Brass Ring Chapter 12: A Speedster Returns

Paul had to run past the Worthington Private School for Boys to get to the CAPES HQ. He saw something, so ran back to see what was going on. A crowd of boys circled another, pushing and shoving another boy. Paul quickly consulted his mental maps of the area, smiling as he remembered the candy store just a block away. He doubled down on his speed. I wonder if I can do this without them seeing me….

He ran past the boys, then arced around them. He tightened his path, quickly forming a tornado around them. They began levitating upwards, albeit slowly. It took them a few moments to figure out that they were no longer connecting with their target. A wave of confusion hit them followed quickly by panic. Paul smiled as he poured on the speed, the adrenaline powering his excitement at his control. He grabbed the boy still on the ground, depositing him in the candy shop. The other boys fell to the ground, shaken and confused.

Paul sat himself down. The boy attempted to speak but Paul stopped him. “You’re diabetic, aren’t you?”

The boy shook his head. “Um, no.”

Paul smiled. “Good.” Paul walked over to the counter, grabbed some candies, paid for them, and returned to the table. “We’re just a block from the school. While the mob has been broken up, I think it’s a good idea to give them a few minutes to calm down. Cool?” He offered the boy some candy.

“Sounds good.” He took some candy sticks. “I’m Richard.”

Paul smiled. “So, Richard, you okay?”

He sucked on the stick. “Yeah, this wasn’t as bad as it sometimes gets.”

“Good.” He put the rest of the candies on the table. “I mean, it sucks it happens, but good you’re okay.”

Richard smiled.

Paul stood up. “I wish I could give you more than a quick respite, but I’ve got places to go.” He sighed. He pulled out a business card. “Look, if you need someone to talk to, call this number. He’s a good guy, and remember to mention me.” He handed the card to Richard, who took it.

“Thanks.”

Paul waved good-bye then vanished.

Richard grabbed the candies and took off himself.

* * * * *

Imago smiled at the sundaes it had created for the after-party celebration. It had parked the serving tray outside the sauna. The group filed past, grabbing a sundae and nodding to Imago. It smiled then the hologram faded.

Inside the sauna, the group sat down. Oliver and Cass snuggled on one side while Teddy and Nishimura settled on the other, a definite space between them. Kubwa sat by herself. Teddy's towel barely clung to him. “That blow I landed made them rethink their attack!”

Nishimura's towel was going nowhere. “Your blow was powerful but undisciplined. We need to address that in training.”

Teddy smiled at her. “I look forward to your discipline.” Nishimura’s eyes rolled.

Kubwa wore two towels and kept her arms around her legs. “We need to seriously debate a more demure place for celebrating.” Cass tipped her dish to her.

Oliver hit his dish with his spoon. “All right, if we're going to do this seriously, then we need to adapt some new code names. I'm stuck with 'Psidekick'. For now. Cass, stand up: You're 'Wraith', after the suit.” She stood and bowed; everyone clapped. “Teddy, we're going with your college nickname of 'Brute'; it just works too well.” He stood up to bow and accept the applause. “I hate going with a cliché, Nishi, but 'Neon Samurai' has a good feel to it.” She did a more traditional bow. “Kubwa, we love the voice; 'Diva' is yours.” She smiled, embarrassed, but was applauded anyway. “Thus christened, try to use those names in field.”

He picked up his sundae. “And we return the celebration, already in progress.” Everyone laughed and got back to eating their sundaes. Oliver smiled. This was his crew. I only hope we’re as successful in the future as we were today. He hugged Cass from behind.

Teddy kept almost losing his towel as his hands gesticulated wildly. “But Nishi; your blades cut through them like butter!”

Nishimura looked at him levelly. “Thanks to years of practice. But your praise is appreciated.”

Kubwa sighed. “I hope none of them were hurt.”

Cass smiled at her. “None were killed, sweetheart.” Kubwa smiled a little. “I doubt they were injured beyond what a good day’s rest would take care of.”

“They were surprised to see us, that’s for sure.” Oliver’s smile was matched by the others’.

* * * * *

Halfway across the city, Psyborg and his forces stopped outside the Overton Adams Daytime Pub. Valkyr rubbed the nose of her winged horse, then removed its bridle and let it fly away. Kung approached Psyborg. The Brother Boom and Valkyr filed into the pub; it’s unlikely that the pub had seen such a collection of people in its two-and-a-half centuries of existence.

Kung stopped Psyborg. “Sorry, but I won’t be celebrating with you.” He held up the package of fuses. “ I must integrate these into the engine as quickly as possible.”

Psyborg nodded. “Understood. You’ll be missed.”

