The Strike Trilogy (24 page)

“You okay?” Strike asked, his eyes pinned to the road.

“Yeah, but—aarrrghhh!” Keplar tried to move his arm, but couldn’t. “This arm is blurkopped...damn it! Kid, you can’t drive for crap. Get up there and shoot.”

Keplar took the Bolt Racer’s wheel from Strike and pushed him out of the way. Strike jumped into the back of the vehicle and picked up Keplar’s plasma cannon.

“How the heck do you work this thing?” Strike asked, inspecting the gun.

A bullet whizzed by Strike’s ear and he had to drop to the backseat.

“Just pull the thing on the bottom!” Keplar yelled.

“Where?”

“The thing, the thing!”

“What thing?!”

A flying, one-eyed, grey-skinned demon dropped from the sky and landed on the back of the Bolt Racer, screeching at Strike.

“Ah, the hell with it,” Strike said. He swung the Plasma Cannon and bashed the demon in the head with the butt of the weapon, as if the gun was a giant hammer.

“Uh, not exactly how that thing works, kid,” Keplar told him.

After whaling on the demon’s head with the Plasma Cannon and finally getting the demon to let go, Strike tried one more time to figure out the gun, but gave up and tossed it away.

“Forget it,” Strike said.

Keplar looked in the rear view mirror; the last convertible of criminals was catching up with them. “How are you gonna hit them from here?” the dog asked.

Strike stood on the backseat of the Bolt Racer, leapt into the air, soared across the street, and landed inside the criminals’ convertible, where he immediately started taking out the villains with his glowing bo-staff.

“Huh,” Keplar said, turning back to the road. “That works, too. Sometimes the kid impresses me.”

“Okay, got it!” Scatterbolt shouted, closing the control panel on the dashboard of the Bolt Racer. Reaching out, he pressed the “Morph” button. “Change to Flying Mantis!”

The Bolt Racer sprouted midnight blue wings from its sides, and the vehicle soared into the air. Finally, Keplar and Scatterbolt were free from the road…but, just when the vehicle reached cruising altitude, its wings disappeared, a roof covered its top, and the vehicle morphed again. Now the Bolt Racer was plummeting back to Earth.

“Um, what the hell just happened?” Keplar asked.

“I’m not sure,” Scatterbolt replied, looking at a screen on the dashboard that showed the new shape of the vehicle. “But I’m pretty sure we’re a submarine now.”

“Oh, that’s just fantastic.”

Sure enough, the Bolt Racer had morphed into a submarine, and with Keplar and Scatterbolt trapped inside, the metallic, blue submersible smashed into the pavement like a missile. Spinning out of control and sending sparks flying along the street, the vehicle eventually collided with a tree in a city park and came to a sudden, destructive stop.

Strike—now behind the wheel of the criminals’ convertible—was heading straight toward the crashed submarine, so he had to violently cut the wheel. Unable to regain control of the car, he drove off of a nearby dock and splashed into a river. The impact with the water caused him to hit his head on the dashboard, and he was knocked out cold. He was also entangled in the car’s seatbelt during the crash, and was unable to escape as the convertible sunk into the river and slowly filled with water.

Regaining his bearings inside the crashed Bolt Racer, Keplar blinked his eyes and looked around; the vehicle had morphed back into a sports car. As the dog tried to stop his head from spinning, he looked in the rear-view mirror.

Nova and Rigel had arrived on the scene, and they were approaching the Bolt Racer. Keplar closed his eyes and dropped his head against the steering wheel.

“Are they dead?” Nova asked, as he walked to the passenger side of the car.

Rigel leaned down and inspected Keplar.

“I doubt it,” Rigel said. “They are incredibly—”

Keplar sat up and opened his eyes.

“Morning!” he said, before grabbing Rigel by the back of his head and smashing his face against the car. The red giant was knocked backward, stumbling and holding his nose.

On the other side of the car, Nova looked up to see Rigel stumbling, then quickly looked down to the passenger window.

“Whoever you are,” Scatterbolt said, as he popped up from underneath the dashboard and held out his palm, “I really don’t like you.” Before Nova could duck, a basketball-sized glob of tar shot out from Scatterbolt’s palm. The gooey, black gunk stuck to Nova’s mask and blinded him, like a wad of chewed up, sticky bubble gum.

