The Angel of Earth

by

Rodford Edmiston

Part Sixteen

The Grand Protector was not one of those currently having an attack of self awareness with the defeat of SuperMind. In fact, he didn't even seem to notice this event. He continued to attack targets on the ground.

However, several other members of The Protectorate were suddenly surrendering, or were simply no longer fighting. Many appeared dazed. Even the sudden bout of bad weather was starting to fade. With that reduction in active attackers, many of the defenders were left free to focus their attentions on The Grand Protector. That he noticed.

The Grand Protector pulled back a bit, looking irritated at all the hostile attention he was receiving, and began preparing a truly massive power attack. He decided to use his disruptor effect. This was his greatest offensive ability, and not only in magnitude. This attack was no mere bolt or blast of energy, but a pandimensional twistor. Something which could shred matter at the particle level. Malak sensed the attack's nature as it built. He quickly headed for the other empowered man, but saw he couldn't reach The Grand Protector in time. Malak instead materialized one of his shields in the way as the attack was loosed. The shield vanished as the blast hit, but the attack was also thwarted. The Grand Protector looked... annoyed. He turned, found Malak, and glared at him.

The Grand Protector tried again. This time he flew in the direction of his prime target, but climbed above him, and focussed his full attention and energies on the angelic figure. There were bystanders on the ground beyond Malak, so he couldn't simply dodge. Malak didn't know whether The Grand Protector selected that angle deliberately or not; the result was the same either way. Malak materialized his shield, which was not actually a physical object and therefore would not shred; it resisted the attack directly as power against power. Malak also held it with the top tilted away from the source, so that the beam hit and reflected upwards. Even holding it with both arms and leaning in, the shield was still shoved backwards, and it shoved him backwards. Fortunately, the beam was reflected harmlessly into the sky, where it punched through the uncertain clouds and dissipated after a short distance.

"Coward!" yelled The Grand Protector. "Take your punishment like a man!"

The huge empowered raised his hands again, but was interrupted by an attack from below. He dodged the thrown rock and - seeing that Malak was acting only on the defensive - dove towards Crunch.

"What are you doing, just hovering there?!" screamed Blackpool, as Malak materialized a spear but didn't throw it.

"I'm building a weapon," said Malak, staring into the distance as the point of his spear grew brighter and brighter, "with The Grand Protector's name on it."

Crunch dodged The Grand Protector's physical attack. The latter swooped up again, intending to resume his actions against Crunch. However, others now resumed targeting him, with everything from gunfire to power blasts. The Grand Protector climbed higher. He began building a charge, intending to wipe out the core of those attacking him in one, massive strike, even though several of his own allies were still mixed in among them. He put his hands together, a glow building between them.

He saw something bright, approaching quickly, from the corner of his eye. The Grand Protector dodged by reflex. However, the spear tracked him and struck anyway. The resulting explosion knocked most of those on the ground below off their feet. Once people could see again they saw the smoking figure of The Grand Protector tumbling towards them, his once-colorful costume blackened and shredded.

An angelic figure caught him, and carried him towards the ground.

Once on the ground, Malak knelt beside The Grand Protector, healing him enough to ensure that he would survive to stand trial. The big man currently appeared to be both unconscious and defenseless. Fortunately for those still involved, with his fall the fight was finally and decisively over. With several of The Protectorate already down or surrendering or simply abandoning the fight, and with their leader so resoundingly - and obviously - defeated, the few remaining active combatants among them simply... stopped.

* * *

Professor Bright looked the situation over in his visualizer, and sighed. He felt both angry and vindicated about the showdown between The Protectorate and Malak's people, as he shut off his equipment. Despite Aaron's grand words that these powers should be used for more than fighting, that was how he almost always addressed problems. Just as Bright, himself, had predicted. Well, Bright could and would do better.

* * *

Aaron met with Dr. Creedmore two days later, at the Haven Clinic in Indiana, in the doctor's office. The physician was the head of the institution's research division. Aaron was looking forward to this meeting. He had a hunch some of his ideas - and the work of many people - were about to pay off.

"Some good news," said Dr. Creedmore, as Aaron was expecting. "The Santa Clara drug has proven safe when used as directed, and effective both at extending life and helping people develop any latent powers they might potentially have. Though it does the last slowly."

"That's the drug being developed by that medical research center in California?" said CornFed, attending via previously arranged conference call.

"Yes," said Dr. Creedmore. "Now, if we can just keep the federal government or even the UN from banning it as too advanced..."

