Paranormals (Book 2): We Are Not Alone (7 page)

“I just hate seein’ you so ... so bitter. Bitter like
I
 used to be. Before, you know, before we became partners. Or whatever.”

A ghost of a smile danced across Michael’s lips — Mark suspected it was because Michael could see his discomfort on the soft stuff, but even so, he never got the sense that his partner was laughing at him. With Michael, he never did.

“Mark ... I appreciate the concern. Sincerely. But that being said ...” He pointed at Mark’s cheek, at the prominent scar a taloned rogue had given him, before Mark had killed him with an exhaled shockwave. “That big fracas left its mark on both of us. You have your scars from that day, and I have mine. You’ve chosen not to have yours fixed ... and so have I. Got it?”

“Yeah,” Mark said, grudgingly. “Got it.” If Michael
wanted
to be miserable over this, what more could he say or do?

The whole thing was brought to an abrupt halt when an alarm sounded from the phone in Michael’s gym bag, followed two seconds later by a matching alarm from the phone in Mark’s pocket.

Their eyes met, and each watched the other shift into all-business mode. Both of them knew what that alarm meant:
Class One Rogue
.

POWERHOUSE

A fat, metal block lowered from the dark ceiling of the PCA’s testing vault. Lincoln Roberts, also known as Powerhouse — a self-given codename he’d carried from one side of the law to the other — took a small step back so that it pressed evenly upon his proffered palms. A hiss and whine indicated the hydraulic system kicking in, and the block pressed downward with greater force. He drew a preparatory breath and steadied his arms, which were held straight out in front of him, palms up, as if he were waiting for a ceremonial sword to be laid across them. His task was to prevent the block from moving his hands.

“Yeah! Go, Linc!”

Lincoln looked to his left, to the area behind the safety line painted on the floor, where his younger brother and sister sat watching his latest test. Tommy had called out, while Sarah settled for smiling with pride.

Lincoln winked at them and smiled, but he couldn’t help but remind them, “Stay behind the line, guys. Okay?”

This repetitious reminder elicited a very put-upon rolling of the eyes from Tommy and a reassuring nod from Sarah. They had known their older half-brother was paranormal since he led then-Ensign Takayasu and Shockwave and a handful of other PCA field agents to their rescue from the ranch where they were being held hostage. All of this was as normal to them now as watching him play sports would have been if the Paranormal Effect hadn’t changed his life forever.

Forever and ever ...

Don’t go there, Linc. Not right now
.
Focus on your test.

Lincoln focused ...

PCA

Up in the control room, Lieutenant Hart peered down through the observation window and shook his head in dismay and disbelief at Tommy and Sarah’s presence. He scoffed, mostly to himself, “Letting children hang around the testing vault like it’s an elementary school gym ...”

Unfortunately for Hart, Captain Brunn overheard the comment. “Zip it, Lieutenant, right now.”

Hart came to attention, just as he’d done back in the Army, before he was drafted sideways into the PCA. He had only been Brunn’s personal assistant for a few weeks, and he dreaded making any bad impressions. “Yes, sir. Sorry, sir.”

But Captain Brunn wasn’t finished. The man was a dead ringer for actor Rutger Hauer, circa 1992, and he focused those intense blue eyes on his Lieutenant. “The goddamn paparazzi’s gathered outside the testing vault again, and Powerhouse doesn’t want those kids exiting without him, even with their own escorts. And what Powerhouse wants, Powerhouse gets. Do I make myself clear?”

Hart could only repeat, “Yes, sir. Sorry, sir.”

Dismissing his mouthy assistant for the time being, Brunn stepped closer to the observation window for his own look. “Ensign Fixler, where are we now?”

The Ensign at the control board marveled as he relayed the readings that were scrolling across his monitor. “The new hydraulic system is approaching the red, sir, and Powerhouse is still preventing the block from reaching the floor. If we don’t stop soon, he might break this system like he did the first.”

Brunn shared the Ensign’s wonder. “A system specifically designed to test super-strong paranormals, and he shrugs it off.” He turned back to his assistant. “Lieutenant,
this
is why Powerhouse gets whatever he wants.” He said over his shoulder, “Ensign Fixler, what were Powerhouse’s very first test results? How much weight did he press last year?”

