Origins of a D-List Supervillain (24 page)

“Joseph got his greedy little paws on Patterson’s Direct Neural Interface; don’t ask me how. I convinced him to let me have a copy of the schematics and that the one you build would be better than any that those turdburgulars who work for him could do.”

“Wow! No more voice commands.” I’d heard rumors that Patterson’s people had finally developed one, but there it was in front of me like the Holy Grail of human to computer interaction.

She grinned. “Just think and the suit responds. You’ll have to wire up your old armor when you give it to me, but I thought this would make the perfect start to your Mark Two. Unless you don’t want it?”

“Do you know how much I love you right now?”

Her lips froze in the middle of what she was about to say. “Wait! Did you just say...”

“I guess, I did,” I confessed. I’d been planning on a way to tell her in some grand fashion, watching fireworks or something like that. In the middle of a bunker filled with robots for witnesses and the scent of machine oil in the air hadn’t really occurred to me.

Then again, we kind of have an unconventional relationship.

“Well, then, I guess I love you, too,” she said, practically glowing. “Cal, before we do anything else, turn off the robot. It’s kind of creepy.”

I’ve never issued a shutdown command faster in my life.

My estimate of three hours to finish the installation was off considerably, but Vicky didn’t have me around for my excellent time keeping skills.

Life was good.

Chapter Twelve

The False Promise of a Better Tomorrow

The end of the pilot upgrade program was celebrated at the Branson estate with considerable fanfare, or at least as much expensive takeout food and two people relaxing in a hot tub could account for. Unfortunately, the money wasn’t there for the follow-on phase and I would have to wait for the next year’s budget. On the plus side, I’d already been to the other three bunkers that were slated to be upgraded next and had a good idea of what I was up against.

“So, when do you start working on the Mark II? Or are you going to add to your resume of being the most wanted villain in the American southeast?”

I kept massaging her shoulders and said, “The money from your boss will let me finance the new suit without having to rob a bunch of banks. I think I’ll lay low for a bit rather than press my luck. Let ‘em think I’ve gone into retirement or something so they let their guard down. That’s when I’ll bust out my new armor and open a can of whup-ass!”

Vicki laughed and said, “Don’t forget to upgrade my armor.”

“Actually, I was thinking that I might build you a new suit from scratch and simplify things.”

She turned her head and gave me an interrogating look. “Are you saying the suit is too complex for me?”

“No. I’m saying that integrating that direct neural interface with the current controls on the Mark I would really be a pain in the ass. After all this time in it, I know where I made a bunch of mistakes.”

“Such as?”

“Well, there are redundant circuits that I built into the armor that have never had to be used. Also, I really screwed the pooch when it came to power distribution throughout the whole upper half of the armor. Looking back, I could make that same suit better, and for less money than before. It’s helping me with the design of my new armor. I think the question really is do you want that old thing, or how about I set you up with a custom build especially for you?”

Her silence made me wonder if I said the wrong thing. I was this close to panicking when I saw the expression on her face. Vicky’s smiling face had been replaced by what I’ve come to call her “all business face.” It was something I only saw on the times when we were talking as employer and employee instead of boyfriend and girlfriend.

“How much of a cost savings are you talking about, Cal?”

I stopped massaging and scratched my chin. “Twenty-five or thirty percent. Maybe more if I substitute my power capacitors for the cell that runs the weaponry. It would also depend on the quality material I use and what your performance expectations are. So are you going to tell me what’s going on in that diabolically, beautiful mind of yours?”

Looking very pleased with herself, she said, “As you might have heard, I am on something of a hot streak lately and I have got a decent amount of pull right now.”

“Go on,” I said as she pivoted to face me and slung her arms around my neck.

“What if, instead of another run of pulse cannons, I talk the boss into letting you build him a platoon of low-cost Mark I powersuits? You’re right about the limitations of the Pummeler suits. I think I can get Joseph and the boss to approve your design as long as you keep the markup within reason; say no more than twenty percent.”

“Twenty?” I asked. “Isn’t this the part where you try and haggle me down to ten and we settle for something around fifteen?”