Kung nodded, then flew off towards their ersatz headquarters. Psyborg called the don. “Hey, Boss. Yeah, a success. Minor issue with the new supers, but we did minimal engagement. Kung is on his way in; if you could, tell him he has three hours without the more combat-heavy part of the crew. Yeah, I’m hoping to keep them busy that long. If we’re lucky, they may be so tuckered out that they’ll be offline for a few hours more. I’m hoping the Brothers Boom will pass through the four stages of drunkenness. Valkyr? Yeah, her endurance may be a problem, but I have an idea. Understood. See you later!” He broke contact and exhaled. This was not going to be fun. He walked into the pub.

The next few hours went as predicted. His plan was pretty simple: Order big meals for everyone and then stop the food. While it was no surprise that Valkyr wanted mead, he was able to steer her to the distilled spirits; she grabbed couple of bottles of Golden Grain and had no problem sitting in the corner for an hour. At the end of the hour, she was leading the other patrons in Norwegian drinking songs and was even able to teach them some basic snapvisa (perky little songs with lots of “ol,” “og,” and “mere”), punctuated by an occasional “SKAL!” By the end of another hour, she had slipped into an alcoholic depression and thus kept to the shadows of the stall. By the time they left, she had drank three bottles of the 190-proof alcohol.

The Brothers Boom required more intense babysitting, but Psyborg was able to guide them through the four stages quickly enough. For the first round of drinks, he had problems keeping their hands off the waitress; he apologized profusely and made a mental note to make sure she got a really nice tip. When Valkyr started singing, the boys got fully into the spirit. Then, on the fourth round, they went to the pool tables to try and start a fight. Pysborg did a lot of eye-rolling and sighing as he kept getting them out of fights, usually by downright shouting; eventually, he was able to quell their need to fight with a glare, but they called him various stripes of “party pooper” and “we don’t need a nanny”(but laced with some solid epithets). They eventually retreated to the table and barely drank their ales.

When Psyborg finally got them out of the Uber, they were all three nice and toasted. He had no problem getting them into bed. He didn’t even bother undressing them as he covered them. Kung and Sentai were able to get a lot of work done as Psyborg caught up on his email and social media.

* * * * *

Running through Overton at full speed, Paul was enjoying the endorphin rush of using his raw speed. He wasn’t sure of the upper limit of his speed; there was no way he could even approach the sound barrier without causing environmental damage to the surrounding city. Nonetheless, he liked feeling the wind rushing through his hair. He didn’t like having to stop every so often and grab as many calories as he could, especially considering it was on his dime,

On the other hand, he knew where every food challenge in Overton was, and had earned several new T-shirts, a couple of gift cards, and even a hat or two.

He heard the whine of a police siren. It was blue-shifted in his perception, so that the sound waves were compressed; the frequency was therefore higher. He was used to the peculiarity of the sound, and even smiled as he traced the compression; it had been a while since he had heard the sound. He traced it to several cop cars parked outside a bank. He sauntered up to the cop in charge. He had a map of the building on his laptop on his car hood.

The officer saw him. “Lieutenant Johnson. Nice to see you, Blur. You official?”

Paul nodded. “Not quite yet.” He nodded to the bank. “Standard situation?”

Lieutenant Johnson nodded. “Three men took over the bank. They’ve turned it into a situation with fifteen hostages.”

Paul smiled. The memories. “Do you have someone from management on the phone?”

The lieutenant frowned. “We did. He said to do whatever it takes.”

Paul looked at the map. He did some quick calculations. “Make a deal: Ten signatures and a big bag of burgers in exchange for five seconds of work.” He put out his hand, his eyes were pleading.

The lieutenant grinned. “Make it twelve.” He accepted the hand.

Paul shook it. “Done. And that manager is going to hate saying ‘anything.’ Heh.” He exhaled. “Give me a countdown from five.”

“Sure thing.” The lieutenant pulled out his watch. “Five.”

Paul was off. He broke through a window next to the door.

“Four.”

Paul consulted his notes. He ran to where the nearest robber should be.

“Three.”

He lined up two of the robbers and ran through them. They were knocked aside, flying into a wall. They were instantly knocked out.

“Two.”

The third robber had pulled his gun. Paul pulled the gun away and snapped his fingers. At supersonic speeds. The force knocked him out.

“One.”

Paul ran back to the lieutenant, through the broken window, ending by leaning against the vehicle. He caught his breath. “That was fun.”

“Zero.” The lieutenant grinned. “Not bad. And that window is going to hurt.”

Paul grinned back. “Yeah, but it saved the bank money and paperwork. I hope.”

Lieutenant Johnson held up his ticket book. “Now about those signatures…?”

Paul chuckled. “Sure.” He took a pen and started signing. He looked at the lieutenant with puppy dog eyes: “Now, about those burgers?”

[The last chapter is here.]