Marauder's Daughter - Chap 3

**Note that this is the 3rd chapter of a novel about a future wherein super heroes and villains exist. In order to "get it" you need to read the 1st 2 chapters:

https://vocal.media/futurism/marauder-s-daughter-chapter-1

https://vocal.media/fiction/marauder-s-daughter-chap-2

CHAPTER 3

Pep Rally Sally:

In Which We Slip a Cog:

“I laugh every time I see that stupid sign: Transition City High School. Might as well say titty city or Fruit Town.” Belinda Carter hiked up her neon green back pack and nudged Carmen with her shoulder.

“For sure. What’s the deal with that name anyway? Transition City? Sounds like a gay hang out. Is that what they were going for, you think?”

“They do say this crap hole started as a commune founded by a group of LGBTQ persons back around the end of World War II. They were looking to escape sexual persecution or some such frack. They originally called it Tranny Town.”

“That explains the location. Middle of Mount Nowhere, Tennessee. And, LGBTQ?”

“Yeah. It stood for lesbian, gay, bisexual, transgender, and queer,” Belinda explained. “Apparently all that sexual orientation stuff used to be a big deal. Still, I always thought it should be LGBTQH? After all, for true equality it also has to include non prejudice against heterosexuals.””

“Huh. Why would anyone care who someone wants to sleep with so long as both are,” finger quoting, “Consenting Adults?” The capitals were pronounced sharply. “Besides, same sex marriages and such have been legal for a long time."

“Only since about 2015 or so. That’s only fifty-four years back. Besides, I don’t know. Seems that the hetero’s used to have a real problem with gays back in the day. Some of the older one’s still do. Did they think that letting gay people marry was going to cause the end of the human race or something? Trust me, if Gary Vickers is any judge, boys still like girls. That guy’s a poon-hound from the get go.”

Choosing to ignore the wistful undertone of longing in Belinda’s voice whenever she mentioned the dimple chinned, handsome captain of the Vitaball Team, Carmen just smiled. “Poon-hound? Really? Did you make that word up or what?” Carmen laughed.

“No. Something my mom used to say. Makes no sense to me either, but there were riots, marches, club shootings, bombings and all that when the Equal Partnership Rights for Non-Hetero-Normative-Persons Acts were passed by Congress back in 2025. Kind of like the Civil Rights stuff back in the 1960’s, I guess.”

“You’re a regular history buff, aren’t you?” Carmen quirked her lips in a half smile. “Mr. Harvey would be so proud to hear you now.”

“We just had that lecture on the Gay Equal Rights Movement last week. Where were you?”

Carmen chuckled. “Yeah, sounds like the one who named the movement thought it was diseased, don’t it.?” Carmen glanced toward the front of the school where a crowd was forming near the front entrance, waiting to go through the metal, porcelain, and explosives detectors so they could head inside. “Who came up with that term anyway? Gay Equal Rights Movement. You know that makes it Germ, right? People are so stupid. I never could figure out what people’s problem was with skin color or sex preferences. Aren’t people just people?” Carmen shrugged. “And who cares about tenth grade history anyway? Is that going to help me flip soy at the shack in my future illustrious career? Still, considering your dad used to be your mom and your mom used to be your dad, I guess that all worked out for the best in the long run.”

Belinda’s hair tossed wildly as she threw back her head and laughed. “True. Guess they’re the perfect poster children for Transition City.”

“Yay for Congressperson Maxwell.”

“So, you were listening. At least a little.” Belinda Carter flipped back her blue and purple shoulder length hair. “You know that Congressperson Maxwell’s father is the one who lobbied to change the name of the town from Tranny to Transition. He’s kind of a hero to my parents.”

“Why was Steffan Maxwell so into gay rights and all that anyway? Enough to win a Nobel Prize for reformative legislation. What was his deal?”

“Not sure about his overall sexuality, but you know he was a drag queen in San Francisco years back? During his college years apparently.”

“Huh. How about that? Still, why so hot up on the issue? Was he attacked or something?”

“Not him personally. According to my parents Steffan Maxwell had a friend or distant relative or some such that was a victim in the Pulse Night Club shooting back in 2016.”

“The one in Florida? Where a bunch of gays were at a night club and some guy shot it up real bad?”

