Fairy Chess

Long ago, there was a comics experiment called the "New Universe". It was the forerunner of modern-day diversions like "Heroes" - ordinary people suddenly gaining powers or traits outside the human range, with (at least, ostensibly) realistic consequences. Sadly, commercial pressures drove them from that core vision, and they had the 'Comics Code' to worry about. I've taken what I liked about it, and cheerfully left behind or modified what I didn't.

Though not strictly necessary, I suggest you read the prior story, "Downsides And Upsides", first. Think of it as a prologue, or perhaps a 'trailer'.

*

I always get scared before the action. Practically shaking, truth be told. I

hate

those few peaceful moments before the shit hits the fan.

That might surprise a lot of people. After all, I have what I've nicknamed a 'vector field' around me. Sort of like telekinesis; no physical object can touch me. Not only am I bulletproof, I'm

bazookaproof

. It magnifies my strength, too - I once tore my way into a bank vault with my bare hands. What do

I

have to worry about, right?

But think - how many ways are there to die

besides

being struck or stabbed? There's chemical poisoning, radiation poisoning, electrocution, suffocation and drowning, frostbite and hypothermia, dehydration and heatstroke, disease, starvation, etc. etc. I have what amounts to

totally bitchin'

body armor. That does

not

make me Superman.

This ain't the comic books, either. The people we get paid to fight are under no obligation to be stupid, or honorable, or even unlucky. And they have every reason to want us dead.

The chopper swerved and surged forward. "It's go!" Dustoff called on the shared channel. We made it over the last ridge and the insurgent camp lay before us. Thick black smoke roiled from the west side; Veronique's job had been to take the generators out first, and clearly she'd done it.

Colin popped out the far side of the copter and flew on ahead. As fast as a small plane, but so much tinier and vastly more maneuverable, he was damn near impossible to hit. But he could sweep out any anti-aircraft fire and make safe Dustoff's approach.

The copter passed over the 'motor pool'; one quick glance at Val and I hopped out. A good hundred-foot drop, but at least it was onto pavement. If I hit dirt after a jump like that, I'd usually sink down in to my knees. Annoying.

The asphalt cratered but my boots survived. Probably the most expensive custom footgear in the world - steel-belted Kevlar. I charged at the pair of old trucks parked by the fence. Long seconds passed without any response; even now, paranormals are rare enough that actually seeing one tended to put people off-balance. Coming so soon after a bunch of explosions and the power going out, you can imagine the guerrillas were a little disorganized. The shooting didn't start until I was almost to my first targets.

As I said, though, I'm bulletproof, so I paid it no mind. I simply grabbed the front of the first truck and flipped it over. Then the same for the other one.

Next step was disabling the cars. Nothing fancy, just smashing a wheel or two on each. Bam, bam, bam. They could be salvaged by our employers but nobody would be retreating in them.

Unfortunately, I'd gotten too wrapped up in the job, ignoring the bullets careening off my back. It was the low-tech weapon that got my attention. A Molotov cocktail whipped over my shoulder into the jeep in front of me. A cloud of flaming gasoline splashed in my face.

Heat travels by conduction, convection, and radiation. The first two couldn't get through my field, but the last one had no trouble. Ever swim in a cold pool, then jump in a hot tub? It was like that, from the waist up.

I responded by reflex. A unique reflex, I admit, but it wasn't thought out. The field that normally hugged my skin pulsed out several feet around my upper body. My burning clothes - and the jeep I stood next to - were hurled away and I could breathe again. But I still felt the heat; my pants were on fire too. A second pulse and they were gone. I drank in the delicious coolness.

Of course, except for some smoking boots I was now buck naked in the middle of a battleground.

Goddammit, not

again

! My headset was junked, I was out of radio contact. Well, they could keep tabs on me through Clyde but I couldn't get new orders.

It was annoying, embarrassing. At least here it wasn't immediately life-threatening. Try being half-naked on a fucking

glacier

at nineteen thousand goddamn feet - now

that

was a clusterfuck. Still, our eventual success at Siachen had helped get us

this

job.

Anyway, I was done ignoring the enemy. I brought my hands up and pointed at the nearest guerillas. The field leapt out again, and they went flying as though they'd been hit by a bus. Already running, I gestured at the final jeep; the side nearest me imploded. Screw salvage. They'd pissed me off.