Fixler clicked his mouse a few times.  “He was marked at around seventy-five tons, standing press, sir.  At the time, he set the PCA record.”

“And now?”

Fixler checked. “He’s up to eighty tons and increasing, sir.”

“And that,” Brunn directed back at Hart, “is with his arms outstretched for poor leverage.”

“Yes, sir,” Fixler added. “And I don’t advise asking him to raise his arms, sir. Recommend shutting down soon before overheat.”

“Noted. Level off at eighty-two tons and hold.” Then Brunn resumed his harangue to Hart (who now regretted ever opening his big mouth). “Lieutenant, on top of being the strongest paranormal ever recorded, Lincoln Roberts is still getting
stronger
— something paranormals rarely do; once they get their power, that’s usually it. Do you appreciate, Mister Hart, how lucky we all are that Powerhouse is now working
for
the PCA instead of against it? Do you?” Brunn turned away, stepping back over to the observation window.

“Yes, sir,” Hart said in a soft voice, seeking to acknowledge the Captain’s question without provoking further ass-chewing.

Brunn gave a slight nod, but his focus was on the paranormal below them. What Brunn had not included in his lecture was the PCA’s
fear
of what might happen if Powerhouse ever went rogue again. He had started out as a member of McLane’s mob before flipping sides during the chaos last year; who was to say that he wouldn’t ever flip
back
? “Keep him happy” was the word from Washington, and Brunn sought to do just that.

Of course, this train of thought led to another potential problem, which prompted Brunn to address Hart, Fixler, and two other technicians at the other end of the console. “And, gentlemen, consider yourselves ordered
never
 to mention to Powerhouse, or anyone else, what an asset it is that he’s still getting stronger. The last thing we need is for him to get a swelled head and turn into a serious pain in the ass like Shockwave.” He looked around the room. “Understood?”

Upon seeing everyone’s nods of understanding (and a knowing smirk from Ensign Fixler, who had been on duty during Shockwave’s tests more than once), Brunn said, “All right, ease off the pressure and give us a system shutdown.” He returned to the console and spoke in the intercom microphone. “All right, Lincoln, that’s all for today. You can change and knock off early. Take the kids out to eat on your company card.”

He saw Powerhouse relax as the block raised from his hands. The big man shook his arms out, then tossed a wave of thanks up toward the control room.

Keep him happy ...

PCA

Lincoln stretched his arms back and forth a few times, as if fending off sore muscles. But it was all for show — he imagined Brunn was watching him right now, and so he kept up the act for a minute before heading over to his brother and sister.

In spite of the conversation that just took place behind his back, Lincoln was not a stupid man. They’d been testing him with his arms straight out like this since he broke the other machine a few months ago, so that change could be explained. But since then ...

Why would they make his “tests”
less
 strenuous over time? Why make this one easier than the test two weeks ago, which was easier than the test a month before that?  The answer was, they wouldn’t.  So the only explanation was that they weren’t making them easier, but that
he
was getting stronger. He didn’t know why they weren’t saying anything about it, but since they weren’t, he wasn’t saying anything about it, either. Best not to rock the boat, right?

Truth be told, he didn’t mind all the tests; at least, not the ones for strength. He was less crazy about the invulnerability tests — those were the ones he never, ever let Tommy and Sarah watch, just in case. Since he kept breaking records (or so an Ensign informed him about six months ago, before they all fell silent on the subject), the PCA techs could only make educated guesses about his limits before exploring them. If they were to guess wrong, if they were to unintentionally shoot past his durability, to something that his allegedly invulnerable skin wasn’t tough enough to handle ...

Shoving that chilling thought into the back of his mind, Lincoln walked past the safety line, at which point the kids jumped on him — Sarah threw her arms around his waist while Tommy climbed up his back like a little monkey.

Chuckling at their ever-reliable enthusiasm, Lincoln asked, “So ... who wants California Pizza Kitchen tonight?”

That really sent them hopping, which lightened his heart further.

“Okay, now,” he said as he dug through his backpack to produce a pair of oversized baseball caps, “remember, when we walk outside past all those photographers and reporters, keep your faces down and your hats low. Don’t answer any questions, don’t say anything at all ...”

