows you as you are, unlike Tracker and Antoinette, here. But if I’m seen on a date with an obvious EP, my cover as a news reporter might be blown.
“Remember, for the day I’m either Vicky or Ms Killmartin. Okay?”
Before anyone could say anything else, the announcer climbed up onto the stage and turned on the microphone with a loud click heard through the speakers.
“Ladies and …!” Feedback from the speakers squealed with increasing volume and tone, forcing Jon to pull his ears down tight to his skull with a yowl before the mike was switched off, the sudden silence almost as loud as the noise. The announcer gestured to a technician and waited a moment before switching the mike on again. “Ladies and Gentlemen!” He stopped and turned back to the technician. “A little lower, please,” he suggested, laying his hand over the screen to muffle his voice. “Ladies and Gentlemen–Yes, that’s better.” He turned back to face the nearly nonexistent audience.
“Welcome to the One Hundred and Fifteenth annual Autumn Folk Festival at the Shellmound Recreation Area! We’ve got a host of local handcrafts on sale in the many tents and booths around the grounds along with many local and regional foods, including the best barbeque in the country right here this weekend! We also want to welcome our local bands and musicians as well as dancing and comedy routines from some of the biggest names in the business! Since this is a folk festival, we want to start the entertainment today with a Bluegrass band known all over the South. Let’s have a warm welcome for Waylon and Willie!”
Two men climbed up on stage wearing jeans and plaid flannel shirts, one carrying an acoustic guitar while the other carried an obviously well-worn banjo. Breaking out into song, the two soon drew more people into the audience which served to muffle the volume of their music down to a more bearable level back where the group sat. Antoinette sat tapping her foot to the beat as she listened to the music, her fingers twitching as she unconsciously tried to mirror the fingering of the tune.
Red lay on his back in the grass, playing finger games with Cindy, seated on his stomach. Victoria sat beside him, watching the two play while surreptitiously keeping a tiny camcorder aimed at Antoinette and Tracker. At one point Tracker noticed the camera, but trusting the dark-skinned Defender, chose not to say anything or bring it to Antoinette’s attention. A few moments later, Vicky clicked off the recorder and set it down in her lap. She edged closer to Red and leaned over, letting her hand unobtrusively touch the fingers of Red’s free hand. The big man’s hand gently rose to cover the woman’s.
Antoinette noticed the movement and smiled softly to herself. She signaled for Jon to open their gestalt. “#Jon? Don’t turn your head, but take a look at Red and Vicky.#” He glanced over, twitching one ear. “#I think Red has finally found the woman he’s been looking for. And look at her; I’ve never seen her as peaceful as she is right now. Maybe Red can help her forget what the Cartel did to her husband. I believe they’ll be good for each other.#”
“#I agree, ‘Nette,#” Jon replied telepathically. “#Even as new to human emotions as I am, I’ve seen how Red is much more sincere with her. He doesn’t tease and flatter her the way he did his other dates. I think he really likes her.#”
“#Let’s not say anything. It would make them both self-conscious and break the mood.#”
“#Agreed. Now that I know what Love truly is, I think they each deserve some of their own.#”
“What are you smiling about, pretty lady,” Red asked Antoinette.
“I was thinking,” she replied.
“About what?”
“Just thoughts,” she answered again, reaching up to scratch behind Jon’s ear, his chin resting on top of her head.
Cindy bounced on his stomach. “I’m hungry,” she announced.
Vicky opened her wallet and removed ten one-dollar bills, handing them to the four-year-old. “There are the food booths over there,” she said. “Go buy yourself something.”
Cindy took the money and ran off towards one of the food tents. Red sat up, looking at Vicky. “Want me to go with her?”
”Nope. She’s precocious; her mental age is nearly eight. She knows how to count money. I want her to make her own decisions and learn to cope with the world. If I continue to buck the Cartel, I may wind up dead one of these days and I want her to be able to take care of herself.” She caught the look in his face and put her hand on his knee. “Don’t worry. I’m taking every precaution I can think of, but it could still happen. A car could run me down as I cross the street. As anchorwoman for Channel Nine News, I’ve got to take some risks. I just happen to be better able to escape them.” He took her hand, holding it tightly.