“Yeah. Some guy named Omar something, I think. He killed or wounded over a hundred people just because they were at a gay club. It’s fracking insane.”

“No doubt.” Carmen shook her head. “I just don’t get it personally.”

Also, Congressperson Maxwell, according to my dad is some kind of distant cousin so maybe that had something to do with him being such a lobbier for the rights of,” making air quotes in front of herself, “nonheteronormatives. Sheesh, what a term.”

“Which dad would that be? The one currently wearing the cords in the family or the one that used to?”

“Cute. Ha ha.” Smiling, to ensure her friend knew she was joking, Belinda glanced over toward the crowd forming around the entrance. Spotting a familiar face, she smiled. “Come on. Let’s see if we can catch up with Tonya before the bell rings.”

Glad that Belinda hadn’t brought up her own parental past, Carmen followed her friend into the crowd of milling teens. It had taken a few months of knowing Belinda before Carmen felt comfortable enough to explain that her dead father used to be a well-known enhanced who was drummed out of the Leper Squad in disgrace before dying in a convenience store robbery he should have been able to stop with a thought. Or that, before that, they had lived in a fairly ritzy area of Gatlinburg with a two-story house and a pool. Of course, Carmen only knew that second hand from her parents and their friends since she had been only one and a half years old when her dad lost his position with the Lepers and moved his family out to Transition City.

Having no luck in locating Tonya, the two girls headed to the MPEDs so they could be scanned and get to class.

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PEP RALLY, 2PM-3PM, GYMNASIUM

MARAUDER’S RIDERS

Sector 92B LEPER SQUAD

SARGENT SAMSON

Looking at the holographic poster on the digi-wall outside the cafeteria, Carmen felt a mist in her eyes. Marauder’s Riders? What was that, anyway? Sounded like some type of motorglider gang. Dad never said anything about a group called Marauder’s Riders, she thought, wiping her eyes with the back of one hand. The Pep Rally was a tribute to the LEPER Squad for their part in saving the governor and some bunch of politicians a couple of months back when General Knowledge – talk about pretentious names, Carmen scoffed – had taken the governor’s mansion under assault at a fundraiser. Whatever. At least I get to skip playing Dodge, Duck, & Weave in gym. Continuing to Biological Imperatives 101, Carmen didn’t notice the bearded, heavyset man watching her from down the hallway.

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Squeezing between Gary Vickers and his latest squeeze, Helena Crander, blonde leader of the Pom Fems, and Suzzette Markel and her latest girlfriend, Carmen plopped down on the bleachers next to Catalina Wallington on the 3rd set of plastcrete stadium benches. Cocking her head to one side, the auburn-haired girl said “Hey Carmen. How goes it?”

“How in the world does a blind person always know who sits next to her? Especially in such a horrible uproar?” Carmen looked around the crowded gym. Three hundred eighty teenagers made a heck of a loud spectacle, even in a building as large as the Transition High Gymnasium.

Catalina chuckled, cocking her head to the side to orient herself more towards her friend. “I can smell you. Like Wolverine from the old comics.” Placing her hands palm down on the plastcrete, she said, “Feels like almost the whole school’s here. Should be starting soon. Hi Belinda, hi Tonya.”

Carmen glanced over her shoulder. Sure enough, there was Belinda, blue and purple hair back in a clip that exposed her small, pointy ears. With her was her other crush, Tonya Brigdon – that is if she would only admit her feelings for Gary Vickers, Carmen thought. Speaking of ‘Poon hound,’ the captain of the Vitaball team was now locking lips with the vacuously pretty Helena while studiously scanning the crowd to see who all was staring at him. Carmen rolled her eyes and turned back as Belinda and Tonya sat on the other side of Catalina.

Reaching around Catalina’s back, Carmen touched-five with Belinda. As their fingers touched, her forearm grazed Catalina Wallington’s neck. The blind girl started like someone had just walked over her grave before settling back into her erect posture as if nothing at all had occurred. Carmen wondered if she had imagined it. At that moment, a loud squeal came over the digi-wall screen across the gymnasium.

