Ballista
Real name: Amy Duncan
Powers: Enhanced vision, pinpoint accuracy.
Notes: Acted as an independent crime-fighter throughout New Zealand in the late 1950s. Her powers led her to favour an oversized modified crossbow as her weapon of choice. Most famous for breaking up the child prostitution ring led by former Attorney-General Julian Radcliffe. Accepted registration and kill-switching after the Seoul Accord was signed, then retired.
—Notes on selected metahumans [Entry #1894]
***
The Blind Man sat alone in a straight-backed chair in the middle of what had once been a hotel pub. The Māori man had too much skin; it sagged around his chin and cheeks, but there was an air of dignity around him. His eyes were clouded, constantly shifting. He was blind to this world, but he could still see things no one else could. He cocked his left ear towards them as they came into the room.
Hine-nui-te-pō hovered in first, announcing herself and her guests to her husband. Niobe followed. Solomon came in last, but when the Blind Man beckoned them forwards, Hine-nui-te-pō silently urged Solomon in front of them. It was a nod to the old ways, where the men’s duty on entering another’s meeting place was to protect the women and guard their retreat. That irked her; she was capable of taking care of her own damn self. But she did what she was told and stayed behind the Carpenter. She was a guest. She’d abide by their rules, for now.
They stopped just inside the doorway, and for a moment, there was silence in the room. The old pub had long been stripped of fixtures and wallpaper, if they had even survived the bomb. In their place were portraits of ancestors and wooden carvings of taniwha. They lacked the skill of a professional, but had a life all of their own.
A familiar policeman’s uniform hung in the corner. She smiled at that. Back when she was a member of the Wardens, they’d investigated a disturbance in a small town to the north of Neo-Auckland. Police had been trying to evict the Blind Man’s people from contested land. Fifty coppers had stormed the makeshift settlement the Blind Man had established there, but within minutes, the police guarding the perimeter lost radio contact with the team. Half an hour later, all the officers marched out like clockwork dolls, stark naked except for their helmets. Not one of them could recall what had happened after they entered. The coppers wanted the Wardens to show the Blind Man and his people the business end of their fists, but Niobe, Carpenter, and Battle Jack decided some battles weren’t worth fighting.
“Husband,” Hine-nui-te-pō said, finally breaking the silence, “the Carpenter and Spook want to speak to you.”
The Blind Man’s face was fixed in a small smile. He wore a black double-breasted suit that’d seen better days, and his left hand gripped the handle of a ceremonial walking stick carved with outlandish faces. The eyes near the haft of the stick were set with paua shell, giving them a rainbow sheen. The Blind Man remained motionless except for his mouth.
“What do you seek?” He spoke quietly, but his deep voice resonated.
“Knowledge,” the Carpenter said. “To know what we do not know, to see what we have not seen.”
Solomon always got a kick out of the ceremony. Niobe was just thankful the Blind Man didn’t draw it out any more than he already did.
The Blind Man’s smile did not move, but the crinkles around his shifting eyes deepened. “Come,” he said.
Solomon led them forwards. At a gesture from Hine-nui-te-pō, they drew up chairs in front of the man. Silence reigned for a few moments while Hine-nui-te-pō retreated and returned with drinks. It was sauvignon blanc for the Carpenter and Niobe, and a tall glass of lager for the Blind Man. She pulled her mask up to uncover her lips and they sipped in silence. The wine wasn’t bad.
The Blind Man turned his ear to his wife. “Thank you.”
Hine-nui-te-pō floated from the room, leaving them alone. When she was gone, Niobe pulled the small package from her pocket and laid it at the Blind Man’s feet. It was filled with twenty dollar notes, but it was only part of the koha. The rest would come later.
The Blind Man didn’t reach for the package, but he gave a small nod and raised his head. “You are seeking something. Someone.”
The Carpenter nodded even though the Blind Man wouldn’t see it. “An American boy. He’s got himself lost. His uncle thinks he was taken.”