As Waylon and Willie finished their set, the announcer returned to the stage. “Ladies and Gentlemen, due to some sort of mechanical difficulties, our next act hasn’t arrived yet. The next act on the schedule will be on stage at eleven o’clock; the comedy act of Williams and Drake performing as the classic comedians, Abbot and Costello. Be sure to stop by. For now, enjoy the arts and crafts and be sure to try some of that great barbeque at the Rib and Loin tent. Thank you.” With a click he turned off the mike and exited the stage.
Antoinette twisted in Tracker’s grasp, opening her guitar case and taking out Chanson de Coeur, the guitar Jon had given her shortly after her arrival at the Defenders base. Settling the instrument on her knee, she tuned it quickly, then began a quiet French song.
As she sang, a young man stopped and sat down nearby, listening. When she finished, he said, “You play very well.”
”Thank you,” she replied, smiling warmly.
”You French?”
”Oui. I am from the Cote d’Azur, in Provence.”
”You play that guitar like a pro.”
”I am a pro. I have played for a living.”
He grinned. “Want to come play with me for a while?”
She smiled, shaking her head. “I do not think that my husband would like that very much.”
He hesitated for a second, glancing at Red and Vicky, then back at Antoinette, leaning back against what he assumed was her dog. “Maybe your husband wouldn’t find out,” he suggested.
“He would,” the fox replied.
The young man started violently when Jon spoke. “Huh?”
“I said her husband would know,” Jon said again. “I’m her husband.”
He started edging away. “I… But…”
“Mais non, monsieur,” Antoinette interrupted. “Please don’t go.”
“I… I thought he was your dog!”
“He is my husband, monsieur. And just as human as you are.”
“Yup,” Red added. “Just like the rest of us. Though I have to admit he’s married to the prettiest girl I’ve ever known. Until now, that is,” he added, patting Vicky’s hand.
The newcomer started to relax, settling himself back onto the ground as he looked harder at Jon. “Really? You’re human? You look, … well, I thought you were just a big, well trained dog when I first saw you.”
“I’m a genetic construct.”
“He is human in every way that counts,” Antoinette added, leaning back to rub her cheek against his shoulder.
“So, um, what do you do,” he asked. Jon smiled as he sensed the newcomer’s fear becoming overridden by curiosity. Antoinette replied for him.
“Tracker and I are members of the Defenders. We came out with our friends to see the festival.”
”The Defenders? Aren’t they that group of mutants that help the police and FORCE deal with Enhanced criminals?”
“That is correct. You may have heard about that little girl… ?”
“Janlen,” Jon supplied. “Susie Janlen. The one that got lost on the side of Signal Mountain a couple months ago.”
“Yeah. I remember that. Heard there was quite a to-do about that incident, too.”
“Not really,” Vicky corrected. “Hi, I’m Victoria Killmartin. You’ve probably seen me on Channel Nine?” The young man studied her for a moment before nodding. “Charlie and I came along to see how the Defenders spend their leisure time. Antoinette, here, and mister Redd were kind enough to let us tag along.”
“I see. My name’s Randy, by the way.”
For the next several minutes the two Defenders answered his questions, the young man becoming more excited and interested as the conversation stretched on. They were interrupted by Cindy, running back with two plastic bowls in her hands.
”I got apples,” she shouted as she approached, “cut up and with caramel all over them!” She stopped in front of her mother and held out one bowl. “One for you ‘n’ Unca Charlie,” she exclaimed, “And the other for you ‘n’ Tracker!”
”Thank you, Cindy,” Antoinette said, setting the guitar into its case as Tracker took the bowl from the little girl’s hand.