"I'll worry about those things," said Aaron, firmly. "Doctor, you just keep up with their progress on the drug. Let me know if they need anything, including funding. CornFed, you work with the rest of the brain trust for best application."

* * *

Malak again appeared on Melody's balcony. He transformed into Aaron as she quickly let him in. He moved to her couch and settled into its familiar comfort with a tired sigh.

"My husband is going to be thinking we're having an affair," she joked, as she performed her duties as host.

"Coming here to speak with you was actually his suggestion," said Aaron, with a slight smile. "He knows I value your insights."

"You do seem... pensive," said Melody.

"You'd think I'd feel relieved, with so many problems resolved, lately," said Aaron, frowning and shifting uncomfortably. "Especially with almost all of The Protectorate captured and held for trial. However, besides my own, uneasy feeling that there's at least one additional shoe to drop, Insight is back to giving cryptic warnings. Worse, most members of the Protectorate are claiming in their defense that they were influenced by SuperMind. They'll likely get light sentences."

"Except the Grand Protector, who is bragging about his offenses and loudly claiming that he is above the law," said the reporter, nodding. "There's more to your mood than that, though. What's really wrong?"

"I just... I have done so much lately, not just in this matter but with many other problems. In spite of my powers - even the new ones - and decades of experience I still feel... overwhelmed at times. As well as lonely. There are so few empowered who are at my level. Most of the people, empowered or not, who work with me are too intimidated to be friends."

"You could go join your friends, at that other planet they found," said Melody, quietly. "You might be less lonely."

"Earth is the least lonely place in the universe."

"Then keep that in mind. Now, what's really bothering you?"

"I just have this nagging feeling that there's more to come, and soon," said Aaron, making vague gestures. He dropped his arms and sighed. "Maybe I've just been so busy lately that I can't believe I have a short time to relax. However, I am concerned enough that I am warning people."

"I'll do what I can," said Melody. She tried to lighten the mood. "Maybe I'll finally get powers, and will be able to help you more directly."

For some reason, Aaron's expression immediately became more neutral.

"Remember, you have a smaller chance of empowerment than the general population."

"What are you talking about?"

"I thought you knew," said Aaron, appearing a bit puzzled. "They tested you the first time you were in our clinic. On average - for the entire world - people have a roughly 15% chance of empowerment, assuming they have the optimum exposure to a triggering substance. You're actually a bit under 13%. Also, that chance does not mean the person will survive the toxic effects of the empowering chemical. That survival rate depends on other factors, and is mostly independent of the chance of activation."

"Oh," said Melody. "I actually didn't know that. It doesn't really change anything."

She laughed. It sounded refreshingly honest and genuine.

"You know I was joking about getting powers. I don't think I'd even want them."

Again, his expression became mysteriously neutral. Melody wondered if he were worried about disappointing her.

"You are mature beyond your years," said Aaron, grandly.

They spoke - just sat and talked - for over an hour. Finally, though, Aaron had to leave.

"I'm afraid duty calls," he said, rising.

"The world doesn't deserve you," said Melody, also standing and leaning forward to take both his hands.

"Perhaps I just feel I deserve a better world," said Aaron, with a smile. "After all, I live here."

* * *

Meanwhile, even with the incapacitation of SuperMind, many were carrying on with plans to "deal with" Malak. One group in particular, now finding themselves on the verge of losing their influence in the US government without SuperMind's backing, was feeling desperate.

"He's unstoppable!" said the man with the crewcut.

"No," said his boss, a rather large and somewhat overweight man, someone obviously used to having others do things for him. "He had help with The Protectorate. Including government help. Which we can no longer count on. At least, not openly. We do still have friends."

"So what do we do?"

"We start a quest. A quest for some way to stop Malak. If we can kill or - even better - capture and humiliate him, his forces will crumble."

The big man made an expression of disgust. With the recent reversals, that meant getting out and actually speaking with lessers himself. Well, if it would lead to getting rid of Malak...

* * *

The federal prison often saw odd visitors. This was no surprise, since it was the only US medium-security facility intended to hold a certain type of empowered criminals, people with powers who weren't deemed physically dangerous. These special guests were there seeking to speak with an inmate who had already been in the prison for a while.