Niobe reached into another pocket and pulled out the small plastic bag. Inside was the photograph Frank Julius had given her and the small brown hair she’d pulled from the watch. She placed them on the floor alongside the bag of cash. That got the Blind Man’s attention. His milky gaze shifted slowly down to the photo, and he cocked his head to the side as if listening to it.
“Hmmm,” he said after a few moments. “The trail is faded. You were slow.”
Niobe moistened her lips. Smug bastard. “Can you still read him?”
“Yes,” the Blind Man said. “Barely. But the price is high.”
She met the Carpenter’s eyes. His mouth was in a tight line; no grins from him now. She could make out the wrinkles at the edge of his eyes where the mask didn’t quite cover. He bowed his head. “What’s the damage?”
The Blind Man took a long pull on his beer, smacked his lips, and smiled. “Two years of childhood.”
She balked. Two years? He’d never taken more than a few months from Solomon before. The bastard was insane. He had to be pulling their legs. But his face was fixed in that same half-smile that betrayed nothing.
Solomon seemed to be having trouble speaking. His eyes were bugging, and she could see the wheels turning. Her own mind was doing the same thing.
“Carpenter,” she said, “forget it. It’s too much. We’ll find another way.”
He blinked a few times, then shook his head. “No. I’ll do it. We’re blind here, Spook.” He glanced at the Blind Man. “No offense.”
“Carpenter….”
“You know we have to. The kid’s been gone for what, two days now? We don’t have time to do this the slow way. There hasn’t been a ransom, there hasn’t been anything. That’s not good.”
He was right. The longer they took to find him, the more likely they’d find a corpse. It wasn’t just the cash driving her, not just the chance to escape this hell. She wanted to save him. She needed to save him. He’s only thirteen.
But the price…. “It’s too expensive,” she said. “It’s not the old days. You can’t take everything on yourself.”
“Yeah?” he said. “You took on the coppers this morning, didn’t you?”
“That’s different and you know it. This is a job. You’ve got kids to look after.”
“So has Frank Julius.” He pointed at the smiling boy in the picture. “The kid needs our help. Where else is he going to get it?
Bloody hell. Solomon was so determined to be a superhero. There was no point trying to change his mind. She sighed and looked away. Goddamn hero.
The Blind Man’s smile hadn’t shifted. “I’m sorry,” he said, “but I wasn’t clear. I already have all I want from you, Solomon Doherty.”
Solomon flinched at the sound of his real name. “What do you mean?”
“The price is two years of Spook’s childhood. Ages ten to twelve should do it.”
Her blood chilled. The Blind Man had never taken her memories before. Solomon never spoke about what’d happened, but there was always something in his eyes afterwards, a kind of suppressed grief. An irretrievable loss.
The Blind Man wouldn’t just read the memories of her childhood. He would take them. All she would have left was a hole, a vacuum. Another quiver ran through her. Her parents died in the nuke blast when she was thirteen. She’d been away at a boarding school in New Plymouth at the time. When the bomb hit, nothing they owned remained. Nothing except Niobe. Her memories of them were few as it was. And the Blind Man wanted to take most of what still remained.
“No way,” Solomon said. “That’s never been the deal before. Do me again.”
The Blind Man just smiled.
“Do me,” Solomon said.
She snapped out of her reverie. “Shut up, Carpenter. Let me think.”
“Have you made your decision?” the Blind Man asked.
Solomon stared at her and gave the smallest shake of his head, but she ignored it. He’d been right before. Something bad was going to happen to Sam, she felt it in her gut. It didn’t matter if his uncle was the target, the boy would pay the price. He was only thirteen.
Don’t think about it like that, she told herself. It’s just a job. We need the cash. That’s all. Fifty thousand dollars. And then she could get Gabby away from this place, before it killed them both.
She made up her mind.
“Deal,” she said.
Solomon lowered his head so his hat covered his eyes. The Blind Man nodded. There was hunger in his face. She didn’t know what he did with the memories. Were they some sort of energy to him, or did they just fulfil his desire for knowledge?
It doesn’t matter, she thought. They’re just shadows of the past. I’ve got the future to worry about.