“They’re good!” Cindy exclaimed, reaching into the bowl. Seizing a slice of apple by one end, she held it out to Tracker. He moved his head quickly, his tongue catching the thick caramel as it began to drip slowly off the apple, then took the slice of apple in his mouth, careful not to nip her fingers.
”See? I had a bowl of them first, ‘n’ I got all messy and had to use napkins to wipe it off and I dropped an apple piece on the ground and the wasps and ants crawled all over it! Isn’t it good?”
”Yes,” Tracker replied, nodding his head, “they are good.” He took the fork from the bowl. “Let me give ‘Nette one now.”
All conversation ceased as the two couples enjoyed the apples. Within minutes, the bowls were empty. Cindy, glowing with pride at the compliments from the adults, collected the empty bowls and forks and ran over to a trash can to discard them. “I wanta go over there and look at the toys and pictures and stuff,” she announced as she returned.
Vicky looked at Antoinette and raised her eyebrows.
”That would be fine with me,” she replied. “Jon?”
He nodded quietly, rising to his feet and holding out his hand to her.
She smiled up at him, taking his hand and standing with supple grace. Picking up the guitar case, she bade farewell to Randy, who remained seated on the ground. Putting her arm around Tracker’s waist, she led him towards the craft tents. Red and Vicky followed hand in hand while Cindy ran on ahead.
Now that he was up and moving, Jon began to be noticed. It didn’t take long to attract a several onlookers.
”Nice costume,” one woman complimented, holding a small boy by the hand. “What are you advertising?”
”It is not a costume, madame. It is really him. We are members of the Defenders,” Antoinette replied.
”Oh,” said the woman, taken aback. “Are you a mutant, or something?”
”Yes,”Tracker replied.
”We are both mutants,” Antoinette added.
”Look, Tracker, look!” demanded Cindy, grabbing his hand and pulling him over to one of the booths.
”Excusez-moi,” Antoinette said to the woman, following Tracker’s lead.
”Look! It’s a fox pillow! See? He’s all curled up, sleeping!” Cindy ran her hand over the off-white pillow. “Oh, he’s soft!”
”Oui, it is. Just like Tracker,” said Antoinette.
Cindy pursed her lips and considered Jon, looking like a caricature of her mother. “No. Tracker’s soft and furry. This pillow’s just soft and squishy. Not the same. Tracker’s better, and he doesn’t know ’bout dolls.”
Antoinette hugged Tracker with a peal of delighted laughter. Squatting down in front of the little girl, she said gravely, but with a smile on her lips, “You are very right, Cindy. He is much better than the pillow. I was not thinking.” Several of the onlookers laughed as well.
”I want the Tracker pillow,” said Cindy.
Glancing at Vicky for permission, Antoinette opened her small shoulder-bag and took out a twenty-dollar bill. “Here you are, Cindy. Go buy the pillow for yourself and bring me back the change.”
Jon watched with interest as Cindy took the money and turned to the woman behind the table.
Antoinette stood again, slipping her arm back around Tracker’s waist. She is right, too, about the dolls, she thought. Tracker likes the children and, since he has begun to come out of himself and to feel his emotions, he has become fascinated with the children’s’ play-toys. He does not understand them, just like he does not understand money. I think it is because he did not have a childhood with Castile after they took him from the Doctor.
They continued browsing through the craft area. Antoinette, Red, and Vicky fielded questions from the crowd of onlookers, while Cindy, her new pillow under her arm, ran ahead from table to table.
”Are you members of the Defenders, too?” a young lady asked Vicky.
”No, that’s Victoria Killmartin, the crusading journalist of Channel Nine News,” a middle-aged man responded before she could answer. “Aren’t I right?”
”That’s right,” she replied. “Charlie and I have been doing an in-depth study of the Defenders for the last several months. And I don’t mind saying that I’m impressed! Tracker here, for instance, is a scout. With his enhanced senses he can find nearly anything or anybody.” She then waved her hand at Antoinette. “She turns into a huge tiger. About two months ago in North Chattanooga, she and Tracker arrested two men who held up a convenience store and shot the cashier. You might have heard about it in the news.