“Sorry about that,” Vice Principal Yertz said. “If we could all please find a seat.” He stepped back from the voice amplifier and watched as the hundreds of milling students fought their way to seats. Once the noise level had gone from open air jet scream to merely cat 2 hurricane level, the rotund, thirty-year-old high school vice principal stepped back to the voice amplifier. “Good afternoon Transition High!” he said in a booming voice. Almost four hundred teenagers proceeded to ignore him completely, except for a few who quietly focused their attention to the podium. Noting a hump in the cable behind the vice principal’s right foot, Carmen surreptitiously nudged it flat before the man tripped on it. Belinda glanced at her with a knowing smirk. Carmen shrugged and looked back to VP Yertz. Above the man’s head was a huge banner: LEPERS WELCOME HERE. There were no wires or ropes seemingly holding the banner up where it floated 12 feet over the floor.

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Bradford Wallington, accompanied by a medium built white man in jeans and a Sgt Samson tee shirt, walked up to the security guard at the MPED at TCHS. “Afternoon Clyde,” the deputy mayor said with a smile, holding out his hand. His associate seemed to blend into the background, almost unnoticeable. He was the type of average person that would fit in anywhere and not stand out.

“Afternoon Deputy Mayor. How’s tricks at City Hall? Any good transitions coming down the optics?”

Bradford Wallington grinned and slicked back his hair as best he could given his thinning salt and pepper comb over. “We got some old coal that we need to transition into lithium for batteries,” he replied with a wink. “Know any good alchemists?”

As the security guard guffawed at the thought of an alchemist coming to some place as out of the way as the mountainous town of Transition City, the DM’s acquaintance slipped through the MPED. As the guard’s eyes started to slip toward the warning indicator light that implied the man had some type of contraband material upon his person, Wallington caught the man’s eyes in his gaze. “My friend is here for the rally. He’s to consult on some security matters with the LEPER liaison.”

Clyde Marlon smiled and nodded, eyes strangely empty. Clyde returned to his post as the deputy mayor proceeded through the detectors. He had already mostly forgotten the incident had even occurred.

Rounding the corner at the end of the hallway, Bradford Wallington stopped and glanced back around the turn. The guard was quietly watching the parking lot, barely remembering that he had even seen the deputy mayor and certainly not a stranger in his company. “You recall the vid of the girl, right?”

The man with him just gave him a cold glance and tapped his forehead. A Cog has recall faculties beyond most. The man was highly unlikely to forget what his target looked like. The DM shrugged and headed to the gymnasium. He had a short speech to give about the wonderful blessings of LEPERS overwatch to the town’s future leaders and workers.

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Stepping up to the voice amplifier, Deputy Mayor Bradford Wallington scanned the crowd. Spotting his daughter off to the left in the stands he noted she was sitting next to Carmen Wilson. His heart did a light tap in his chest. Returning his attention to the entire assembly he spoke into the amplifier. “Good afternoon Transition High!” he said in a loud, friendly cadence. “It’s good to be here. How we doing today?” he yelled, raising his hands above his head as he looked around the room. Every student felt like the deputy mayor had singled him or her out especially for notice. The cheers were loud and sustained.

“For those who don’t know me,” he said with a wink and a grin as his face was broadcast on the ten-foot high digi-wall behind him, “I’m Deputy Mayor Bradford Wallington. I have great hopes for the students of Transition High this year. I have to, my daughter is a sophomore here.” His proud grin made each individual feel like he held them in personal esteem.

Belinda and Carmen glanced at Catalina sitting between them. The girl’s head was cocked to one side and there was a slight uplift to one corner of her full mouth. Otherwise, she seemed not to have even noticed her father’s voice booming over the audio. If a blind girl’s eyes could be said to seem distant and preoccupied, then Catalina was on the island for which she had been named. Turning to her left, Belinda caught Tonya Howard’s dark eyes. Tonya just glanced at Catalina and shrugged. The dark complected junior’s freckles danced up and down as she scrunched her nose for a second as if trying to hold back a sneeze.

“Hope you’re ready to meet some interesting people today. We have the one and only Sargent Samson in the house!” The gymnasium shook with the vibrations of almost eight hundred feet stomping like a herd of protein mam’s on the run.

“We all know what the LEPERS of our great state have accomplished over the past decade or so. Their service to humanity and the cause of justice is unparalleled in any time of our great nation’s history. I could speak all day about the contributions they have made to the safety and security of the great state of Tennessee as well as the countless lives they have saved. Their sacrifices are legend as are their moral turpitude and selflessness.”