“I really am so glad to see you’re still alive, Rigel,” Keplar said, as he stepped out of the Bolt Racer. After rearing his foot back, he swung it forward and kicked Rigel in the gut, causing the red giant to double over. “After all, we didn’t get a chance to talk last time.” The dog then punched Rigel across the face, nailing him with a right hook. The giant fell to the ground, and Keplar stood over him.

“And, ya know what,” the dog said, removing a laser blaster from his waist, “I’ve got a few things I need to get off my chest.”

The dog powered up the blaster and pointed it at Rigel. The red giant was lying in the dirt, afraid, with the blaster inches from his face. The barrel of the weapon was glowing bright green.

“No,” Rigel said, holding his hands out. “No, Keplar. It’s me. It’s still me. It’s Marcus.”

Rigel’s red-skinned body changed—it shrunk down and changed color, and the giant’s face became human. He was no longer Rigel—he was now a young, frightened black man, about thirty years old, with his human-sized body practically lost in the green cloak.

The anger and concentration in Keplar’s face faded. His eyes narrowed, and his laser blaster dropped, away from the frightened man on the ground.

“I’m sorry, Keplar,” Marcus said. “I’m so...I’m screwed up. Please. Help me. Ask Orion to help me. Please.”

Keplar thought a moment, with his eyes focused and his jaw clenched. Finally, he depowered his gun, and the green glow around the laser blaster faded.

Marcus grinned. In an instant, his body reverted back to the red giant, and he kicked upward at Keplar with both feet. The husky was sent flying by the blow, and he crashed into a wall across the street before dropping to the dirt, unconscious.

“Keplar!” Scatterbolt shouted. The robot ran to his friend, but was quickly grabbed by Rigel and lifted into the air. The robot tried to fight back, firing globs of oil at the giant, but had no success. Rigel simply laughed.

Finally removing the black tar from his facemask, Nova looked to the sky; a helicopter was in the air hovering over them, shining its spotlight downward and illuminating the area.

“Too many eyes on us,” Nova said, as police sirens blared from a few streets away. “We need to get out of here.”

“Yes,” Rigel said, looking at the punching-and-kicking robot he was holding by the neck. “And we’ll bring him with us.”

“No!” Scatterbolt shouted. As Nova and Rigel began walking away, Scatterbolt opened a compartment on his chest and reached into his robotic insides. Soon, he pulled out an object: it was a golden sphere, covered in shining computer circuitry. After rearing his arm back, the robot heaved the sphere toward Keplar, and it rolled across the pavement and toward the dock where Strike had driven into the water. Seconds after the sphere left the robot’s hand, his body shut down; his eyes turned off, and his arms and legs went limp.

“Let’s go,” Rigel said, with the motionless robot dangling from his hand. With his other hand, the red giant reached into his cloak pocket and retrieved a black, chrome portal pistol. Pointing the shining pistol in front of him, he pulled its trigger and created a black, swirling portal of energy.

“Where’s Strike?” Nova said, as they walked toward the portal.

“No time to deal with the others; they will have to wait until later.”

The two villains stepped into the portal, and it closed after them. They—and Scatterbolt—were gone.

Near the dock, Scatterbolt’s golden sphere was still lying on a patch of grass—until Adrianna picked it up. The beautiful, purple-garbed girl looked over the sphere, before noticing tire tracks on the dock leading into the water. Bubbles were rising to the surface from the darkness of the river below.

Putting the sphere into one of her pockets, Adrianna sprinted across the dock, leapt off of it, and dove into the water. Swimming downward, she followed the bubbles until she saw a car—it was sinking downward, with its nose toward the bottom of the river and its brake lights glowing toward her. The vehicle was a convertible, and inside she could see Strike in the driver’s seat—he was tangled in the seat belt, floating and unconscious.

Knowing she only had a few seconds, Adrianna kicked her feet and swam down to Strike. Reaching into the car, she used a knife to cut the seat belt around the hero, and then pulled him free. After holding his unmoving body against her, she pushed herself off the car with her feet, looked up, and swam toward the moonlight above.