“Payment will come later,” the Blind Man said. He put down the empty beer glass, levered himself out of the chair with the aid of his staff, and lowered himself until he sat cross-legged on the ground in front of the photograph of Sam Julius. He beckoned. “Come.”
She didn’t meet Solomon’s eyes as she got out of her chair and sat on the floor opposite him. Her heart started to hammer. Do it for Gabby.
The Blind Man’s left hand hovered over the photo and the arm hair. He extended his right arm towards her, palm extended. “Spook.”
She’d seen this done to Solomon before; she knew the drill. Still, her stomach clenched. She searched the room with her eyes, but it was just the three of them. That didn’t make it any less uncomfortable to pull off her hat, goggles, and mask in such an exposed place. Her short black hair came free and tumbled around her cheeks, and she suppressed the urge to cover herself like she was naked. Solomon had seen her face before, and the Blind Man was, well, blind. But if someone came in….
She shook her head slightly. Some things had to be risked.
The Blind Man’s palm found her forehead. His skin was cool, or maybe she was just warm. She was conscious of the dried sweat on her skin. Distantly, she registered the ache of her shoulder where Quick-fire had hit her.
“Open your eyes, Spook.”
The voice came from far away. She didn’t realise she’d closed her eyes. But yes, it was dark now. When had that happened?
The dark was comforting, as it always was. Darkness and shadows. She was drowsy. Thoughts swirled and collided with each other in her head, but she couldn’t hold onto them long enough to make sense of anything. Where was she?
“Open your eyes.”
There was that voice again. It was deep, familiar, but she didn’t want to obey it. Her eyelids were so heavy, and it was warm here.
No, she thought. You can’t stay. You have a job to do.
“Open your eyes.”
Wake up, hero.
~~~
She opened her eyes, but they weren’t her eyes. She was standing in a small room with wooden panelling. Below her feet, the floor rocked slowly back and forth. She moved with it, maintaining her balance. A faint banging, wood against wood, came from somewhere outside. Where the hell was she?
She tried to move her arms, but they wouldn’t budge. Her eyes wouldn’t do what they were told either. Then they started moving by themselves. The sensation sent a ripple of panic through her, but she quickly suppressed it. Her gaze darted around the room without any input from her brain, giving her a strange sense of motion sickness that had no root in her gut. Instinctively, she began taking in details: the ticking of a numberless clock on the wall to her left and the faint smell of salt in the air. I’m taller, she thought. And heavier. Her proportions were all wrong.
A pile of old paperbacks sat on a shelf next to her, all well worn. A quick glance revealed titles like The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes and Gods of Mars. None of the books looked like they’d been published in the last few decades. As the gaze passed across them, she felt something comfortable and familiar wash over her.
Her vision lurched as the head that wasn’t hers swivelled to take in the narrow bunk beds in the corner. The covers of the higher one were thrown back. Had she just got out of bed? And why was the roof so low? The smell of salt hit her again, mixed with petrol this time, and she felt the slow rolling of the floor beneath her. Then it clicked. She was on a boat.
“Uncle?” The voice that left her mouth wasn’t hers. It was younger and deeper. And was that an American accent?
Where is he? The thought came from another part of her brain, so faint it was almost an echo. Something else lurked beneath it. A kind of chronic desperation. Loneliness?
That was it. She remembered the Blind Man now. He’d done something to her. The photo and hair she’d given him were what he needed to make a link to Sam Julius. She was in the boy’s head.
She tried to probe the unfamiliar mind. She could detect curiosity and unease, but no fear. The boy hadn’t been taken. So where was he?
The body lurched again and she lumbered out of the cabin, moving through the space with practised familiarity. Niobe had no choice but to go along with it.
Sam climbed a narrow set of stairs and emerged into daylight. He shielded his eyes against the glare. The boat bumped against the wooden marina with the slow movements of the swell. She took in the sight of the boat’s exterior while she could. It had another two floors above the deck, and thick white fabric covered the top, acting as a sun shade. The boat was big enough to use as a house, if the close quarters weren’t a problem.