Okay, fine, they'd

scared

me. Damn RENAMO for being adaptable. By now they'd learned I didn't like fire much, so the remaining forces were adjusting their tactics. Hopefully too late to do them any good.

One more hit on a clot of gunmen and the rest broke. Some fled into the forest, others retreating deeper into the base. I chased a group of them toward the arsenal. Veronique and I were assigned to materiel; the rest were on antipersonnel.

A low building was in my way. As I ran I pointed my palms at the ground and shot my field out. I could push objects away from me, remaining unmoved. Or, at my discretion, I could push myself off things. This time I popped into the air, landed on the roof, and kept jogging to the far side.

It didn't make physical sense. It violated conservation of momentum, and probably energy too. But ever since the White Event, the "Laws Of Physics" had apparently become the "

Suggestions

Of Physics, But If You Want To Do Something Else, Hey, Y'know, That's Cool Too."

I hopped down off the roof; the building where the insurgents stored their weapons was already under siege. Screams and crackles and flashes of light filled the narrow 'square' out front.

Veronique scared the crap out of me. She - if gendered pronouns still applied - was basically nothing but a woman-shaped lump of ball lightning. Maybe she'd been crazy

before

the Event. Probably becoming - in effect - an electrical ghost had pushed her over the edge. Either way she was flatout nuts. She killed with relish, and for no particular reason. God alone knew how Thame had convinced her to join Scylla and not kill her teammates. Besides shelter from the rain, what did she even need anymore?

I watched another pair of soldiers get fried. She could have done it instantly; instead it lasted many seconds. I pursed my lips but moved on to the door.

Kicking it in, I got a surprise - an RPG right in the chest. It startled me some, but it ended up worse for the guys inside - most of the explosion backflashed onto them. Still, better me than Veronique. Although bullets only irritated her, nobody was sure she could survive a major disruption like a grenade.

I secured the interior. Crushing a gang of half-stunned gunmen - gun

boys

, almost, for a couple of them - was pretty distasteful. Thing is, I couldn't let anyone use the weapons on my compatriots, or me. And shooting off guns around explosives is generally a bad idea.

You can't be in this line of work for long without getting at least somewhat desensitized. Once the job was done, I loaded up a bulky machine gun - looked to be a Soviet PK - with an ammo box and peeked out the door.

Veronique hovered among a dozen smoking bodies; nobody else was visible. She saw me motion her over, and glided my way. In air, she couldn't move faster than a brisk walk. Of course, along a conductor she moved... well, like lightning.

I didn't speak French. Hand signals were enough. I left her guarding the front door and launched myself onto the roof of the makeshift armory. I scooted to the far side to cover the rear.

Finally, a chance to listen. An explosion, somewhere off to the left. Small and medium-arms fire all over. Confused shouting in a couple of dialects. About the way it should be. The main FRELIMO force would be here soon; they'd meet a disorganized resistance at most.

Although the morning sun was warm, the breeze was still a mite brisk, making my private areas... well, huddle for warmth. My endowments were not in the porn star category. Not

below

average, I hasten to add, but certainly not paranormal. Being naked as often as I was, not always in tropical climes, made me a little anxious sometimes.

A flurry of gunfire sounded from down to my right. I opened up with the PK and drove whoever it was back. We traded fire for a few volleys, then he fell silent, either wounded or changing position. Motion by a wall ahead of me; I fired a short burst. A sharp, pained scream that faded to a gurgle.

You might well ask, 'why bother with the gun'? My parabilities

are

dangerous, but the field's invisible. I point, and things get smashed. Magic powers are foreign to most people's experience; you'd be amazed how often they just don't make the connection. An automatic weapon, on the other hand...

that's

a threat people grasp immediately. Even wielded by a naked dork.

The chaos was getting closer. Colin buzzed low overhead on one of his sweeps. A smuggler before the Event, he'd already been something of a tough cookie. Gaining the ability to fly had made him a terror.

Some tiny noise made me turn; a grunt, maybe. I saw a small hurled object arcing toward me from a hut to my right. A grenade, I realized. At the same time, a group charged in from my left, guns blazing.