With a desperate gasp, Adrianna broke the surface of the water and pulled Strike into the open air. After swimming with him to the shore, she threw him down onto the riverbank. His mask had fallen off, and she saw that the teenage boy’s face was blue and his lips were purple. Dropping to her knees, she leaned over and began giving him mouth-to-mouth resuscitation, before sitting him up and giving him the Heimlich maneuver. Finally, after feeling the boy move, she let go of him just as he coughed violently and fell to the dirt. After vomiting a few gallons of water, he looked up, confused and disoriented.

“Yes,” Adrianna said, smiling down at him, “I just saved your butt again.”

Tobin nodded, then spit up more water. He was starting to remember: the car chase; Keplar and Scatterbolt crashing in the submarine; driving the convertible off the dock. And now here he was, with the beautiful, dark-haired girl from the hotel rooftop. And he was pretty sure they had just made out. Technically.

Adrianna reached into her pocket. “By the way, your robot friend left this behind.”

She tossed the golden sphere onto the dirt in front of Tobin. He picked it up, inspected it, and then looked up at Adrianna.

“Toodle-loo,” she said, with a smile and wave of her fingers, before throwing something to the ground. It was a smoke bomb, and with a sudden
CRACK!
, a burst of grey smoke covered Tobin’s vision. He coughed and waved his hands in front of him…but when his vision was clear, he saw that the girl was gone.

CHAPTER EIGHT

“D
amn it!” Keplar shouted. The husky’s left arm was in a sling, but that didn’t stop him from using his other arm to flip over a medical table in the Museum of the Heroes infirmary. The metal instruments on the table were sent flying across the room and clanging to the floor, just as the dog punched a hole through one of the cupboards on the wall. “Arrrrrrrggggh!” he growled.

“All right, Keplar,” Orion said, standing on the other side of the infirmary. “Smashing things isn’t going to help us. Let’s get our thoughts in order here.”

“They treated us like amateurs!” Keplar yelled. “Scatterbolt was taken away, while we basically watched like morons! We should be ashamed of ourselves!”

“You got taken by surprise by odds that no one could have handled,” Orion said. “Now we need to prepare ourselves for the next step. And this certainly isn’t achieving that. So why don’t you go get the Sky-Blade ready for our flight? We’ll be out in a few minutes.”

After flipping over one more table on his way out, Keplar stomped out of the infirmary and toward the Museum elevator.

Orion and Tobin also walked out of the infirmary, but headed down the hallway in the opposite direction.

“Hopefully he’ll cool down soon,” Orion said. “But I doubt it. How are you doing, Tobin?”

Tobin tilted his neck to the side and patted one of his ears.

“Not so great. I think I’m gonna have swimmer’s ear for the rest of my life. But thank god that girl saved me, whoever she was.”

“Yes, that will be our first step: figuring out who did this, and who was involved. We know at least Rigel was there. Apparently still alive.”

“Yeah, what was that all about?” Tobin asked. “Keplar said that he turned into a human? I don’t understand. I thought he…?”

Orion led Tobin into the Museum’s research room. Its floors were lined with bookshelves, and there were dozens of circular filing cabinets and computer stations along the walls.

“There are still some things we haven’t told you much about, Tobin,” Orion said. “Some things that aren’t very easy for either Keplar or me to talk about.”

Orion walked to a shelf; it was lined with small, crystal discs in plastic cases. The old man found the disc he was looking for, then placed it inside a circular machine on the floor.

“You already know some of this,” Orion began, “but we have never gone into too much detail. Many years ago, after your father moved to Earth and retired from being a superhero, I decided I needed to train a new team of superheroes here on Capricious, in case Vincent ever returned. If there was ever another threat to Earth, I didn’t want to have to rely on you, when you grew up.”

“So much for that,” Tobin said with a smirk.

Orion laughed. “Yes. But I did try.”

Orion pressed a button on a remote control, and a life-size, three-dimensional image appeared above the machine on the floor—it was an image of Tobin’s father Scott, the original Strike, and Orion. The image was made out of shimmering, colorful light, and as Tobin walked around it, he could see all sides of Orion and his father in their superhero costumes. It was still one of the coolest things Tobin had seen on the world of Capricious: a machine that created life-size, life-like holograms. The hologram machines here in the Museum played movies about history and science, but there were other machines, as Tobin had quickly learned, that played the greatest video games in the entire universe.