The crowd of restless teens settled back, seemingly giving a collective sigh as they decided they were in for a long, boring speech.

“But,” giving a grin, his mixed caramel brownish eyes twinkling, “I won’t.” He laughed for a well timed ten second interval, just long enough to make the crowd feel he was laughing with them, not at them. “Without further ado, let me introduce to you our first guest.” Gesturing to a nervous looking, bearded man of about late fifties or early sixties, he motioned the man forward. The heavyset man looked out of place in a Velcro-down dress shirt, untucked, over cords. “This is Mr. Jeremiah Prierly of the motorglider club Marauder’s Riders. Mr. Prierly was a personal friend of our LEPER Squad, and Marauder in particular, I’m given to understand. He has some first-hand experiences he would like to relate to you today of his time spent in the company of our heroic team. I’m certain he has some interesting tales to tell.”

As the bearded man, looking like a hobo dressed up to address the local church social, stepped up to the audio amp, Wallington shook his hand. The man gave him a quick searching look before turning to the assembled student body.

Stepping back, the deputy mayor wiped his hand on his pants. He wondered fleetingly about the bearded bum in front of him, but quickly dismissed the old rider as inconsequential. Turning his attention to the room, Wallington sought out his companion. The man he had brought in with him was leaning nonchalantly in a back corner of the room. He seemed to blend into the wall behind him in such a way that anyone not actively looking for him would barely discern his presence at all. Those who did probably thought he was a janitor or just some other visitor for the rally. Perhaps even security for Sgt Samson designated to keep a watchful eye for any danger. Wallington nodded toward the girl seated next to his daughter as he fleetingly caught the eye of the cog merc. Meanwhile, the overweight glider club member was giving a stirring rendition of the joy and honor of having been saved by Marauder and the LEPERS when their club was attacked and burnt about twelve years back.

----------

The cog merc watched his target with a single-minded intensity not apparent in his nonchalant stance. He had positioned himself in a corner where he had a relatively unobstructed view of the Marauder’s daughter where she sat with her stupid little friends. The girl didn’t look like much, but if reports were to be believed, she had inherited her father’s telekinetic power. That made her dangerous in and of itself. He fingered the porcelain taze pistol tucked into the side of his pants, covered by his loose hanging shirt. He could take the girl in the confusion of exodus when all the students were stomping out in mass, or, if luck was with him, perhaps on a solitary fem-room visit.

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As the glider club speaker finished with his tearful rendition in memory of glory days gone by, DM Wallington stepped back up. “Thank you very much for your wonderful relating of such stirring deeds Mr. Prierly. I could only wish to have been present to have witnessed first hand such heroics. Let’s give a warm thank you to Mr. Prierly and Marauder’s Riders!” he shouted. The gymnasium erupted in a cacophony of stomping, yelling, and cheering. The glider club member’s belly jiggled as he stepped off the platform and returned to where his fellow club members were gathered to one side.

Pulling one of the members to the side behind the amplification equipment, Prierly looked around to ensure nobody was in hearing distance. Satisfied he turned to Sabrina Sontral. He nodded at the deft expertise of the imager’s hallucinatory rendition of an aging, overweight glider club member. The detail was exquisite, down to the frayed cuffs and fading patches on her jacket. Prierly nodded toward the deputy mayor. “That man definitely has some issues where our girl is concerned.”

Sabrina glanced at the dm where he stood beaming proudly out at the squirming mass of teenagers. “Really? You’re certain?”

“Oh yes. My spidey sense was tingling to beat all and he was definitely vibing off on Carmen. That man intends mischief for absolute certain.”

Sabrina chuckled at the man’s use of the term ‘spidey sense.’ Given his ability to sense danger and harmful intention, combined with the fact that his grandfather had been named Peter Parther, it was a running joke that he was the inheritor of Spiderman’s sixth sense. “Wonder what his issue is with the Wilson’s? I’ll have to research that for sure,” Sabrina noted. “Meantime, let’s spread out and see if we can find anyone else with definite intentions.”