“Jeez, Linc,” Tommy moaned into his ear; he now had one leg up over Lincoln’s shoulder, “we’ve done this a billion times. We know how to handle those paparazzi douchebags.”

“Hey! What did I tell you about that kind of language, Tommy?”

Tommy grumbled.

“Besides ...” Lincoln said with a wink to Sarah, “I think the technical term is ‘parasites’.”

All three siblings laughed, and Tommy slid down from Lincoln’s back as they started moving toward the door.

“
Powerhouse,
” Brunn’s voice echoed from the speakers, “
wait one moment, please.
”

“Oh, great,” Tommy complained, knowing as well as Lincoln what would probably follow; Sarah merely looked disappointed. They waited, Lincoln resting one reassuring hand on each of their shoulders.

Sure enough, Brunn returned a few seconds later, “
I’m sorry, Lincoln. We just got reports of a Class One rogue causing a disruption at an apartment complex in our district.
”

Speaking carefully, Lincoln called, “Captain, do you think that maybe Lieutenant Takayasu and Shockwave might be able—”

“
We’d prefer to have Powerhouse on the scene as soon as possible. Ensigns Fixler and Benjamin are on their way downstairs now.
”

For one tempting moment, Lincoln wondered what would happen if he flat refused. He hadn’t asked to take off early, he hadn’t asked if he could take Tommy and Sarah to dinner — that was on Brunn. But no ... Shockwave might’ve tried something bold like that, but it just wasn’t Lincoln’s style.

Sighing, he told the kids, “Sorry, guys. It looks like I have to work a little longer. I want you to stay in the rec room with the two Ensigns until I get back, okay? I’d still like to hit CPK with you, but you know, with these Class One rogues ...”

The two just nodded at him. While he could see disappointment in both of their faces, he had mixed feelings that they showed no concern at all — well, maybe a little from Sarah, but not even a hint from Tommy. He hoped they weren’t starting to forget that this could be a very dangerous job, but, for now, he decided to play it up for them.

Opening his backpack once more, he pulled out his cobalt blue gloves and ski-mask, both of which were made of stronger material and fit him better than the cheap ones he’d first worn, back when he was blackmailed into being a rogue. Keeping on the simple, black jogging ensemble he’d worn for his test (why get his personal clothes trashed?), Lincoln made a deliberate show of donning his gloves and pulling his mask into place.

“All right,” he said in a gruff, tough-guy voice, smacking his fist into his palm. “
Showtime
.”

The kids ate it up like candy.

COOPER

Perry Cooper went paranormal two years ago, right smack on his fifty-sixth birthday. His paranormal ability: Casting a strong, perfectly spherical shield around himself — a bubble as clear and glossy as glass; it levitated him up to its center, a foot off the ground, keeping him completely level, like a gyroscope.

Cooper didn’t go rogue, he didn’t join the PCA — like most paranormals (particularly those lacking imagination), he didn’t really do much of anything with it. It couldn’t help him with his job as a truck driver, wouldn’t bring his ex-wife back, wouldn’t make his two grown children talk to him ... so Cooper just kept it quiet. One time it put a quick end to what might’ve been a nasty bar fight, but otherwise, he’d only turned the power on maybe ten or twelve times total in the two years he’d had it (three of those times had cracked the floor and ceiling of his apartment, and the damage it did to his bathroom sink came right out of his security deposit). A small handful of people knew about it, but most didn’t have any idea he was paranormal.

Then, completely separate from his going paranormal, his life went downhill. He lost his trucking job when the economy took another turn for the worst — the union was supposed to protect him, but they didn’t live up to all the promises their damn dues had laid out for over thirty years. He had been looking to move sometime soon, as the Hispanic gangs in his neighborhood were getting out of hand, but he couldn’t afford it now. He had also been thinking for years about buying his own truck and going it as an independent contractor, but he’d never saved money like he should’ve. He applied for a loan four separate times at three different banks, but kept getting turned down for one bullshit reason or another. He sure as hell knew better than to ask his ex-wife for a break on the alimony payments. He didn’t know what to do — pushing sixty was a little old to be hitting the job market.