Her smile returned, more radiant than ever. “I can sell the boss on twenty and maybe a year or so after you deliver the suits, I’ll put in my two weeks, and then you and I trade your junkyard in for a nice villa in Belize or Costa Rica. I hear it’s very nice down there. How’s that sound?”

It sounded pretty damn good. Like some kind of hybrid of an accountant and an engineer, I ran the numbers. Six or seven suits in a squad and two squads in a platoon meant at least a dozen.

Twenty percent on that is more than I’ve made in all my bank robberies! That would make me filthy, stinking rich!

“Do you think we could pull it off?” I asked, daring to hope.

“If you can make it, I can sell it. Now, here’s my question, could you just walk away from all of this? You’ve been obsessed with Lazarus Patterson. We leave the country and you might never get your revenge on him.”

The question made me stop and think. My little threat to Barton sent Promethia’s forces scrambling. I’d probably cost them a pretty penny. Their little schemes had made me forfeit my twenties. I’d left Patterson’s employ to become rich and I was now poised to become wealthier than I’d ever imagined and had a woman by my side who cared deeply for me. Unlike Patterson, who trades his latest fling in when the shine begins to wear off, I wanted to see where this went.

“Yeah, I could let it go. Not for the money, or Costa Rica, but I’d walk away for you.”

Smooth, Cal Stringel, very smooth.

It was obviously the right choice of words from Vicky’s perspective. After several long kisses, she whispered in my ear, “Good. We have a plan now. I still want your old armor, because it belongs to you, just like we belong together.”

Apparently, I’m not the only one with the right moves today.

The world was a crazy place where a perky criminal mastermind and a powersuit wearing schmuck could find each other, but that was fine by me. The two of us had the beginnings of an exit strategy and the start of something I never thought I’d get.

Looking back, I should’ve known better.

• • •

Over the course of the next nine months, I fell into a pattern that left me little time for anything else. I’d alternate days working on the designs for the streamlined Mark I suit and building my Mark II. Life was good; hell, I even did karaoke with Tweedledum, sometimes. The Mighty Biz would have cringed at our rendition of
Just a Friend
, but I thought our version of
You’ve Lost that Loving Feeling
was rather catchy.

Vicky listened to us do it live on my thirty-first birthday and asked if I knew the reason I was the one playing the drums in my past bands—wench! Loveable wench, that was true, but still a wench.

“When is it going to be done?” Vicky asked. On the rare occasion she came to the junkyard, she’d become an ad hoc assistant. For obvious reasons, we usually met at the estate near Branson Missouri.

“Next week is when I probably start doing my shakedown runs. It’s got a solid ECM on it, so I shouldn’t have to skim the tree lines anymore out of fear of showing up on radar systems. My top speed is now around two hundred and fifty miles per hour.”

“Yes. Yes. I’ve heard it all before,” Vicky chuckled before lowering her voice an octave and trying to imitate me. “Three times the shielding of the original suit, fifty percent greater lifting capacity, thirty percent more armor coverage over the vital areas, improved scanning suite, and let’s not forget the icing on the cake, the twenty percent reduction in force blaster’s cycling time for increased firepower.”

“I guess I must say that a lot,” I observed.

“Maybe once or twice, but it’s all good. So, you decided on your first job in the new suit, yet? Preparing to storm the headquarters of the Gulf Coast Guardians perhaps?”

I spent a moment rolling my eyes at her before walking over to the large flatscreen mounted on the wall and bringing up some video footage. “See this?”

“It’s a truck weighing station,” she said and tried to sound serious. “It looks pretty difficult. Are you sure you can take it?”

“Do you want to hear my plan or not?”

“Sheesh! Just trying to have a little fun with you. Look at me, I’m a big stick in the mud,” she said with a mock pout.

I gave her my best “talk to the hand” gesture and said, “The stop is near Kingston, Tennessee.”

“Okay,” she said, slightly more interested. “Is it the Army base or Patterson’s robot assembly factory?”

“As if you have to ask?”

“Go on. I’m starting to like this.”