”I wanted to see what the Defenders do when they have some time to themselves. My friend, Antoinette, invited me to come and see the fair with herself and Tracker, so I agreed.”
”Are you going to do a documentary on them?” asked an elderly woman.
”I don’t rightly know what I’ll do with it yet, but it sure is interesting to see that mutants are just like anyone else, once you get to know them.”
Suddenly there was a burst of screams in the distance. Tracker’s head whipped around. Focusing his bionic eyes, he could see fire leaping in one of the cooking tents. “Fire!” he snapped, disengaging Antoinette’s arm and racing through the crowd of, to him, slow-moving people towards the fire. The wind of his passage raised a cloud of dust behind him.
”Take care of my guitar,” said Antoinette, thrusting her cased guitar at one of the craft-sellers. “I will return for it later.” She turned and sprinted after Tracker, one hand unfastening the button on her bolero. Red pounded in her wake.
”Cindy!” The four-year-old stopped, then ran back to her mother. Vicky squatted down and said, “Cindy. Something has happened. I want you to go back to the hovercar and wait for me there. You know what to do.”
”Yes, momma,” she replied, running off towards the parking area as Vicky stood and raced after the others.
Tracker sped up to the flaming cooking tent, charging up his built-in force field. He instantly realized what had happened: a kettle of boiling oil had overturned onto the wood fire underneath it, blazing up. The cook, trying to escape the sudden blaze, leaped hastily back, tripped, and hit his head on the side of a heavy icebox, knocking himself out. Spattered drops of the blazing oil had ignited the his apron and shirt. The other cooks and customers were still running away, unaware of the casualty.
Leaping the fire barricading the burning man, Jon scooped him up in his arms, turned, and leaped back out onto the grass. Whipping off his yellow cape, he began to muffle the man, smothering the fire.
Moments later, Antoinette came running up, her bolero top missing and her hand already on the button of her wraparound skirt. With a glance to see that Tracker was all right, she unbuttoned her skirt and shapechanged into Tigresse. Turning, the great tiger began digging, showering the burning area with sand and dirt.
Red ran up, taking in the scene. Swerving, he leapt the counter of an abandoned cooktent. Looking around, he spotted a fire extinguisher. Grabbing it, he leapt back over the counter and approached the blaze. The tent above the flames had caught fire. Directing the nozzle at the canvas, he pulled the trigger. White foam sprayed out, quenching the flames. Then he lowered the nozzle and began spraying the foam across the fire, helping Tigresse extinguish it.
Arriving last at the scene of the emergency, Vicky took charge.
”Tracker. How is he?”
”The fire is out, but he needs medical attention,” Tracker replied.
Vicky looked around. “You! Are you tied into the Security net?” she snapped, collaring a young man with a short-range radio headset.
”Uh, yes’m,” the teenager squeaked.
”Then get that ambulance down here!” She gestured at the ambulance parked just within sight in the parking lot.
He cleared his throat. “Uh . . . oh, yeah. Right. Okay,” he said, busying himself with his radio.
She looked around again. Two more men came up with fire extinguishers. “Help him get that fire out!” she called. One of the men waved as they ran over to help Red.
A siren wailed and she looked over at the parking lot. The ambulance had left the paved area and was moving across the grass towards her, chirping its siren to clear the way. By now crowd had begun to gather, blocking the ambulance. She ran over to the edge of the crowd. “Come on, move it! Let the ambulance through! Come on, you guys,” she commanded, grabbing the arms of two big men nearby. “Make a path for the ambulance!” The men immediately began shouting and pushing people back out of the way. The ambulance stopped next to Tracker and two paramedics sprang out and approached him.
Another man elbowed his way through the crowd and began taking photographs, talking into the camera at the same time. Tracker started at the sound of the camera, looking over at the photographer. “Take care of him,” he said to the paramedics, giving way as they approached with a stretcher. Then he shouted, “Tigresse! Come!” and ran for the hovercar. Tigresse abandoned her efforts without a backwards glance and bounded in his wake.