Sam turned on the spot, giving Niobe a view of the ocean and marina. The skyline was instantly recognisable. He was within sight of the Old City. That nailed his position down to somewhere in Waitemata Harbour. A few dozen private boats rocked in the marina, deserted. Half a mile or so away, a container ship buzzed with the hurried movements of dock workers, but she couldn’t spot anyone closer.
Through the echoes of his consciousness, a dull longing called. He wants to talk to someone, she realised. Anyone. An image drifted into her head, like another channel coming through the static of a TV set. A pretty dark-skinned girl, maybe fourteen or fifteen, was swimming in the ocean beside a sandy beach. She began to wade out of the sea, her shoulders glistening while she squeezed the water from her hair. In the memory, Sam’s heart pounded as he watched her from the boat. He wanted to talk to her so badly. Maybe even kiss her, if she liked him too. But he couldn’t do any of that. He wasn’t allowed to talk to anyone. Not even a pretty girl he’d never see again.
Sam shook his head, and the image disappeared. But the longing remained, so strong Niobe almost felt like she’d fallen in love with the girl too. She thought back to the cabin with the two bunk beds. His uncle said he was sheltered. But just how sheltered? Was it really just the two of them? He had no friends at all?
She tried to tap his memories further, but she got nowhere. Everything was too different, too far away. It was just noise, and she could only pick out the strongest signals. Giving up, she tried to identify a landmark to further pinpoint the boy’s location. But before she found anything, he turned again and made his way back inside. His feet trudged through a different door and up a narrow flight of stairs.
“Uncle?” he said again. His stomach churned with growing unease. He passed a mirror, and Niobe confirmed the boy’s identity. It was clearly the same kid from the photo. Narrow face, but with strong cheekbones. His short dark hair was cropped close in a serviceable fashion. Maybe he cut it himself. His clothes were unremarkable: a T-shirt and jeans that looked like he’d slept in them.
How long did I sleep for? The boy’s thoughts intruded again. If he went out, why didn’t he leave a note?
Something creaked on the deck outside. Niobe shifted into a state of hyper-awareness, but the boy just turned, the muscles of his face relaxing. He didn’t notice that the creak was made by someone heavier than Frank Julius. She tried to tense her muscles and suck in a lungful of air, but the boy’s body didn’t respond. Why didn’t he hear it, goddamn it?
“Oh, there you are,” Sam called out, walking back towards the stairs. “Where were you? I looked—”
A shadow filled the doorway. Big, broad-shouldered. She could make out the shape of a pistol in his hand.
Run, Niobe willed the boy. His eyes haven’t adjusted to the dark in here yet. Take the back exit, improvise a weapon, circle back, use the space, neutralise him. Bloody hell, move!
But Sam remained stock-still. His heart lurched, and his thoughts stopped. Time slowed.
“Who—?”
The figure dashed forwards and slammed his elbow into Sam’s throat. A desperate pain exploded inside him, like his entire world was shattering. The agony drove straight into Niobe’s soul. The room grew fuzzy.
The man came forwards as Sam toppled. Even through the pain, Niobe picked out weaknesses. Knees. Eyes. Throat. But Sam could do nothing. He crumpled, adrenaline coursing through him. He’d never known fear like this. She could taste vomit, and she felt his throat close up, cutting off his air.
For a moment, something sparked inside Sam. It shot through him like bottled lightning. The pain dulled and his muscles rippled. Strength flooded him. Even though it was different from anything she’d felt before, she recognised it. The awakening of a superpower.
But before Sam could act, the man came at him again. She caught the glint of the silver buttons of the man’s tunic as he drove his fist into Sam’s side. The lightning disappeared and a new wave of pain crashed through him. She couldn’t see the man’s face. Her vision was fading in and out. Something was pulling her away from Sam’s consciousness. Or am I being pushed out? She couldn’t tell.
The last thing she saw was a thick burlap sack being pulled over Sam’s head. Then the world lurched once more, and there was nothing.
