Don't Be a Hero: A Superhero Novel

16: A Family Matter

Kingfisher

Real name: Jacques Rouze

Powers: Flight, energy shield.

Notes: Pioneered Skyra, the air-based martial art for flying metahumans, which includes both unarmed and weapon-based techniques. Founding member of the Light Brigade, a supergroup that patrolled the skies over Europe from 1949-1958. Following the signing of the Seoul Accord, Rouze accompanied the Alpha League to the lunar colony. Rouze has not returned to Earth since.

—Notes on selected metahumans [Entry #0098]

***

Niobe kicked the van’s dented bumper. “Bloody hell.”

Empty. Abandoned. They’d missed their chance; that son of a bitch Quanta had stuck his goddamned magic sword in the car and got away clean. They’d lost two hours fixing the damage after they limped off the highway.

The Carpenter sat on the back bumper inches from where she’d kicked, silhouetted by the open doors and the empty back, idly chewing on an apple he’d brought from the car. It infuriated her to see him so calm.

The tracking device she’d shot at the van during the chase had done its job. Trouble was, by the time they got to the underground parking lot, Quanta and his henchmen were long gone. The van was free of prints, free of everything. She’d even scoured the entire car park looking for something—a tyre tread mark, a cigarette butt, anything—but they had no luck. Story of my life.

“You look pleased with yourself,” she snapped at Solomon. She was being unfair, but she was frustrated. They’d been so close.

He shrugged and smiled below his half-mask. “I got to throw a tree at them. Been a while. Never gets old.”

She scowled. The tree had taken out one of the vans, but Met Div had rounded up the metas inside before she and the Carpenter could get them to talk. Now the villains would be locked up deep in the bowels of Met Div headquarters, and getting in again right now was out of the question. The cape coppers would be doing their best to make the bastards squeal about Quanta’s location, of course, but that wasn’t much use to her. The coppers weren’t exactly going to be forthcoming with anything they learned.

“Calm down, Spook,” the Carpenter said. He patted the bumper beside him. “Take a load off.”

She ignored him and continued to pace. She had to work out how this all fitted together. Quanta dressed like he was trying to sneak into a royal wedding, but there was ruthless logic behind those cold eyes. It didn’t make sense. His demands were pure insane supervillain, but her gut told her he was neither psychotic nor a psychopath. Even those dead eyes were an act; she saw that when he leapt onto their car. Then his eyes had blazed with excitement. And admiration.

Solomon continued to munch on his apple in silence. She gave the van another kick, half-hoping something useful would dislodge. All she got was a sore toe.

“If you’re going to sit there,” she said, “at least help me think.”

He took another bite of the apple. “All right,” he said with his mouth full. “How about the timing? It’s all wrong. Sam’s what, thirteen? If his dad really was Dr Atomic, the kid should be in his twenties.”

She nodded. That had been bothering her as well. Oppenheimer’s wife and children were killed by German agents around 1950. Oppenheimer retired and disappeared from the public eye, and died a few years later. It was 1969 now. None of it added up. “But the guys in the picture are Robert and Frank Oppenheimer. No doubt about that.”