As they neared the hovercar, he could see Cindy in the front seat of the car, watching them. A force field shimmered around the car, vanishing as the little girl pressed the control, letting them approach. He turned. “Tigresse, in.” The big cat sprang over the side of the convertible into the back seat. “Change back,” he said, going to the trunk and pulling out an emergency blanket. The tiger’s form blurred and faded, leaving Antoinette sitting nude and pushing her long black hair back out of her face. Tracker sprang in beside her, wrapping the silvery plastic material loosely around her body.
”What’s wrong?” Cindy asked with a worried look.
Tracker replied, “There was a fire. Uncle Charlie is helping to put it out while I pulled a man to safety. I expect your mother and Charlie will be joining us in just a bit.” He raised his head and looked intently down towards the action. “Cindy, turn on the force screen again and don’t drop it until either Uncle Charlie or your mother tells you to. With that, he turned and joined Antoinette under the blanket, leaving only their heads exposed as they waited for the others to arrive.
Cindy’s finger moved, enclosing the car in the shimmering force field again.
As they waited, the photographer Tracker had noted earlier approached the car, stopping short of the force field and circling around to get closer to the occupants. He took a couple pictures, but the reflection from the blanket forced him to move to another position on the other side of the hovercar.
“I’d rather you didn’t do that,” Tracker advised the photographer.
“Bill Morris, NewsChannel Three,” the reporter replied. I just want your picture for the evening news and a comment, if you will.
“No comment, mister Morris. If you want any information, contact the Defenders Public Relations office.”
“Can you tell me what happened?”
“No comment.”
“Why are you here? Can you tell me that?”
“‘E said ‘e didn’t want to answer your questions, monsieur Morris.”
“Who are you, ma’am?”
“Ask the Defenders. They’ll tell you what you need to know. Now leave us alone!” Antoinette turned her head into Tracker’s shoulder, blocking the reporter from any more questions or pictures.
He tried a couple more questions, receiving nothing but a stare from the fox, his ears half back in warning. Receiving no answers, the reporter turned to Cindy.
“Hello, little girl. And who are you?” Cindy just sat there, staring at him with big, innocent eyes. “What’s your name little girl?” Silence. He took a few more photos, moving around toward the back of the hovercar. As he raised his camera to take a picture of the license plate, Tracker spoke up again. “I wouldn’t advise that. You would get into serious legal trouble if you do. I suggest you contact the Defenders if you want any more information.”
“That’s Ok, Tracker,” Vicky called out. “I know him.
“You harrassing these people, Bill?” she asked, a dangerous note in her voice.”
He turned, startled.
”Oh! Ms. Killmartin!” He grinned, abashed. “Didn’t know they were with you. That your girl? You’ve got her well-trained, she wouldn’t even tell me her name.
”Say, what’s going on here?” Behind him, the force field dropped.
”Sorry, my story. I was on top of it when it broke; you’ll have to get your information second-hand, or else wait for the Six O’Clock News.”
Red tossed Antoinette’s clothing onto the seat beside her, giving her a wink, then opened the door and got into the driver’s seat as Cindy scooted over to make room for him.
“I’d suggest moving away if you don’t want that precious camera damaged by flying rocks, Bill,” she added as she climbed in through the passenger door, setting Antoinette’s guitar case in the back seat beside her clothing. Antoinette smiled her thanks, reaching out to touch the guitar lovingly. As Vicky settled into her seat and fastened the seatbelt, Red started the engine. The reporter backed away from the blast of the fans as they spun up.
As they turned into the river, Antoinette dropped the blanket and started fastening the bolero around her torso. “Jon, did you like the festival?”
After a moment, he nodded. “It was interesting.”
”Oui, it was interesting. The people were not afraid of you, Cindy got her Tracker pillow, and that chef is alive instead of burned to death because of you. It was a good day’s work, I think.” Grabbing up her skirt, she shifted and wrapped it around her hips, fastening the button.
