01-04-2019, 11:45 AM
Watching, Helen unconsciously touched the tiny scar on her own throat.
Springheel became visible as the blade retracted into the suit, then jumped over the wall before more guards approached the scene. The camera followed it as it leapt up onto a second-story balcony and the wearer hit more buttons on the wrist, turning invisible again. The sliding glass door opened. There was screaming, a gunshot, and a hole appeared in the door. The screams were quieter after the door closed again, but continued.
The guards looked back to the house and began running toward it. When they were gone, a small cloud of dust was kicked up where Springheel landed in the dirt road outside the wall. It became visible, gave a thumbs-up to the cameraman, then leaped away from the compound before disappearing again.
The canned applause returned as the camera panned down to the speaker.
"Infiltration, espionage, assassination." The speaker resumed. "Springheel can do it all! Why send your soldiers out to die? Your problem isn't with the other side's soldiers, it's the leaders in charge of them! Springheel can get to them, wherever they might be, and, heh... cut to the heart of your problem." He continued through the recorded scattered chuckling. "No more leaders, no more war. And isn't that the best kind of war? The kind you win before you have to fight it? With Springheel on your side, you'll WIN The Best War!"
Artificial applause played. The video cut to black, and captions in a different font than earlier appeared on the screen.
"The day after this recording, the speaker was found dead of a drug overdose. A fire destroyed the facility with all notes and data on Springheel. The prototype was also presumed destroyed."
An image of the Springheel suit appeared in a spotlight, the camera slowly rotating around it.
"We have it now. One of a kind, and it can be yours. Lot 15: opening at $100,000,000. Details to follow."
The video ended and Troy turned the lights back on as Helena went back to the patio. Everyone followed.
* * *
"That's a Wile E. Coyote design, isn't it?" Julie asked her when they were all seated and Helena had her cigarette lit.
"A suit that makes you Invisible Spider-Man?" Susan asked. "I could see that being worth a hundred million."
"That's just the opening bid." Helena responded. "And there are plenty of governments and criminal organizations who'd be happy to pay it."
She took a deep drag before continuing.
"I've been to that compound. Mander has, too. For different reasons, and we have an understanding about that." Mander stood behind her and nodded.
"You're 'er mates, so I'll be up front wit'cha: Before meetin' 'Er Countessness, doin' rotten things because some 'orrible tosser says to were my entire CV."
"We guessed." Everyone else but Helena said simultaneously.
"That was the former home of Esteban Lopez. Yes, the one from the news about four months ago. The coke lord brutally murdered in his bedroom, in front of his five mistresses, 'by a ghost.' A hit so surgical, yet brutal, that even his former allies are claiming credit."
Troy took a seat next to Helen, took in what she said, and faced her before speaking.
"Ok, it said Lot 15. Is that a location?"
"No." Helena replied. "All right, you know how in movies, someone steals the plans for the missile, or the formula for the new rocket fuel, or the list of all our undercover agents; and they say they're going to 'sell it to the highest bidder?'"
"Yeah." Troy said suspiciously.
"Ok, those auctions really happen. They've been going on for a long time, and the people who put them on are called The Auctioneers. Lot 15 is an item number. And I'm on the invite list. Unfortunately, I have no way to get a copy of the list and see who else is on it. The Auctioneers like to stay anonymous and on the move. When they get enough items together to hold an auction, they tell us where about a month in advance."
"Been to one." Mander said. "Bodyguardin' one of the attendees. The Auctioneers don't tolerate funny business at the auction itself. Or after. They've a sorta 'lack of reputation' to uphold. But before that, anythin' goes. They figure 'ow we do each other over before ain't their problem; they can just pull the plug til next time if they 'ave to. During an' after, they're at risk; so there's consequences. Not bein' invited anymore might not sound like much of a punishment, but if you're no longer welcome an' the other guy is; an' somethin' like this comes on the block..."
Troy nodded his understanding before talking next.
"I'm guessing, then, the next one's sometime this week in Seattle? The same time as STRANGERS? Aren't you needed there?"
"STRANGERS is bullshit, Troilus." Helena answered. "Granted, those are all important topics, worthy of serious discussion. And San Finzione would be happy to host a real conference on any one of them. But no. When they call an auction, we get the notice so we can cook up something like STRANGERS; to give us all an excuse to be in the same city. They give it a name that's sure to draw crowds of protesters; someone went overboard this time. Some of the delegates DO think it's a real conference, so maybe a dialogue or two might happen, hopefully. Then, when they tell the rest of us the exact time and location, everyone can slip out a back way, put on a disguise and grab a protest sign; find a way to sneak out and go to the auction. Rita's mine. I'm not even going to the summit."