I figured she would. “Anyway, on the second Thursday of every month a Prometheia semi has to stop here on its way to the assembly plant. I figure that it’s either full of powercells or synthmuscle. Either one I would need for our platoon of suits, and it would drop our overhead and increase our profits.”

“Your plan has promise,” Vicky said in a thoughtful manner.

“So, I stun the driver and the worker, steal the truck and take it to a warehouse, unload it and then ditch it.”

“Don’t forget...”

“...to kill the GPS and check for one’s hidden in the cargo. Got it covered, Sunshine! If it’s full of synth, it’ll be enough to build our suits and keep this one running for the next decade. We both know the stuff that Devious and the Overlord make isn’t as good, no offense.”

“It’s not like I make it,” she said and shrugged.

“If it hurts Patterson and helps me, I’ll call it a win-win.”

“What about security?”

“There might be something, and the trailer, but the only people who would be in a semi full of robot components would be...”

She finished my statement, “...Someone who also makes robots and all those people are west of the Mississippi. They would try to steal it earlier. Okay, I’m sold. You have my blessing.”

“Is this the part where I kiss your ring?”

She examined her empty hand and said, “Call me crazy, but this woman don’t see no ring.”

What did she just say? Does she know?

In my usual eloquent manner I said, “Uh...”

“God, you’re so easy! Relax, boy toy—I’m not pushing you.”

She’s teasing me, but I’ve got to be cool. Vicky doesn’t know I do have a ring for her, but I’m not ready to give it to her, yet. I need a good answer...something witty. I know!

“Well, I haven’t had the chance to go out and steal you one, yet.”

Vicky returned to her mock pout. “So, I’m not worth buying a ring for?”

“Be honest, if I bought you a ring instead of stealing one, you’d think less of me.”

“Yeah, you’re right! I just wish I didn’t have to go to headquarters for this big pow-wow. I wanted to celebrate with you when you pulled your first job in the suit.”

I didn’t know where the Evil Overlord’s Omega Base was except that it was somewhere in the west. The dude has a pathological hatred of Lazarus Patterson that dwarfs my own. The clone armor that his clone developer builds for him is usually painted with Patterson’s latest schemes. More than once the Overlord has gone on a murder spree after initially pretending to be Ultraweapon.

It didn’t mean Vicky’s boss was better than me; he just had better toys.

“I’ll call you on Thursday night and let you know how it went.”

“You’d better,” she warned and finished gathering the schematics for my low cost powered armor into her portfolio. Finishing, she smiled at me. “These are like printing your own paycheck, Cal. We’re going to break the bank together!”

She paused and looked around. “I know I’m going to get on that plane and realize that I’ve left something important here.”

“Maybe you’re thinking about me?” I offered.

“No, I meant something useful,” she deadpanned.

“Harsh!”

“Aw, did the big bad supervillain get his wittle feelings hurt? Maybe Aphrodite over there can keep you company.”

She pointed at the old pinup that graced the workbench; of the Olympian Bobby gave me a few years back.
Eternally Yours my ass!

I crossed my hands over my heart and said, “But she’s the only woman who could ever steal me away from you.”

“Sure,” she drawled. “That’s what I love about you; you have such a vivid imagination! Now, we’d better get going to the airport. I’m going to make us millionaires!”

• • •

A little over a week later, I was kicked back on the couch with a laptop connected to a SecureSat link speaking to Vicky and admiring my creation. Quite honestly, I couldn’t imagine me ever topping the Mark II. I was wearing some damn fine armor. Unlike my original suit, I could be in and out of it in only five minutes—a thing of sheer beauty.

“The job was so easy that I could have done it months ago with the Mark I. The most difficult part was unloading the tractor trailer. It’s going to take me three more trips to bring the rest of the stuff back, but I wanted to call you first and give you the good news.”

Her face in the browser window brightened at the news. “That’s awesome, Cal! So, don’t leave me hanging, what did you get, and how much of it did you get?”

“Well, among other things, I now have fifteen spools of synth, six class C cells, and what appears to be a prototype frame for a Warbot variant. The serial number indicates that it is a D309XA.”