Firedrake

“Nice plane you got me, Hart,” Drake growled into the cell phone. From the other end of the line there came an amused snort.

“You fail an assignment and then you have the nerve to protest over your transportation,” Hart said. “Remind me to put that in your next employee evaluation. After all, we wouldn’t want that going unnoticed.”

The plane in question was a military-issue C-130 cargo craft. Drake sat in a seat made of stained yellowish-brown nylon webbing, swaying with every motion of the plane. His feet were propped up on a similar seat, separated only by the short distance between the two. His left arm was braced between his head and the metal wall behind it, while the cell phone rested in his right palm. In his massive hand, the device looked tiny and fragile.

“I didn’t fail anything,” he told her. Wisps of sulfurous smoke drifted from his mouth as visible proof of his anger.

“Really? And where, then, is my prisoner?”

“Temporary setback.”

“I disagree.”

“Like I give a rat’s ass,” Drake muttered. His words did not escape the sharp hearing of the Director.

“You will, Agent Drake,” she said, each word fairly dripping with derision. “As of now, you’re off the Retribution case. I’ll let Osiris handle it.”

Drake laughed aloud, a short, barking sound that echoed even above the omnipresent roar of the engines within the cabin of the plane. “Osiris? That monkey couldn’t find his ass with a ten-man lantern crew,” he said.

“I’ll advise him as to its location,” she countered without missing a beat. “You’re going to be too busy to show him.”

“Doing what?”

“Babysitting. Department of Agriculture has got a special advisor who’s getting hassled because he’s a booster. Seems they’ve escalated from calling him names to more direct action.”

“So what’s the problem? Call in the locals and let them bust a couple of these assholes. They get a good rep, he gets his ass protected, everybody goes home happy. No need for me to go in there.”

“That might work,” Hart said, “but these subjects have enlisted a freelancer.”

“Booster?” Drake asked, sitting up a bit in the web chair.

“Ah. Suddenly you show interest.”

“Anybody we know?” Drake asked, ignoring the barb.

“Doesn’t match any known profile specifically. Strength, speed, the usual. The advisor, a -” Drake could hear papers shuffling in the background. “- a Shane Baxter, reports the suspect to wear what appears to be chain mail armor and carry a sword.”

“You are such a bitch,” Drake said, a sour expression crossing his face. “Couldn’t resist the whole ’knight versus dragon’ thing, could you?”

“Why, Agent Drake, I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Hart said with obviously feigned innocence. “I simply thought this would be good for you. An assignment that required little thought and simple action.”

“I’m hanging up now,” he said.

“Don’t screw this one up, Drake,” Hart warned, all traces of humor having vanished from her tone. “I don’t have much patience these days.”

“You mean you did once?” he replied, snapping shut the phone and terminating the call before she could respond. For good measure, he switched off the cell and slipped it into the bottom of one of his pockets. He leaned back in the chair, allowing it to swing back and forth like a hammock. He swung his tail up and over his eyes, shielding them from the glow that seeped in through the numerous windows. In minutes he was asleep.

“Sir?” asked a voice. A hand touched Drake on the shoulder and he came awake. The sinuous length of his tail moved from his face and he could see once more. A man in the blue uniform of the US Air Force was standing over him. The man made an attempt at a smile, but it was masked slightly be the fear which he tried to hide.

“Yeah?” Drake asked sleepily. He rubbed at his eyes and yawned. The display of his teeth turned the man white.

“It’s…it’s time, sir,” the man said, trying and failing to refrain from shaking at the hideous sight of Drake’s widely-opened mouth. The scent of sulfur that wafted from it did not help matters.

“Time for what?” Drake asked, glancing out the window. They were still airborne.

“We’re approaching the drop zone.”

Even as the man spoke, Drake felt the attitude of the plane shift. Clouds sped past the plane as they began a rapid descent. Drake shook his head.

“You mean ’landing zone’, right?”

“No sir. I meant what I said: Drop Zone. We’re going on to Nellis. You’re supposed to get off here. Your man will be in a big flatbed truck near the purple smoke. Director Hart explained that you wouldn’t need a parachute.” The man’s eyes flicked upward as he craned his neck a bit to see the wings which were still folded tightly against Drake’s back.