~~~
Niobe’s mind crashed back into her own body. She flung herself backwards, away from the Blind Man’s cold palm. Sweat soaked her costume, and strands of hair clung to her cheeks. She was back in the refitted bar. She sucked in air like a drowning woman and tried to still the hammering in her chest. The details were burned into her mind, right down to the smell of the attacker’s sweat.
The Carpenter was at her side in a second. She bent over and swallowed down her queasiness. “I’m okay.” She brushed off his hand. “My mask.”
“Spook, take a second, let it wear off.”
Her vision was coming right now. She took a long, slow breath. “My mask.”
Solomon shook his head, but he passed her the goggles and mask. She pulled them back on without wiping the sweat from her face, then picked up her bowler hat and gripped it tight. She tried to get her thoughts straight. Where were the answers she’d been hoping to get? She’d been through all that, and what did she have? Bugger all, that’s what.
“The guy who took the kid,” she said, “I didn’t get a good look at him.” The bloody boy should’ve run. Poor stupid Sam. “But he wore a uniform. He was Met Div.”
The son of a bitch didn’t need to be that rough with Sam. The kid didn’t stand a chance. The fear running through him had been so dense she practically bathed in it. She knew what it was like to feel terror like that.
Solomon grunted, but said nothing. She tried to get up, but her knee buckled, and she was only saved from falling by Solomon’s grip on her shoulders. Goddamn it.
She expected the Blind Man to have his smug half-smile in place, but his face was slack and his eyelids drooped. He looked like he’d aged a decade while she was in Sam’s head. The old man was bent over, drawing deep, wheezy breaths. He looked nothing like the wise and treacherous wizard he usually resembled. Had he ever looked that knackered before?
The trail must’ve been fainter than she’d assumed. He’d only been able to give her a snippet of Sam’s past. Niobe felt a twinge of sympathy for the Blind Man. She and Solomon had come asking for help, after all.
“I hope you got what you came for,” the Blind Man said, using his stick to support himself while he returned to his seat.
Niobe shook her head and winced at the pain that shot through her brain. “It was only a fragment. The past. A few minutes.”
The Māori man exhaled noisily. “Something parted the flow. Some sort of barrier prevented me from channelling the boy’s present.”
“He’s not…dead, is he?” the Carpenter said.
“No,” the Blind Man said. “Something would still linger on. The spirit is not a thing that just vanishes. If the boy was dead, I would have broken the connection immediately. Communing with the recently deceased brings uncleanliness into the soul.”
Niobe didn’t hold much belief in spirits. But it wasn’t worth arguing over. Her legs felt steadier now, so she took her own weight and brushed off Solomon’s arm.
They didn’t have much, but it was a start. The man who attacked Sam wore a Met Div uniform, but he didn’t have any backup. And that attack was nothing close to a lawful arrest. She didn’t put it past the cape coppers to pull something like this, but her gut told her this wasn’t official. A rogue element, maybe, or someone hired by an outside party. She’d seen what passed for internal affairs in the Metahuman Division.
The Carpenter watched her, his mouth turned down in a frown. She gave him a short nod to let him know she was okay. “Come on. I’ll fill you in on the way back. I’ll even let you drive.”
The grin he gave was forced, but he slapped her on the back anyway. “You know, you’re a lot more agreeable like this. I may have to make arrangements to have your head messed with more often.”
She turned towards the doorway.
“I believe you’re forgetting something,” the Blind Man said. “Or rather, there’s still something you need to forget.”
She froze, stomach tightening.
“Hey, wait a minute,” Solomon said. “You said you couldn’t give us the full picture. I think she’s entitled to a discount.”
The Blind Man pushed himself up to his feet, still wheezing. Niobe faced him as he shuffled towards them.
“I gave you all there was about the boy,” he said. “Now comes payment.”
“It’s okay, Carpenter,” Niobe said as Solomon opened his mouth again. Her guts twisted as she spoke. “It was my deal to make.”
She stepped forwards to meet the Blind Man. He reached out again with his large palm, but this time he gripped the base of her neck and gently pulled her forwards until they were inches apart. He pushed up her mask to expose her mouth and nose, and brought his own shriveled lips close to hers. Their faces touched, nose-to-nose and forehead-to-forehead.