MechMaster had never seen these particular men before, but he knew the type. Especially the one he immediately pegged as being in charge. Slimy, self-important people - male or female, he'd found little difference - who thought their desires were more important than any law or anything anyone else wanted. People completely without empathy or even introspection; who didn't know or care why they wanted something, they just knew they wanted it. People who wanted him to make something for them. They'd present an offer they thought he'd jump at, assuming that he would eagerly do their bidding. Because that was what they wanted him to do.

They would probably start with implied threats. Fully aware they had no power to fulfill them. However, they'd expect him to cower before them. Then they'd offer him a presumed way out.

"Evan Grimes?" said one of the men, the one with the crewcut. He was likely the chief flunky of the man in charge. That status being being confirmed not only by the big man's far more expensive suit, but by the fact that he promptly took a seat while the other two stood, one on either side. He also had the attitude of someone used to having others do the work for him. The flunky smiled. "You're in a lot of trouble Evan."

"How so?" said MechMaster, unconcerned.

The man pulled several folded sheets of paper out of his suit jacket. He opened them, and read from a list of offenses, most of which MechMaster had already served the time for.

"Now this," he said, looking up from the papers. "Did you really think you could get away with robbing from the Gold Reserve?"

"I have an IQ of 350," said MechMaster, calmly. "Obviously, I did. Though I'll point out that there was no actual robbery. All they got me for was planning one."

"Oh, there was a lot more than planning, involved. You illegally acquired information, then recruited and trained a team."

"Even then, they only got me because one of my people turned out to be an informant."

"Doesn't matter. Since you've been in here they've uncovered your involvement in a lot of other stuff. Enough to put you away for good."

Okay, there was the threat. Now would come the offer of a glimmer of hope. MechMaster kept a neutral expression on his face. He'd find out what these idiots wanted, first, before sending their ambitions crashing into ruin.

"However," said the "boss," speaking for the first time, "if you cooperate we have enough pull to get your sentence cut. If you cooperate."

Uh-huh. Right on script.

"What is it you want from me?"

MechMaster was careful with his question, keeping his tone and expression neutral.

The third man produced a manilla folder from inside his suit jacket and put it on the table. It was unlabeled. MechMaster reached for it but stopped short. Taking it could be seen as a sign of compliance, and used against him later. Instead, he made a show of hesitating.

"Are you offering a full pardon?" said MechMaster, raising an eyebrow.

"A full pardon," said the bureaucrat, nodding, and obviously lying. At least, it was obvious to MechMaster. "Just do one little thing for us."

He pushed the folder a little further across the table towards the prisoner.

"Build us a weapon to kill an angel."

MechMaster pulled his hand away as if the folder was hot. No longer playing the game, he folded his arms across his chest.

"I have nothing against Malak."

So that was it. No, thank you. Even if he thought he could make use of these idiots for some purpose, that winged empowered was poison.

"He's gone rogue," said the crewcut, obviously feeling he needed to offer something which could serve as an excuse for MechMaster to work against Malak.

"Yeah, I've heard that before. If he's after you, that means you deserve it. I've got less than two more years. I can do the time."

"You'll be doing a lot more than two years if you turn us down," snapped the crewcut.

"You're threatening me," said MechMaster, amused. "You're actually threatening to violate the law and the protections of the Constitution to punish me for refusing to do your bidding. Just like every other two-bit tyrant I've ever come across. I'd tell you to go fuck yourselves, but you're going to do that anyway. It's how your kind always finish."

He leaned back in his chair, taking its front feet off the floor, and put his hands behind his head. Casually balancing on the two rear feet of the chair. This show of casual agility intended to remind them of who - and what - they were dealing with.

"Go ahead. Try it. Try to make things worse for me. I'll still be here. Probably bored enough to take you down if you actually are that stupid."

* * *

The boss was furious and making a show of it, storming out of the interrogation room. However, he was not so furious that he forgot important things. He turned to the warden, who was still waiting in the hallway after personally escorting the VIP to speak with MechMaster.

"Destroy all the recordings made of this meeting," the boss snapped.

"Yes, sir," said the Warden.

He would, of course, do no such thing. The Warden kept a neutral expression of his own as he escorted the man - who had presented himself as an important person at the Department of Justice - and those with him back to their waiting limo. Destroying such evidence was a serious offense. Just ordering it be tampered with in any way was a federal felony in and of itself. The very fact that this man would give such an order was more than enough justification to keep the audio and video records of their interaction with MechMaster very well protected.

* * *

"We have other fish to fry," said the heavyset man, confidently, as they drove away. "We'll find some way of reeling that winged freak in."