“Will do,” Prierly said. The two rejoined the club members for a quick pow wow. After a hurried, whispered huddle, the ten men from Marauder’s Riders scattered to quietly case the room. If Carmen Wilson, the Marauder’s daughter, was in danger, they would be there to help.

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“Before I introduce our auspicious guest, I’d like my daughter, Catalina, to step up here for a moment.” Wallington’s caramel eyes brimmed with sincerity as he looked over the sea of young faces.

Catalina Wallington started. Her shoulders tensed as her neck jerked to one side, ears focusing on the words her father had just uttered. She had the demeanor of a rabbit caught in the headlights of an oncoming electric eight-wheeler.

“You okay?” Carmen asked her friend.

Catalina nodded as she struggled to her feet. Standing, Carmen took the girl by her right elbow. “Let me give you a hand.”

Catalina nodded and whispered, “Thanks.”

On the platform the deputy mayor’s eyes narrowed as he saw Carmen Wilson, the daughter of that bastard Joe Wilson, take his daughter’s arm to help her to the stage. In the optical feed he gave a huge smile which didn’t quite reach his eyes. As the two teenaged girls reached the platform, Wallington reached down with one hand and took his daughter’s fingers in his own. He didn’t notice Catalina’s slight shudder or the way her face turned sharply to his own as their skin touched. “Who’s this helpful young lady with you?” he asked.

“This is my friend Carmen Wilson. She’s the Marauder’s daughter.”

“Really! Now isn’t that something?” Turning to the vice principal he raised one eyebrow in a querying expression. “Why wasn’t I informed that the Marauder’s very flesh and blood was in attendance? This would seem like the perfect opportunity to give some true credit to a hero of our time.” Wallington turned to focus intently on the dirty-blonde-haired girl. He gave a grin that looked so sincere it could bring tears to your eyes.

“I’m really not in a position to say,” the vice principal said. He gestured the deputy mayor to step back from the audio system. “The mayor told us we aren’t to bring attention to the fact that Joe Wilson’s daughter is in attendance here. One never knows,” his eyes slid to one side, “who may hold a grudge. If you grok what I mean.”

Wallington nodded. “I see.” Once again taking his daughter’s hand in his own, he helped her up the riser, giving her a quick hug. “This is my brilliantly inciteful daughter, Catalina,” he said into the system, gesturing toward Catalina with one open hand. “It is my distinct privilege to have her in attendance here with this fantastic group of young people. I am certain the future of Transition City is in good hands.” Pulling his daughter to his side, he placed one arm around her shoulder, raising the other in the air, waving slightly. The deputy mayor smiled out at the crowd like a politician on campaign trail posing for family photos. After about twenty seconds of posing he dropped his arm, gave his daughter a quick peck on the cheek and gestured for Carmen to help her back to her seat. “Without further ado, let’s bring up our most auspicious guest speaker, the widely celebrated hero, long time member of LEPER Squad 2, responsible for the safety and welfare of Tennessee Sector 2B, the heroic fighter of illegally operating enhanced persons, Mr. Bren Quentin – or, as we know him best: Sargent Samson!”

A short man, maybe four foot nine or ten inches in height, about one sixty or so pounds with white hair and a cleft chin stepped from behind the drop wall and strode up to the amp. Shaking the deputy mayor’s hand, Sargent Samson waved to the roaring group of almost four hundred teenagers. Winking at Carmen Wilson, the attention seeking strong man who had worked with Marauder for decades turned to address the gymnasium.

Carmen looked back over her shoulder at her father’s old friend as she led Catalina Wallington back to the stacked seats. She hadn’t seen Bren Quentin since her dad died. She had been quite fond of the comical strong man and thought the feeling was reciprocated. At the moment her father’s old teammate was lifting a five-hundred-pound block of electrical equipment and the plascrete platform on which it was stacked in one hand as he grinned and waved at the crowd with the other. Carmen nudged one corner of the plascrete platform a couple of inches up, grinning as the strong man slightly adjusted his balance. Quentin winked at Carmen as he deftly righted the wobble with nobody else the wiser. He didn’t notice the slowly descending banner until it draped itself, slowly, ever so slowly, onto his head, wrapping him without his eyes being obstructed. Carmen smiled as the strong man struggled to remove the obstructing Pep Rally banner while being careful not to drop a quarter ton of equipment on anyone.