”Yes, it was,” said Vicky, turning around in the front seat to look at Jon. “And it should make an attention-grabbing human-interest story for the news tonight, if you’ll let me put it together. ‘Tracker, of the Defenders, saves the life of a man severely burned by boiling oil in accident at the Autumn Folk Festival on Nickajack Lake.’”
Jon nodded silently. “Good,” she continued. “I have the recording from my camcorder. I’ll download it and we can see what we have. We’ll work on it later today.” He nodded again.
Red looked at Antoinette in the rear view mirror. “Where to now? Want to go somewhere a little quieter, away from the crowds?”
”Oui. That sounds good.”
”Okay, then. How about the National Cemetery? Vicky and I can show the two of you around. There’s over two hundred years of history there.”
She looked at Jon for a moment, then said, “Okay, Charlie.”
They used the boat ramp at Ross’s Landing and glided onto the streets of downtown Chattanooga, just below the refurbished Tennessee River Aquarium. A surprisingly short time later, they arrived at the entrance to the Cemetery. Parking the hovercar at the edge of the narrow drive, they got out, wandering through the short grass towards a monument topped with a four-foot long bronze statue of an ancient steam locomotive. “The ‘General’,” Antoinette, read from the plaque below the engine.
”This is the monument to Andrew’s Raiders,” Red added.
”Who were they, Charlie?”
”Well, back during our Civil War, the War Between the States nearly two hundred years ago, a group of Union soldiers stole a locomotive from the Confederates at Big Shanty, down in Georgia, a watering stop just north of Atlanta now known as Kennesaw. Andrews and his men drove the General almost to Chattanooga before Confederate troops could recapture it. The raid was termed a success, even as it failed, since the pursuit drew Confederates troops away from an important battle in their efforts to stop Andrews.” Antoinette spent a few more minutes studying the sculpture, reaching up to touch the locomotive. They wandered on, walking along the perimeter drive rather than riding the hovercar. Ten minutes later Vicky pointed out an obviously newer section.
”This is the FORCE section, for Deputies who have died in line of duty,” she explained as Cindy ran ahead to where a monument stood. The adults followed. A pair of life sized bronze figures topped a five-foot concrete pedestal. A gaunt man knelt on the ground. In his left arm, he cradled the body of a woman, her limp wings draping to the ground. Seven bullet holes pierced her angelic gown. In his other hand, he held a radio. His face, raised to the sky, is etched with an awful remorse.
A bronze plaque, bearing only a light patina of age, bolted to the pedestal read:
POLK COUNTY WAR
TENNESSEE
On June 15, 2056, 37 FORCE Deputies moved on Reverend Jacobson’s Pure Earth League and the Greater United States Secessionist Movement. In the three week war that ensued, five agents lost their lives, seventeen mutants were rescued and the Greater United States Secessionist Movement was crushed.
In Memoriam:
Sgt. Norman S. Skiller, Deputy - Aug 28, 2056
Lt. Marvin W. Abler, Deputy - Aug 30, 2056
Sgt. Thomas R. Dugger, Deputy - Sept 3, 2056
Sgt. Lee T. Cooke, Deputy - Sept 4, 2056
Lt. Alaina Hazelton - Angel, Deputy - Sept 6, 2056
Antoinette looked up from the plaque. “But I know her!” she exclaimed.
”Who?” asked Red.
”Her!” she said, pointing at the winged figure. “Angel. I know a song about her!”
”Sing it for us,” suggested Red, settling himself in the grass.
”Okay, but I will have to sing it without accompaniment, for I do not have my guitar.”
”I’ll get it for you,” offered Jon.
”Thank you, mon cher. I would like that.” Wind whipped around them as Jon vanished, heading at his enhanced run for the hovercar.