“Two of the superheroes I decided to train when your father retired were two new heroes who had recently begun making news fighting crime on Capricious,” Orion said. “One of them was Keplar.”

Tobin watched as the machine projected a hologram of a young Keplar, about twelve years old. The pre-teen husky looked much younger and skinnier than he did now, but he was still wearing his usual cowboy hat, heavy boots, and leather jacket. The image began to move, and Tobin watched as the twelve-year-old Keplar fired his laser blasters in the Museum of the Heroes training room. The husky easily dispatched a squadron of six-foot tall, humanoid robots, all while laughing and hooting with glee. The target shooting came so natural to him, even at an age when most kids were just starting sixth grade.

“And the other hero,” Orion continued, “was a young man named Marcus Drake.”

The hologram changed: now it showed a young black man, about eighteen years old. He was tall and built like a marathon runner, with a fit body and dark hair that was shaved nearly down to his skin. A training robot was charging at him, but he readied himself; as he yelled in anger, his body grew nearly a foot, and his skin turned red and rough like a rhinoceros. The giant’s appearance wasn’t as inhuman and demented as Tobin had seen in the present, but the boy could still recognize who it was—it was Rigel. The red-skinned man quickly clubbed the robot with his forearm, knocked it to the ground, and then stomped on its head with his elephant-like foot.

“Both of these heroes were young and hot-headed,” Orion explained, “but they were also very gifted. Keplar took to the training immediately, embracing the challenge of becoming a better hero, but Marcus was...very troubled. I thought I could help him deal with his terrible past, and help him overcome the paranoid thoughts that were haunting him, but in the end, I couldn’t. Eventually, he revealed his true intentions—for the majority of the time, he had only been training with Keplar and me so that he could learn the secret whereabouts of the prison where Vincent Harris was being held. Like Vincent, he was obsessed with the planet Earth, and he believed that unless the inhabitants of Earth were controlled and ruled over by Capricious, the universe was doomed to be destroyed. He was terrified about what might happen if the humans of Earth gained the ability to travel the universe, and believed it was his destiny to stop this from happening.

“Using the information he had gathered from myself and the other heroes of Capricious, Marcus found the underground prison where Vincent was being held, broke him free from his cell, and awoke him from the cryogenic sleep he had been under for nearly five decades.

“The rest of the story you know: with Vincent reawakened and threatening to travel to Earth, your father came out of retirement and helped me stop him. Your father paid a terrible price for Rigel’s actions that day. We all paid a terrible price.”

“And now,” Tobin said, “Rigel is back, carrying on Vincent’s work since Vincent isn’t here any more.”

“Yes,” Orion said. He watched the image of Rigel. “It appears that way.”

After walking out of the museum’s giant double-doored entrance, Orion and Tobin walked across the headquarters’ brick-lined sky-ship landing platform. The gleaming, winged sky-ship known as the Sky-Blade was waiting for them at the edge of the platform, with its engines running.

“When Vincent and I were both still members of the Guardians,” Orion explained, “I often heard him talk about something or someone called the Daybreaker. He was always saying that this Daybreaker was even more powerful and important than him, which is saying something, considering Vincent’s ego.”

Orion and Tobin walked up the Sky-Blade’s ramp and into its open door.

“Rigel and this other man dressed in green must be working together to search for the Daybreaker, to continue Vincent’s plan for the enslavement of Earth. And they must be looking at you as their main obstacle to finding this Daybreaker, which is why they were giving all those Earth criminals superpowers, in an attempt to get you out of their way.”

Tobin shook his head. “Great, I’m flattered. So where are we headed now?”

Orion sat in the passenger seat of the sky-ship’s cockpit. “First, we get Scatterbolt back. We find out where Rigel took him, and we take Rigel and his partner down in the process.” The old man held up the golden sphere that Scatterbolt had left behind in Boston. “There is only one person in the world who can help us figure out what this sphere is—the person who created Scatterbolt. And he lives, conveniently enough, in the one place that may be able to cheer Keplar up.”