Sgt Samson boomed out a laugh. “How’s this for a fashion statement kids? Muslim midget in a burka? By the way,” winking at the vid set up, “Do Not Try This At Home!” The entire gymnasium erupted in laughter, pounding feet, and clapping. The room vibrated to the crescendo as the strong man posed on one foot.

Sgt Samson gently lowered the equipment to the floor. Carmen definitely had her father’s sense of humor. God how he missed that man. A surge of longing caused a lump in his throat to form for a moment. Bren knew that he had let his best friend down where Joe’s wife and daughter were concerned. Still, how could he help the poor girl when the very act of doing so would put Carmen and Tina in the path of the danger he had sworn to keep them from?

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Prierly focused on the nondescript man in the jeans and Sgt Samson tee. The man was definitely focused on the Marauder’s daughter with palpable intent. Yet, Prierly found it hard for some reason to focus on the man. He seemed to have an enhanced ability to blend in and attention slid off him like water from a duck’s back. The man’s eyes were evenly set and an average shade of brown. His nose was not too large or too small and seemed just imperfect enough to be normal. His ears were average size, as was his build. There was not one thing memorable about the man. That immediately made him memorable to Prierly, whose spidey sense was tingling to the high heavens. Without it, he doubted he would have noticed the man at all.

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The cognitive assassin noted the regard of the heavyset glider club member, but dismissed the overweight old man as a negligible threat. He returned his attention to the girl just now getting back to her seat in the stands.

As he watched, the Marauder’s daughter whispered something to her friends and headed toward the south exit to the gymnasium. The girl was probably headed to the femroom. The cog assassin nonchalantly straightened from where he leaned against the wall. Stretching as if he had a kink in his back, the man put his hands in the tip of his pockets and strolled leisurely toward the exit.

When he stepped out of the main room of the gymnasium, he blessed the silence that descended. Four hundred teenagers make a great cover, but also a lot of noise. Glancing around, he sensed nothing. Eyes searching every cranny he headed up the hall toward the girl’s bathroom. A couple of errant students returning from the facilities strolled past, barely noting his presence in the hall.

Behind the cog, the gymnasium door failed to close as the teens went back into the gym. Senses attuned, the cog looked back over his shoulder, ready for anything. Behind him Deputy Mayor Wallington stepped out of the doors, allowing them to close behind him, shutting out the cacophony of the Transition City High School Marching Band playing a rendition of the school fight song. How anybody could come up with a fight song for the “Transition High Tornadoes” was beyond him.

Wallington walked at a pace slightly above normal in order to catch up. “What are you doing here?” the cog queried as Wallington caught up with him.

“I wanted to be sure you understood that the preferred outcome is the capture of Carmen Wilson, not her death.”

The cog nodded, turning back to check around the corner ahead of them, around which the girl’s restroom was located. “I am aware of the parameters of the mission, as well as Dr. Farrius’s desire for more research subjects Deputy Mayor.”

As the average appearing, seemingly harmless, man in front of him turned away for a second, Wallington nudged the center topium gem on his ring. A tiny needle slid out 1/8 inch from the bottom of the ring. It glistened as he raised his hand to the man’s shoulder.

The cog had no chance to register what was occurring as he collapsed in a sudden heap.

Wallington caught the man by the shoulders, gently holding him. The deputy mayor’s features shifted for a split second and once more an overweight glider-club member stood there, supporting his friend.

Carmen Wilson exited the fem-room. In the hallway one of the Marauder’s Riders members stood supporting a man who appeared to be unconscious. She wanted to ask the man about his history with her dad; but didn’t quite have the nerve or will. Still, it looked like the man’s friend might need medical attention. “Is your friend all right?” she asked the glider.

“He’ll be fine in a minute. I already gave him his shot. Just an allergic reaction. Thanks, though.”

Carmen Wilson nodded to the two strangers as she walked past, returning to the gymnasium.

Sabrina Sonitral returned the nod with a polite smile as her neighbor went on her way. As the doors closed behind the teen, Sabrina whispered to the men waiting behind the door to the right. Six middle aged men and two younger ones of about late thirties quietly filed into the hall. They took the unconscious assassin and headed toward the rear of the school. Sabrina turned to the chapter president. “Thank you so much. You know where to deliver him, right?”