Drake sighed. “So much for the in-flight movie, huh?” he asked, turning his back on the man without further thought. He marched to the tail of the plane, shrugging as he reached the beginning of the drop ramp. His claws gripped the grated floor with ease as he turned to regard the Airman.

“Get it over with!” he shouted, stretching out his wings.

“Go for drop,” the man said into an intercom as he stabbed a finger at a button on the wall. The noise in the cabin increased a hundredfold as the ramp began to open. Swirling winds brought icy cold air and a high-pitched whine with them.

Drake waited until the ramp had opened just enough to allow him passage, then threw himself through the gap and into the sky. His wings bit into the air and he started a slow glide toward the ground. His eyes stung from the pressure of the wind, and he felt the sliding into place of the nictitating membranes that had protected those orbs from attack on so many occasions. They caused a blurring of his vision, but he could still make out the sudden appearance of a column of colored smoke a few miles further along the plane’s initial flight path. Snarling a curse, he angled his flight toward it. As he continued to drop, he felt the air growing warmer and more hospitable, and soon he could easily see where he was headed. He began to flare his wings, slowing his descent to a speed with which he was more comfortable. His vision cleared as the membranes retracted.

Now less than a mile distant, a flatbed truck sat idling on the floor of the near-desert, directly behind a smoke grenade that still spewed a thin stream of purple into the air. There appeared to be two people beside the truck. Never one to make a boring entrance rather than a dramatic one, Drake arrowed his body toward the pair, allowing his flight to build speed as he shot toward the earth. As it appeared that he would surely smash into the ground, he snapped his legs forward and flared his wings as wide as they would go, coming to a near-stop and then settling gently to the ground.

“Hi,” said one of the pair. She was short and thin, with long black hair and sparkling green eyes. She wore loose-fitting Levi’s jeans and a flannel shirt, covered with a battered brown leather jacket. There was a small automatic pistol holstered at her left hip.

Although she was a striking figure, it was the other member of the welcoming party that caught Drake’s eye. He was a good six inches taller than his companion, and it would have been immediately obvious that he was heavily muscled were it not for the fact that his overall look distracted Drake from making that observation. The man appeared to be made of solid stone. A pair of black military trousers, cut off at the knees, covered him from his waist down to their tattered ends. The remainder of the booster was a mottled grey in color, up to and including his eyes. It was nearly impossible to tell where he was looking, though Drake had the distinct impression it was at him. He was used to being stared at, and he figured this man was as well. Rather than make the moment stretch on, he introduced himself.

“Francis Drake, Justice,” he said, extending a clawed hand which the stony booster took easily into his grasp. There was a cautious pressure from the cool rock, then a more hearty grip as it became apparent that he was not going to crush the reptilian hand in his own.

“Shane Baxter. This is Lara,” the booster replied, gesturing toward the woman.

“And no, it’s not Croft,” Lara said without hesitation. “Just wanna get that one out of the way.”

“Not a problem. Nice to meet you,” Drake said.

“You too. Welcome to Nevada,” Lara replied.

“So you’re here to deal with our…situation?” Shane said, struggling for a moment to decide how to phrase the question. His voice was low and raspy, the sound of rocks grating together. It was not by any means a pleasant sound.

“Yeah. The boss said you’ve got a bunch of hicks causing problems. Hired an enforcer. I’m supposed to shut him down.”

“Well, that’s putting it rather bluntly.”

“What can I say? I’m not a politician. I’m just muscle.”

“You see, there are some of the locals who don’t take kindly to what we’re trying to do out here,” Lara said, hooking her thumbs in her belt and leaning against Shane. The enormous booster did not shift his position, even by an inch. “They figure the project ought to be scrapped. When we started it there were a few protesters. Then when Shane showed up, they got pretty vocal.”