Don’t you dare die, Sam, she thought. Even now, she could feel the boy’s soul imprinted on hers. In those few minutes, she’d been closer to him than she ever had to any other human being. She’d come to know a sad, lonely boy who loved his books and wanted to kiss pretty girls. We’ll get you out of this. I promise.
The Blind Man’s breath had no smell. It came slow and whistling against her nose. She ran through the memories of her childhood one last time, knowing it was hopeless. She couldn’t remember the internment camp on Somes Island she’d been born in during the war, but she remembered the insults and the hatred that came after. Even though her parents had been in New Zealand for a decade before the war, they were still Japs, still the enemy. But they worked hard, built a life for Niobe and her little brothers. She remembered when she was eleven and her mother was teaching her to play piano at a public library. She’d been so happy to find the old piano. Her mother always had the most beautiful fingers.
Forget it. Do it for Sam, and do it for Gabby. Save them.
“Hurry it up,” she said. “We’ve got a job to finish.”
The Blind Man inhaled sharply. The image of her mother’s fingers on ivory keys crawled out of her inner eyes and turned to smoke inside her. Memory after memory flashed before her eyes, then slipped away like a dream upon waking. The Blind Man continued to inhale, sucking in the memories while his eyes twitched in wild pleasure.
Then he stopped. There was no hole gnawing at her mind, not even a shadow of the memories she had lost. She was still the same person. But when she tried to summon the event she’d been recalling before the Blind Man began, she found nothing. Just a vague sense of loss.
The Blind Man smiled. He looked refreshed, almost youthful. She shoved her hands in her pockets to stop herself punching him.
“You have fine memories,” he said. It was almost a sigh. “So full of life. Haere rā, Niobe Ishii. Find the boy you seek.”
She didn’t trust herself to speak, so she turned on her heel and walked out of the pub, leaving the Carpenter to trail her. Just shadows of the past, she reminded herself.
The sky was red when she emerged. She stopped on the cracked footpath, trying to make sense of the time. “How long was I out?”
“A few hours, maybe,” Solomon said. “Time doesn’t seem to work the same way when the Blind Man’s doing his thing.”
Hours. Now that she thought about it, her stomach gnawed with hunger, and she needed to pee. A few of the Blind Man’s people were milling around the street, smoking or talking. She spotted the white-suited Quick-fire prodding at the burn mark on his suit. He glanced at her, saw her watching, and quickly shuffled away.
“That boy’s father used to be a hero.” Hine-nui-te-pō glided up behind them, arms folded in front of her. She followed Quick-fire with her eyes. “Now the man starts drinking when he wakes and doesn’t stop until he passes out at midday. It’s not good for a boy, growing up in a house like that.” She shook her head sadly, then sighed and turned to Niobe and Solomon. “It’s still early. Won’t you stay for kai?”
“No time to eat,” Niobe said, ignoring her rumbling stomach. She wasn’t going to stay here a minute longer than she had to.
The woman nodded and looked up. Her moko made her look bestial in the sunset. “A bloody sky before a long night. Violence is coming. Do you feel it? Do you hear the Earth singing her last songs?”
Niobe pulled a Pall Mall from her packet and lit up. She glanced at the sky again. The Moon was out early, nearly three-quarters full. She couldn’t see the lunar colony, but it was there at the northern pole, nestled between the craters. Metahumans had beaten both the Americans and the Soviets there and built themselves a new home. McClellan and his baby wouldn’t have been killed if they’d been there. Sam wouldn’t have been taken. And when Niobe and Gabby got there, they’d be safe. Free.
“No,” she said to Hine-nui-te-pō. “I don’t hear anything. The Earth stopped singing a long time ago.”
She turned away and gestured to Solomon. He nodded at her, and together they strode back down the ruined street, the night closing in around them.
~~~
This book is available now at Amazon, Barnes and Noble, Kobo, and Smashwords. Find out more at www.chris-strange.com.
Thanks for reading!