“Absolutely. He’ll be there with bells on. You can count on it.”

“Just don’t ring his bells anymore than necessary to keep him subdued.” Sabrina handed the man a vial of shimmery liquid, similar in consistency and color to mercury. “There’s enough here to keep him knocked out for the next couple of days. No more than three milligrams per shot.”

Prierly nodded in understanding. “Got it.”

As she watched the glider members depart with the assassin, Sabrina Sontral thought about what the man had said. She was aware of the danger of her own question had Prierly been incorrect about the deputy mayor; still, the response from the merc had been all she had hoped for: “I am aware of the parameters of the mission, as well as Dr. Farrius’s desire for more research subjects deputy mayor.” There was a wealth of information contained in that sentence. Wealth she was sure would be exchanged for truly good return. There was definitely investigation needing to be done on both the infamous Dr Farrius, as well as Deputy Mayor Bradford Wallington.

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“So, what was that all about?” Belinda nodded toward the banner, now once more floating above the platform. Beneath the slightly rumpled banner sat the deputy mayor, Vice Principal Yertz,- his pasty, round face beaming with pride - and a couple of other faculty members. They were quietly chatting as the marching band performed Brittle Break’s ‘Peregrination Flight.’

“Who says it was me? They say about five percent of the population, maybe even more, is enhanced now. So,” she looked around the crowded room at the jostling mass of young people, “if there are four-hundred kids here, then there’s probably twenty enhanced in this room alone. And that’s not counting Sargent Samson.”

“Uh huh. And, of that possible twenty, how many are telekinetic?”

Carmen glanced up at the banner floating proudly above the platform. “I’m not holding that banner up.” She sat down, eyes resolutely focused on the gymnasium floor. Belinda studied the ten-foot long banner hovering serenely in place, then looked around the gymnasium. Then she shrugged and turned back to the performance as well.

Between the two girls, Catalina Wallington hunched forward, trying to avoid contact. She was thinking hard about what she had sensed from her father.

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From the gymnasium roof the freedom fighter had a panoramic view of the school grounds. Anyone exiting the main door of the gym would have to step out right into his sight picture. The cafeteria still had a few stragglers hanging around - kids probably skipping the pep rally to hide out and sniff vapor or make out. A light purple haired teen girl with caramel skin was leaning against the east corner of the building acting nonchalant as she eyed the teen couple animatedly leaning into each other by one of the tables. As a mental exercise the freedom fighter pictured the correct windage and rise settings for his bolt rifle should he need to take out any of the trio.

As a breeze kicked up, the man patiently adjusted the windage knob on his sniper weapon two clicks. He knew the state-of-the-art weapon had settings which would handle such things automatically, but he preferred the old-fashioned way of human experience. No digitized rifle could match the experience and training of a human being for judging what was likely to occur in the weather pattern as a man trained by his grandfather and his father, both of whom had a lifetimes experience of hunting. Of course, their prey had been a bit different than the freedom fighters, at least species wise. Peering over the edge of the raised faux-concrete edge of the roof wall, he knelt back on his haunches, stretching out a slightly tight tendon in his right leg. Removing a blue handkerchief from his back left pocket, the man absently scratched at an itch on his buttocks before using the piece of rayon to wipe at the salty runnel of sweat on his forehead. Glancing at his wrist inset he noted the pep rally should be over in about fifteen or so. No problem. Time was all he had at the moment.

Rubbing at the facial stubble he adamantly refused to have lasered, he stretched his arms out, cracking knuckles before once more checking his sight picture on the rifle screen. The freak strong man from the LEPER unit would be an easy target to distinguish from a pack of high school kids and some wimp teachers.

Mitch, self-styled normal humans first (NHF) freedom fighter, wasn’t worried about getting down from the roof once his mission had been accomplished. His hoverboard – wouldn’t Michael J Fox love that he thought with a quick grin; McFly, McFly! – would drop him down lightly from whichever side of the building seemed most safe and the rifle and tripod were compact and collapsible. They would fit right into his expanding backpack. Slicker than a pig greased up for a barn dance as his great grandmother used to say. Mitch had never been certain what that meant, but he liked it.