Springheel became visible as the blade retracted into the suit, then jumped over the wall before more guards approached the scene. The camera followed it as it leapt up onto a second-story balcony and the wearer hit more buttons on the wrist, turning invisible again. The sliding glass door opened. There was screaming, a gunshot, and a hole appeared in the door. The screams were quieter after the door closed again, but continued.
The guards looked back to the house and began running toward it. When they were gone, a small cloud of dust was kicked up where Springheel landed in the dirt road outside the wall. It became visible, gave a thumbs-up to the cameraman, then leaped away from the compound before disappearing again.
The canned applause returned as the camera panned down to the speaker.
"Infiltration, espionage, assassination." The speaker resumed. "Springheel can do it all! Why send your soldiers out to die? Your problem isn't with the other side's soldiers, it's the leaders in charge of them! Springheel can get to them, wherever they might be, and, heh... cut to the heart of your problem." He continued through the recorded scattered chuckling. "No more leaders, no more war. And isn't that the best kind of war? The kind you win before you have to fight it? With Springheel on your side, you'll WIN The Best War!"
Artificial applause played. The video cut to black, and captions in a different font than earlier appeared on the screen.
"The day after this recording, the speaker was found dead of a drug overdose. A fire destroyed the facility with all notes and data on Springheel. The prototype was also presumed destroyed."
An image of the Springheel suit appeared in a spotlight, the camera slowly rotating around it.
"We have it now. One of a kind, and it can be yours. Lot 15: opening at $100,000,000. Details to follow."
The video ended and Troy turned the lights back on as Helena went back to the patio. Everyone followed.
* * *
"That's a Wile E. Coyote design, isn't it?" Julie asked her when they were all seated and Helena had her cigarette lit.
"A suit that makes you Invisible Spider-Man?" Susan asked. "I could see that being worth a hundred million."
"That's just the opening bid." Helena responded. "And there are plenty of governments and criminal organizations who'd be happy to pay it."
She took a deep drag before continuing.
"I've been to that compound. Mander has, too. For different reasons, and we have an understanding about that." Mander stood behind her and nodded.
"You're 'er mates, so I'll be up front wit'cha: Before meetin' 'Er Countessness, doin' rotten things because some 'orrible tosser says to were my entire CV."
"We guessed." Everyone else but Helena said simultaneously.
"That was the former home of Esteban Lopez. Yes, the one from the news about four months ago. The coke lord brutally murdered in his bedroom, in front of his five mistresses, 'by a ghost.' A hit so surgical, yet brutal, that even his former allies are claiming credit."
Troy took a seat next to Helen, took in what she said, and faced her before speaking.
"Ok, it said Lot 15. Is that a location?"
"No." Helena replied. "All right, you know how in movies, someone steals the plans for the missile, or the formula for the new rocket fuel, or the list of all our undercover agents; and they say they're going to 'sell it to the highest bidder?'"
"Yeah." Troy said suspiciously.
"Ok, those auctions really happen. They've been going on for a long time, and the people who put them on are called The Auctioneers. Lot 15 is an item number. And I'm on the invite list. Unfortunately, I have no way to get a copy of the list and see who else is on it. The Auctioneers like to stay anonymous and on the move. When they get enough items together to hold an auction, they tell us where about a month in advance."
"Been to one." Mander said. "Bodyguardin' one of the attendees. The Auctioneers don't tolerate funny business at the auction itself. Or after. They've a sorta 'lack of reputation' to uphold. But before that, anythin' goes. They figure 'ow we do each other over before ain't their problem; they can just pull the plug til next time if they 'ave to. During an' after, they're at risk; so there's consequences. Not bein' invited anymore might not sound like much of a punishment, but if you're no longer welcome an' the other guy is; an' somethin' like this comes on the block..."
Troy nodded his understanding before talking next.
"I'm guessing, then, the next one's sometime this week in Seattle? The same time as STRANGERS? Aren't you needed there?"
"STRANGERS is bullshit, Troilus." Helena answered. "Granted, those are all important topics, worthy of serious discussion. And San Finzione would be happy to host a real conference on any one of them. But no. When they call an auction, we get the notice so we can cook up something like STRANGERS; to give us all an excuse to be in the same city. They give it a name that's sure to draw crowds of protesters; someone went overboard this time. Some of the delegates DO think it's a real conference, so maybe a dialogue or two might happen, hopefully. Then, when they tell the rest of us the exact time and location, everyone can slip out a back way, put on a disguise and grab a protest sign; find a way to sneak out and go to the auction. Rita's mine. I'm not even going to the summit."
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