The Supernaturalist Part 7

'Same here.'

Stefan kneaded his forehead. 'Cosmo. Bridge. Now.'

'Me?'

'No time like the present. No one else has enough juice for a big gap. And there isn't time to switch canisters.'

The rookie Supernaturalist lifted his bridge from its rack on his back. It seemed simple enough: stand on the bar, shoot the nose out and guide it with the cable.

Simple enough. Not as easy as falling off a building, but easier than threading a needle with spaghetti.

He stood on the bar.'Put your heel behind it,' advised Mona. 'Use your weight as an anchor.'

He s.h.i.+fted his foot.

'Keep the nose up; better to overshoot.'

Nose up. OK.

Noises from below. Shouted commands and the thud of boots running.

'They're coming.'

Cosmo wrapped his fingers around the reel and fired. The bridge recoiled against his foot, sending tremors through his new kneecap. He ignored the pain, concentrating on steering the nose. It was heavier than it looked, and wilder. Twisting in the high alt.i.tude wind. Cosmo leaned back on the cord, hauling the nose up. Then it was over, two feet clear of the next building. Cosmo relaxed, the bridge touched down with a clang, two hooked grippers sprouting from the far end.

The team did not waste time on congratulations, bolting across to the safety of the next rooftop. Cosmo followed, stowing the bridge with the touch of a b.u.t.ton.

Mona's smile shone from the shadows. 'Not too bad for your first time, Cosmo.'

Ditto smiled too. 'Not too bad? The first time Mona laid down a bridge we had to cut the cord, or it would have dragged her over the edge.'

Mona frowned. 'Yes, well at least I'm tall enough to steer a ladder across a big gap.'

'Quiet!' ordered Stefan. 'Company.'

The legal team was abseiling on to the adjacent roof, sliding through the wrecked roof box. Shoulder-mounted lights poked through the hole like wartime searchlights.

Several lawyers were switching their shrink-wrap cartridges for illegal lethal ammunition belts.

The squadron a.s.sembled in a loose circle, searching for signs of their quarry.

Stefan whispered into a second walkie-talkie.

'Everybody down, lawyers on the roof.' The sentence was picked up by the first radio, two roofs away, and amplified so that it was clearly audible.

'This way,' barked the legal leader. 'Don't interrogate anyone until they've signed a waiver.'

The lawyers followed the sound of Stefan's voice. They were gung-ho now, but would shortly feel very stupid.

Ditto chuckled. 'The oldest trick in the book. We have a crate of those walkie- talkies in the warehouse. I remember when lawyers were smarter.'Mona peeped over the rim. 'Some of them are.'

Two of the lawyers were coming this way, lightning rod rifles drawn tight against their shoulders.

'Beautiful equipment,' said Ditto. 'Those abseiling rigs are hands-free. And the rods can shoot forever. Nothing short of Electromagnetic Pulse will stop those weapons firing.'

Cosmo was too busy being scared to admire their equipment.

'They're coming. What are we going to do?'

Stefan unhooked his backpack, placing his lightning rod on the roof.

'We surrender.'

Mona grinned. 'Watch this, Cosmo. A thing of beauty.'

Cosmo noticed that both Mona and Ditto were switching cartridges in their weapons.

Stefan rose slowly to his feet, hands raised high above his head.

'Don't shoot!' he cried. 'I'm unarmed.'

The lawyers split apart, becoming two targets. Both guns were pointed at Stefan's head.

'You fled the scene,' one shouted across the divide. 'We're legally ent.i.tled to wrap you.'

'I know, but come on, guys. I just wanted to see the show. I didn't touch anything.

Anyway, my dad's an amba.s.sador. We have diplomatic immunity.'

The lawyers started. Diplomatic immunity was more or less redundant since the One World Treaty, but there was still the odd remote republic" that held on to its rights. If you wrapped a genuine diplomat, you'd spend the next five years in court and the twenty after that in prison.

'If you have diplomatic immunity, why are you wearing that fuzz plate?'

Fuzz plate was the slang for the night-vision masks Stefan and his team were wearing. The low level radiation in the plastic meant that they could not only repel X- rays, but also wipe video. Even if the Supernaturalists were caught on camera, their heads would only show up as static fuzz.

'Ultraviolet protection, that's all. I swear. I don't want to get my brain fried.'

One of the lawyers c.o.c.ked his weapon.

'UV? At night? OK, Mr Diplomatic Immunity. Let's see some diplomatic identification. And it better not be fake, or you won't see a vat until morning.'

Stefan reached inside his overcoat and, using two fingers only, withdrew an ID card.

'I'm going to throw it across. Ready? Don't get trigger-happy. My dad knows Mayor s.h.i.+ne.'

'One hand. Put the other one on top of your head.'

Stefan did as he was told, flicking the ID card high into the air. The wind caught it, spinning the plastic rectangle another twenty metres up.

