resulted in a relatively minor concussion, nothing he hadn’t experienced before in his years of kick-boxing.
A beer bottle, crusted with dirt and still containing a smattering of tobacco juice and saliva, shattered across the bridge of his nose. Had it not been for the impact near his temple, the resulting glass fragments would have been driven all the way through to his frontal lobes. As it happened, they did not penetrate that far, but both his eyes were punctured simultaneously, rupturing like pierced grapes. For a brief moment, he fumbled blindly to pull the jagged glass out, then he lost consciousness.
Richard McLane and his two companions gazed down at Steve from the top of the ditch.
"Would you like me to finish him off?" one of McLane’s men asked, a redhead with electricity still crackling around his hand.
"He’s dead," McLane pronounced smugly. "And I want some of the bodies left identifiable. Now let’s do what we came here to do."
McLane stole one last glance at the young man, out cold and bleeding profusely, and then led his men up the road toward the Davison home.
TAKAYASU
"Takayasu, Ensign Michael," Lieutenant J.G. Barry called.
Michael looked up, hoping to God that he didn’t look as nervous as he felt.
"The Captain will see you now, Ensign," the man said.
"Thank you," Michael said, rising to his feet and striding for the office doors ... and trying to act as though he visited the head of the Paranormal Control Agency’s regional headquarters every day.
The doors slid open at his approach, and although it was far too subtle for any normal human being to detect, Michael knew that he had been the subject of a thorough identification process, ranging from passive retina scans to skeletal structure comparisons. Otherwise, far from opening, the doors would have sealed shut, and no one short of a Class One Paranormal could have gotten through them.
The office Michael entered was no different in appearance from that of any other law-enforcement agency. Again, Michael knew that there were sensors and weapons and defenses, all present and ready for use, but none of them would ever be noticed by the few civilian visitors who might have cause to visit. He knew from his technical training at the Academy that if a paranormal were to use any of his or her physical senses to spot them, such as x-ray vision or an electro-magnetic probe of any kind, the very act of their detection would be enough to activate half of them. There wasn’t much they could do yet about mental senses, such as a psychic paranormal who just knew where they were, but advances were being made in that arena every day.
Michael stood at attention before the captain’s desk. The gruff-looking, dark-complected older man was sipping a cup of coffee and held up a hand for him to wait.
Michael waited.
"Sit down, Mister Takayasu," he said at last.
Michael contained his surprise at the incongruently high-pitched voice that came out of the man. His experiences at the Academy, and perhaps all those cop movies, made him expect the order to emerge as a growl.
"Coffee?" the captain offered.
"No, thank you, Captain."
"Mm. Your loss. Mister Barry makes a helluva cup." The man smirked. "You’ll forgive me if I usually avoid the use of our designated ranks. I served four years in the Navy, and spent a good part of my life in the FBI until I was pulled for PCA detail back in the day. I, personally, find it rather silly to be addressed as ‘Captain,’ but I suppose it’s no less pretentious than ‘Deputy Director.’ How about you just call me ‘sir,’ and I’ll continue to address you as ‘Mister.’ "
"That’s fine by me, sir," Michael smiled casually.
"Mm. Now ..." The Captain leaned back and laced his fingers behind the back of his head. "Mister Takayasu, as I’m sure you are aware, you are the first graduate of
A beer bottle, crusted with dirt and still containing a smattering of tobacco juice and saliva, shattered across the bridge of his nose. Had it not been for the impact near his temple, the resulting glass fragments would have been driven all the way through to his frontal lobes. As it happened, they did not penetrate that far, but both his eyes were punctured simultaneously, rupturing like pierced grapes. For a brief moment, he fumbled blindly to pull the jagged glass out, then he lost consciousness.
Richard McLane and his two companions gazed down at Steve from the top of the ditch.
"Would you like me to finish him off?" one of McLane’s men asked, a redhead with electricity still crackling around his hand.
"He’s dead," McLane pronounced smugly. "And I want some of the bodies left identifiable. Now let’s do what we came here to do."
McLane stole one last glance at the young man, out cold and bleeding profusely, and then led his men up the road toward the Davison home.
TAKAYASU
"Takayasu, Ensign Michael," Lieutenant J.G. Barry called.
Michael looked up, hoping to God that he didn’t look as nervous as he felt.
"The Captain will see you now, Ensign," the man said.
"Thank you," Michael said, rising to his feet and striding for the office doors ... and trying to act as though he visited the head of the Paranormal Control Agency’s regional headquarters every day.
The doors slid open at his approach, and although it was far too subtle for any normal human being to detect, Michael knew that he had been the subject of a thorough identification process, ranging from passive retina scans to skeletal structure comparisons. Otherwise, far from opening, the doors would have sealed shut, and no one short of a Class One Paranormal could have gotten through them.
The office Michael entered was no different in appearance from that of any other law-enforcement agency. Again, Michael knew that there were sensors and weapons and defenses, all present and ready for use, but none of them would ever be noticed by the few civilian visitors who might have cause to visit. He knew from his technical training at the Academy that if a paranormal were to use any of his or her physical senses to spot them, such as x-ray vision or an electro-magnetic probe of any kind, the very act of their detection would be enough to activate half of them. There wasn’t much they could do yet about mental senses, such as a psychic paranormal who just knew where they were, but advances were being made in that arena every day.
Michael stood at attention before the captain’s desk. The gruff-looking, dark-complected older man was sipping a cup of coffee and held up a hand for him to wait.
Michael waited.
"Sit down, Mister Takayasu," he said at last.
Michael contained his surprise at the incongruently high-pitched voice that came out of the man. His experiences at the Academy, and perhaps all those cop movies, made him expect the order to emerge as a growl.
"Coffee?" the captain offered.
"No, thank you, Captain."
"Mm. Your loss. Mister Barry makes a helluva cup." The man smirked. "You’ll forgive me if I usually avoid the use of our designated ranks. I served four years in the Navy, and spent a good part of my life in the FBI until I was pulled for PCA detail back in the day. I, personally, find it rather silly to be addressed as ‘Captain,’ but I suppose it’s no less pretentious than ‘Deputy Director.’ How about you just call me ‘sir,’ and I’ll continue to address you as ‘Mister.’ "
"That’s fine by me, sir," Michael smiled casually.
"Mm. Now ..." The Captain leaned back and laced his fingers behind the back of his head. "Mister Takayasu, as I’m sure you are aware, you are the first graduate of
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