“After a while, that wasn’t enough,” Shane continued. “They began to sabotage our equipment and then to attack us. I can tolerate loss of materiel, but I will not stand by and let anyone be harmed. So, I took an active hand in defending my staff. Once I did that, and they realized just what they were up against, they backed off. Everything was good for a few days, then this new fellow showed up. Big guy, wears chain mail. He’s got a sword, too. Cuts through metal like paper. He came in and started busting up the place.”

“And you let him?” Drake asked, folding his arms across his chest.

“Like I said, I don’t fight to protect equipment,” came the snapped reply.

“Shane hates violence,” explained Lara.

“And you?” Drake mused, using a claw to point to the pistol she wore. “Or are you wearing that shooter to the prom?”

“No, I’ll use it if I have to,” she told him. “I just don’t want to have to.”

“All right. Philosophy aside for now. As far as this project everyone seems to want to shut down, what is it you guys are doing?”

“We’re laying the groundwork for a massive project of irrigation and agricultural terraforming,” Shane said, a touch of pride creeping into his voice. “When it’s finished, an area that might have produced a few dozen bushels of usable crop will grow enough to feed a small city. On top of that, we’ve come up with some enhanced new strains of vegetable that will thrive and replicate in the conditions we are establishing. Potatoes and lettuce, mostly, but genetically modified to be bigger and grow more rapidly, so that the end result is a field of crops that produces in two-thirds the time, then continues to produce throughout most of the year. From there, we’ll go on to enhance some other plants in the same way. Thing is, we have to establish this as a viable crop before anyone will be willing to make the jump to investing in the new plants. The Department of Agriculture has been working on these plants for a couple of years. They figure it is a worthwhile gamble.”

“Ain’t it enough that we wound up boosted?” Drake demanded. His expression had darkened steadily during the speech that Shane had made, and now his temper flared over. “Now you’re gonna ’enhance’ a bunch of carrots and shit?” He threw up his hands in disgust and stared at Shane.

“Now you listen, you - ” Lara began, pointing an accusatory finger at Drake, but Shane stretched out a hand to restrain her.

“Relax, Lara,” he said, voice as calm as ever. “Agent Drake is just muscle, remember? Your words, not mine,” he added as he looked to Drake.

“Yeah. Just muscle,” Drake said, lips peeling back to expose gritted teeth. “I ain’t gotta agree with what you’re doing here to get my job done.”

“What we’re doing is for the benefit of everyone,” protested the woman. Drake whirled on her, eyes blazing as his mouth snapped open and shut with an audible clack. The proximity of the flashing teeth sent her stumbling back a step.

“Listen up, slick,” he ordered. “I don’t care why you’re doing it. Fact is, folks get boosted all the time. Some of ’em come out of it real good, you know? Real pretty. Some of us don’t. I just don’t see a reason why we should be tinkering with the way food is made. You keep on screwing around, and one day there’s gonna be a ten-ton zucchini chasing your little ass through Las Vegas, running on the legs you saw fit to grow for it!”

There was a pause as Drake stopped to let his words sink in. A moment later, Shane erupted into laughter with a sound like a garden rake being dragged on a sidewalk.

“I’m sorry,” he said after a few seconds of laughing. He raised a hand to indicate that no offense was meant by his response. “It’s just that, well, the whole zucchini with legs thing…”

“Yeah?”

“It’s just a little over the top, don’t you think?”

Drake glared at Shane for a brief stretch of time, then the humor of the image struck him and he chuckled as well. He scratched the back of his head and sighed. “Look, I don’t guess it’ll go that far, but my point is -”

“I understand your point,” Shane assured him. The stony man ran one hand down his body, drawing attention to his appearance. “Do you not see how I wound up when I was boosted? I did not ask for this, I promise you. But I would ask that you try to understand that we are doing what we can to try to alleviate the hunger problem that faces our nation.”

“Yeah, like the food’ll go where you want it to,” Drake muttered. “First off, it’s a new plant. They’ll jack the prices into the sky so no one can afford it. Then only the rich folks can buy it, and once they find out it’s just another potato and not something fancy, they’ll lose interest. So your amazing new crop becomes just another commodity to be sold to other countries. You wind up back in the lab, trying to find yet another miracle, and the power players pocket more money by trading in your life’s work.”