'Moron,' said lawyer number one, his eyes tracking the card.

'I got it,' said number two.

At that moment, while both lawyers were watching the card, Ditto and Mona popped up simultaneously, squeezing off one round from their new cartridges.

Two green slugs sped across to the Stromberg Building, viscous trails in their wake. They splatted on to the lawyers' visors, green goo spreading across their heads and shoulders. The two rapid-response lawyers keeled over, clawing at the blinding gunk.

'Gumb.a.l.l.s,' explained Mona, smiling her dazzling smile. 'The most disgusting substance on the planet. Those helmets are history. I got clipped with a gumball one time, ruined my favourite flak jacket. Those guys are out of the game until their squad shows up.'

Stefan watched the blank plastic card spiral towards the streets of Satellite City.

Then his phone pulsed gently in his pocket. He pulled it out, consulting the small screen.

'A message from the computer. A citizen has pressed her panic b.u.t.ton down on Journey and Eighth. Let's go. We'll take the street.'

'One second,' said Ditto. He laid down a bridge and quickly relieved the struggling lawyers of their abseiling rigs and weapons. The Supernaturalists were on a budget and this equipment was too good to pa.s.s up. In seconds the Bartoli Baby was back with the rest.

'I thought you were out of gas,' Cosmo said accusingly.

Ditto shrugged. 'Out of gas? Me? I did say that, didn't I? Well, you learned, didn't you? And n.o.body got killed.'The Supernaturalists packed up, stowing bridges and holstering their lightning rods. Cosmo followed suit, his heart somewhere between his stomach and throat. The others seemed completely calm, oblivious to the insanity of their night-time pursuits.

Maybe they had been hunting the Parasites for so long that this was a normal night for them. Or maybe, and much more likely, they were all crazy.

Cosmo tightened the belt on his backpack, following Ditto through the roof box door.

That meant he was crazy too.

CHAPTER 4:

THE BIG PIG.

THE Supernaturalists stumbled back to the warehouse at five a.m. The panic b.u.t.ton on Journev Avenue had been a false alarm. Some old guy stuck his hand in the microwave while it was still on, setting off his personal alarm. Many citizens carried personal alarms that could be activated in the event of danger or illness, summoning a protection or medical team. It was expensive, but private teams arrived on average two minutes ahead of the city police. And that two minutes could mean the difference between life and death.

On the way back from Journey, the warehouse computer had notified them of a shoot-out outside a bank on the expensive end of Journey. The Supernaturalists camped on a rooftop and took potshots at Parasites who flocked to the scene.

The sun was poking through rainbow smog when they finally arrived home. Even Ditto was too tired for jokes, his small face drawn, his kid's trousers spattered with the blood of those he'd tended to.

They sat around the table, chewing on processed dinners from flash-food packs.

Cosmo pulled the tab on his food pack, waiting ten seconds for the heat to spread through his rations.

'I thought we did OK tonight,' he said. 'No one got hurt and we blasted a hundred of those creatures.'

Stefan threw down his army-issue spoon. 'And tomorrow night there'll be two hundred to take their place.'

Cosmo finished his food in silence, chewing slowly.

'You know what I think?'

Stefan leaned back in his chair, arms crossed. His body language should have told Cosmo to shut up.

'No, Cosmo, what do you think?'

Mona shot Cosmo a warning look, but he forged on.

'I think if we could find out where they lived, then we could do some real damage.'

Stefan laughed sharply, rubbing his face with both hands.

'For nearly three years I've been doing this and I never thought of that. Wow, you must be some kind of genius, Cosmo. Find out where they live. Amazing.'

Cosmo's new knee suddenly began to itch.

'I just thought Stefan stood abruptly, his chair sliding across the floor.

He reined his temper in, but it was an effort. 'I know what you thought, Cosmo.

I've thought about it too. Find the nest and take them all out at the same time. It's a perfectly good idea, except for one thing. We can't find them.'

Stefan threw his fork into the brownish remains of his food pack.

'Suddenly I'm not hungry,' he said. 'I'm going to bed.'

The tall boy dragged his feet into his cubicle, pulling the curtain behind him.

Ditto managed a chuckle. 'Well done on the sucking up to the boss, new boy.'

'Leave him alone, Ditto,' said Mona. 'Or I'll make you stand in the corner.'

Ditto laughed, raising his tiny fists. 'I know I'm a pacifist, Mona, but I'll make an exception for you.'

Cosmo pushed his own food away. 'I didn't mean to upset him.'

Mona scooped the unfinished meals into her own carton.

'It's not your fault, Cosmo. This is Stefan's whole life. Awake and asleep. It's what he lives for. And every night he has to face the fact that we're not making a dent.'

'I keep thinking that there's something I don't know. Some other reason we're doing this?'

Ditto opened a beer, draining half the bottle in one go. 'We're helping people; isn't that enough?'

'We're helping people? No other reason.'