Before I could respond, Val dashed past me, leaping off the roof; she snagged the grenade right out of the air, and whipped it fastball-style back into the hut. I didn't quite catch whatever quip she made - something about my

culo

.

She had already rolled into a flip, drawing her other pistol.

While spinning

, she got off five shots, so fast no one would believe she only wielded semi-automatics. By the time she landed on the ground all the men I could see were dead. Not pausing a moment, she raced around the corner, as fast as if she were riding a motorcycle. More reports echoed back; doubtless more perfect shots. The grenade went off; the hut's roof sagged and somebody screamed.

Val had been a professional gymnast once. Now she was the world's greatest athlete, with superhuman agility, strength, and speed. She wasn't bulletproof like me, but her

modus operandi

was being somewhere else when the gun went off. That, and a fair amount of Kevlar.

A flurry of gunshots from my right; one ricocheted off my ear. Startled, I whirled around and tried to squeeze off a volley. Instead, my convulsive jerk on the trigger crushed the entire grip assembly. There are definite problems with being ludicrously strong.

"Fuck!" I bellowed in irritation. Chucking the ruined gun aside, I began punching out with my field. In less than a minute, the three nearest huts were rubble.

It was quiet for a minute or two, then a few crackles and screams carried from the front of the armory. I'd scared them off my end, but Veronique didn't bother with scare tactics. Not to scare people

away

, at least. If they got close, though... well, you've seen cats playing with mice.

There was almost no warning at all. Everything got brighter - imagine the sun suddenly peeking from behind clouds. Except there wasn't a cloud in the sky.

I exploded the field out of my feet - wrecking my boots - and shot into the air on an angle, spinning like a curveball. I landed a full three seconds later, smashing down onto a tent, which collapsed around me. I scrambled for a moment, shredding cloth, still dazzled. Then I flipped over and burst the cocoon into scraps with a pulse of my field.

Remember what I said - that our opponents are allowed to be smart or dishonorable or lucky? Here was a prime fucking example of all three at once.

RENAMO was playing their ace in the hole. A paranormal that could affect light. Redirect it, disperse it, concentrate it. Doesn't sound

so

bad, right? But consider - what if day suddenly became night for your forces, but not your enemies? Kind of a problem. And remember - a basic two-inch magnifying glass can torch bugs when the sun is up. We didn't know how much area she could affect, exactly, but between dawn and dusk she had

melted

government trucks.

Oh, and our best guess put her at around fifty-five years old.

This wasn't a time for farting around. I ran as fast as I could for the nearest building and plowed right through the wall. Had to stay out of sight. My entrance surprised some lurking militants, but it didn't take long to to secure the space. Keeping an AK-47 on hand, I carefully peeked out a window toward the arsenal.

Dammit, she wasn't supposed to

be

here! We'd never have mounted a daytime assault otherwise. The radio exchanges Clyde intercepted had put her retreating west to Odzi... Well, that's counterintelligence for you. Sometimes you get suckered. Of course, it was hard to be philosophical about such things when you were in imminent danger of being vaporized. At least Clyde would let Thame know what I'd seen, so he could pass it on to the rest of us.

Weird shadows and strobes made the air shimmer over there. They'd have to be careful, too much heat could set off the ammo. Heat and light shouldn't hurt Veronique, I'd think. Although... air heated up to a plasma would conduct. That's what lightning was, basically. Which

might

hurt her... shit. Guesses, that's all anybody had these days. Heck, for all we knew the

"Senorah da Luz"

had other powers we didn't know about.

I sure thought hard for a second about getting closer. Veronique was a teammate, but there was no camaraderie there. Still, for all I knew, Thame was sending Val that way right now. I couldn't take the chance.

Much more carefully than before, I made my way back, shifting from cover to cover. I got in a brief firefight with some normals, but not having to keep my head down much is a hell of an advantage. I made it in under five minutes. By then everything was dark, like late afternoon or heavy overcast.

Except for the spot shining like an arc welder that swung about, casting crazy shadows in the square. Each time it barreled through Veronique she hissed and dodged. Apparently it

could

hurt her. More like a taser prod than a mortal wound, though, if I was any judge.