Antoinette had clambered up on the pedestal, underneath Angel’s half-raised wings, when he returned, carrying her guitar case. “Thank you,” she said as he handed it up to her. Taking out her guitar, she settled it on her knee. “The song is ‘Mutant Burning’.” Taking a capo from her guitar case, she retuned into a minor key, then began to sing, beginning with the chorus. Eyes closed, she sang of the winged healer almost forty years ago, of her life, of her capture and abuse by a mutant-hunting mob. Her fingers plucked the haunting melody from the guitar as she sang.
“They say I’m just a mutant, and I’m only fit to burn,
Ne’er asking what I want from life, or towards what goals I yearn.
I never ask’d to be this way, but now I have to die,
Because one day, some aliens came and battled in our sky.
“Oh, I was just a nobody, until the aliens came,
And hunted thru our peaceful skies and play’d their deadly game
Of cat-and-mouse until our skies erupted wis their Hell,
And raining down upon all men, the radiation fell.
It crept into the genes of men, and there it left its stain,
Its incubus of shame and dread, its all-consuming pain.
Insane, deformed, or different, we chang’d under its stress,
And men began to hate and kill, the mutant to suppress.”
She opened her eyes and looked at the others. Jon was absorbed in her music. Red was mouthing the words, singing along sotto voce. Vicky held out her camcorder, recording the singer, moving back to get a better view. She looked up at Antoinette, raising her eyebrows. Antoinette nodded, smiling, and closed her eyes again, singing the remaining verses of the ballad.
“I didn’t know that I’d been changed until one fateful day
A mutant-hunt went down our street; a man was left to lay.
Not knowing what was wrong wis him, I brought him back from death;
I healed his knife-wounds and his bones, and gave him back his breath.
My healing powers grew and grew, I could but it obey,
A healing nimbus ’round my form, I could not say it nay.
And then my wings began to grow, no longer could I bide
Within the town I knew so well; I had to run and hide.
“Although some call me Angel, now, and prais’d my healing skill;
Still others called me Satan’s Own, and wanted me to kill.
At last, one day, it happened, and a traitor bade me stay;
A mob of people took me then, I could not get away.
And no-one came to help me now, to save me from their glee,
They whipped me and they hurt me and they took my clothes from me,
And naked to the burning-post, they bound me, wrist and thigh,
And they threw wood upon the heap as people shouted, “Die!”
“A sudden rush, a booming voice, and lasers stabbing down,
The torch that meant to take my life lies gutt’ring on the ground.
And, ‘This is FORCE, surrender now!’, the voice above me said.
A burst of shots, the laser’s hiss, and then five men lay dead.
Then frightened and outnumbered, the others break and run,
Not wanting to face punishment for evil they had done.
A man lands close beside me now, a lone FORCE Deputy;
And when I ask, he laughs and says, “There’s no-one else, just me.”
“They say I’m just a mutant, and I’m only fit to burn,
N’er asking what I want from life, or towards what goals I yearn.
I never asked to be this way, but now I have to die,
Because one day, some aliens came, and battled in our sky.”
The last notes died away. She lowered the guitar, looking at the others. “I wonder what the world would be like now, if the aliens, whoever they were, had not fought and killed themselves in our sky forty years ago?”
Red laughed and stretched. “We wouldn’t be here. At least, not as we are. And New York and all those other cities they destroyed would still exist.”
Vicky looked up from putting another roll of film in her camera. “The biggest difference would be that we wouldn’t have had the Bloody Years, with their mutant hunts, hatreds, and the need to create FORCE to end them.”
”It would surely have been different,” she agreed, putting the guitar back in its case and latching it. “I cannot picture it.” Jon stood and she slid down into his arms. “Thank you, mon cher,” she said, kissing him.
”Now let us go somewhere else,” she said, turning to the others. “Charlie, what do you think about going to Rock City? I think Jon would like it, what do you think?”
”Sure. Cindy, want to go to Rock City?”
The little girl came running over. “Yes! Right now, Red. Okay?”
He laughed. “All aboard,” he said, scooping her up and settling her astride his neck again. Taking Vicky’s hand in his, he started back to the hovercar. Antoinette and Jon strolled along, arm in arm.