“Rather cynically stated, but for someone who is not a politician, you have an astounding grasp on how these things work,” Shane replied with a shrug of his mountainous shoulders.

“Well, let’s just say that I’ve got a little experience with Big Brother screwing me over,” Drake said, making no attempt to disguise the bitterness in his voice. There was a noticeable twitch in the surface of Shane’s face that might have been an eyebrow lifting. Rather than explain, Drake gestured toward the truck. “So we going or what?”

“Yes,” Shane said, leading the way to the truck. He stepped smoothly up onto the back of the flatbed, and it was Drake’s turn to raise an eyebrow. The vehicle settled on its springs as though four men had climbed aboard. Apparently the stone was not merely a surface effect. Lara slipped into position behind the steering wheel, and Drake leaped up to join Shane on the flatbed. Lara dropped the truck into gear and turned it tightly. Hot wind passed over the pair in the back as they accelerated.

“There are the results of the last attack,” Shane said after they had driven for three minutes. He was pointing to the west as he spoke, indicating a pair of wrecked Caterpillar tractors that they were passing. Their tracks had been sheared from the sprockets that drove them, and something had sliced the cages clear of the bodies. Numerous long slashes through the metal showed plainly.

“The sword,” Shane explained, seeing the way Drake was eyeing the cuts in the metal. “He cuts into the drive train and the engines. Makes the whole thing useless. Our mechanics can’t even get worthwhile parts from them.”

“Nice,” Drake said dryly. “I take it they aren’t under warranty?”

“Not quite,” Shane said with a quiet chuckle. “He does the same basic thing to our cars and trucks, pretty much anything that comes in here on wheels. We only just got this flatbed in here yesterday.”

“So he’s isolated you out here? Pretty smart.”

“Yes, but we still have the radios and telephones. That was how I managed to get word to Director Hart.”

Drake snorted. “And surprisingly, she sent someone.”

“What do you mean?” Shane asked as the flatbed ground to a halt. He jumped from the back, his feet raising clouds of dust as they hit the earth with a resounding thump. Drake followed suit, his legs flexing to absorb impact so that he hit lightly. He glanced quickly around himself. They had arrived at what was, effectively, little more than a collection of Quonset huts and agricultural equipment. A dozen people milled about, most dressed in work clothes, though Drake did spot a couple in lab coats. Nobody spared him more than a glimpse, used as they were to seeing a booster that was not human in form.

“I mean she’s not the most forthcoming of people. Or the nicest. See, Hart kinda makes Hitler look like Santa Claus sometimes. Basically speaking, she’s the most calculating, hard-hearted, ruthless bitch I’ve ever met.”

“She’s my sister,” Lara announced as she stepped from the cab of the truck. She fixed Drake with a murderous glare. He refused to quail before it, returning a gaze that held only boredom.

“Yeah, well, that’s your problem, not mine,” Drake replied with a shrug.

“Lara’s kidding. She likes to push people’s buttons,” Shane said, waggling a finger at his driver. She grinned in response, winking at Drake to let him know it had, indeed, been merely a joke.

“Anybody else, that comment would have had them stumbling over their tongues trying to apologize,” she said.

“I guess. Like I said, though, I ain’t no politician. I got opinions, same as everybody else. The difference is I don’t bother keeping mine to myself,” Drake told her, managing to sound rather proud of the fact.

Shane slapped him on the back, the impact causing Drake to wince. “We’ll show you to your quarters,” he said. “Then we’ll get you something to eat.”

A siren sound split the air and Shane groaned aloud as the inhabitants of the camp scattered in response to the shrieking noise. “Looks like we might not have time for that yet,” he said. “That’s the warning. Incoming raiders.”

Drake grinned widely, his teeth flashing in the sun. He flexed his shoulders, letting his wings rustle as he did so. His head tilted from side to side, the sound of his joints cracking competing for sonic supremacy with that of the siren. His claws caught the light as well as he wiggled his fingers menacingly.

“Then let’s go say hello,” he growled.