I finally spotted the

Senorah

in an alley to one side. Jesus, she was small; nutrition in rural Africa wasn't like in America. She looked more like sixty-five to me. A RENAMO handler crouched next to her. It was hard to get a good bead, the shifting light left wobbly trails in my vision; I wished I still had my sunglasses. But if I could give her a good shove with my field, we could knock her out and take her with us. Without her help, RENAMO would fold. And Thame was hoping to recruit her anyway.

I took my time, lining up my shot. Then a brilliant scintillation dazzled me for a few moments. I blinked my sight clear, squinted and raised my hand...

Her throat exploded. She dropped like a puppet with the strings suddenly cut, and her head lolled back in a way that clearly indicated she didn't have a spine in her neck anymore. The handler whirled, but all that meant was the second shot got him in the chest instead of the back.

While I watched, numb, Potiphar stepped into view from the alley beyond, and pumped two more shots into each of the corpses, just to be sure.

Fuck

he was good. I hadn't a clue he was sneaking up on them. He cocked his head for a moment, probably listening to Thame berate him, and stalked off to the north.

What made it worse in a way was how the whole scene brightened up. A second dawn, almost, as the sunlight went back to following sane trajectories. If it had been a movie scene, you'd have heard a choir - the monster is destroyed!

But she was just an old woman, forced to do the bidding of the thugs who held her grandchildren hostage. I could see a puddle of blood forming under her from where I stood.

Things settled down soon after that. I'm sure a fair number of the insurgents got away on foot. They had no stomach for fighting us, really. Not after the hash we'd made of them over the previous weeks. Lacking anything better to do, I resumed my post behind the arsenal.

A few minutes later, Colin swooped low and hovered above me. "'S'all over. The sodding rebels all scarpered. Thame says hold the fort." Then he hurtled off to watch the perimeter. I kept watch, mostly reassured. Colin would have said something if we'd lost anyone. I was pretty sure, anyway.

A truck stuffed with FRELIMO troops arrived about twenty minutes later, just when I was starting to worry about sunburn. While a handful of the soldiers gave me funny looks, the officer in charge affected not to notice I was 'out of uniform'. I don't know if he was scared of me, or if he just

really

didn't want to talk to Veronique.

I brought them around front and waved her down. She just floated off. I formally turned the building over to the troops and hightailed it after her, back to the parking lot. Our chopper idled, the others gathered around, boarding it already. Colin chatted with our local liaison to the government forces.

More soldiers were fanning out to secure the area. They gave us a wide berth. Who could blame them? In the space of a month, we'd broken the back of an insurgency they'd been fighting for years.

Welcome to charming Mozambique. The Marxist FRELIMO had wrested control from the Portugese over a decade ago. Despite military and economic support from the Soviet Union, the place was a mess. FRELIMO had sheltered and funded insurgents in neighboring Rhodesia and South Africa. In return Rhodesia founded and financed RENAMO, the 'Mozambican National Resistance', which had been sabotaging and massacring ever since. After white rule ended and Rhodesia became Zimbabwe, South Africa took over the franchise. They'd been lending support and intel and training for eight years now, and at this point Mozambique was deeply fucked.

FRELIMO wasn't exactly the side of the angels, either. Like most revolutions they'd started out with high hopes, but the civil war and economic collapse had eroded goodwill all around. "Re-education camps", secret police... it was probably hard for most civilians to see much difference. Literally millions of refugees were trying to flee the situation. In the end, the government had more money, though. So that's who we worked for.

I climbed into the chopper. Veronique's Leyden jar was secured in a plastic frame - she didn't have power lines to travel on out here.

Potiphar silently handed me a blanket, but the slight smile on his face said it all. Val made a little "Aw" sound as I wrapped it around myself and sat down. Well, not so little if I could hear it over the sound of the engine. I grabbed a pair of headphones and put them on so we could converse without shouting.

"You're clear, mate," Colin was saying from the ground; his helmet and facemask were patched into our channel. The chopper lifted up and rose swiftly. We vectored off to the north.

Val smirked, as usual. "

Again

you lose your clothes. Come, you do this to tease me, no?"

Under other circumstances, I might have blushed. Right now our banter was a tad forced. "Not

my

fault they can't make a uniform as tough as me."

Then Colin swooped into the still-open door. I was a little surprised. He could have flown all the way back to the capital, and he didn't usually ride with us. "

Love

the haircut," he quipped as he sat down.