Silver Shadow #4
"Bombardment"
by Aaron Baugh

Something was happening.  Something big enough to interrupt all of the network stations and all of the radio stations as well.  Jian flipped between stations, and each 'Breaking News' reporter seemed to finish one another's sentences.

"City experts from the observatory in..."

"...have reported seeing large shapes in the sky.  Too..."

"...they are believed to be alien in origin"

"...odd sightings in the park.  They...MY GOD!"

The newscaster's blasphemy came as the city shook. Dishes rattled out of Jian's cabinets and crashed on the cheap linoleum.  Another rumble and tremor shook the building, stronger than the first.  People outside screamed.  Car tires screeched and the sounds of crumpling steel and shattering glass momentarily overcame the hissing nearby.  The weak connection his stove had with the wall had broken.  The rotten-egg smell added to natural gas to make it 'safe' and detectable washed over him.  He darted to his bedroom to retrieve a backpack that contained his costume, and thought about a few other mementoes.  His first gi, the all black suit and mask he wore, oh so, long ago in Hong Kong, that picture of him and Stella Blackmun on the pier.  Another tremor, closer still, took the floor from beneath his feet.  He popped back up, just as a crash from the kitchen broke his chain of thought. Moments later a fireball fuelled by pressurized gas and created by a fallen and sparking television set blew him straight out of his third story bedroom window.

"What the - ?" said Chuck Starling as he stood up, his forkful of Caesar salad forgotten, even though he still held it.  He was staring at the beam of crimson light that blazed its way down West Avenue.  It was heading right towards the small outdoor cafe that he sat at for a quiet meal with his newest employee.

Emma Randolph frowned at Chuck's outburst, a frown born of confusion, not anger.  She turned and her eyes grew wide.  She stood as well, then hopped over the short rail fence and headed for her car.  Chuck hadn't moved much by the time she gunned it and tore off, leaving gravel bits in her wake as she weaved among the cars that had stopped in the middle of the road.

The red Jag was out of sight before Chuck Starling, Producer/Director had moved from his rooted spot and headed for the relative safety of the nearest basement he could find.

The woman had been heavy, even with the superhuman strength that Jian loved so much.  Her housedress was a little shabby, but a pleasant shade of peach, despite the bit of char around its hem.  Her husband lay beside her, and just as she rolled over and managed to sit up, her cat, a fat, pampered tom named Mister Woo-woo landed heavily beside her.  She looked up at the man-sized silver shape that scrambled up the side of her gutted building, and suddenly wondered why Mister Woo-woo, her husband Willie, and she were all in the center of the street, laying perfectly safe among the rapidly increasing network of cracks that spiderwebbed Beacon Hill Lane.  All of her tenants were there, it seemed.  Wheezy old Mister Parsons, and the lovely McMahon family that lived in 4B.  The man in silver was long gone by the time she looked back to her building in time to see it fall in on itself.

Jian leapt across the rooftops, not knowing where he was going, but sticking to the paths made by the energy beams that were tearing the city to pieces.  He was headed East, towards the heart of the city, and subconsciously, towards the park where the idiot newscasters had said something was happening.  That's when he saw her.  She made a leap that put her on a building close to his path.  In fact, he couldn't have planned it better.   The rumbling of the beam's impacts covered up any sound of his closing on her, and as she picked her way from stable rooftop to stable rooftop, Silver Shadow closed the distance.

The park was just in sight.  No detail, just a general vague impression of shapes at this distance.  But the craters were visible, as was some machine and several people-shapes.  Emma headed towards the park like a woman possessed, but Jian landed behind her just as she was headed towards the middle of the roof.  He grabbed the conical 'roof' that covered an exhaust
vent, and tore it off, the aluminium shearing easily in his grip.  He threw the disc at her back, and was surprised that it hit her squarely between the shoulder blades in mid-stride.  Her tumble forward that turned into a tuck and roll didn't surprise him,
though.  She turned, her green eyes burning like a twisted ember from Hell.

"Son of a bitch," she exhaled softly.  "No time for this," she said.  "Pressing business, you know the drill."

"What did you want in the Gallery?" he asked.  Those green eyes, that spiky black hair.  Now that he looked at her, he could see the slight epicanthic fold of her eyelids, a clue to her Asian heritage.  Not many Asian girls had green eyes, though, and the red hair she had as Emma was a truly fabulous wig.  Those spectacular eyes narrowed, though, and she took a step backwards,
towards the ledge that was thirty feet away.

Jian took two steps forward, his mouth set into a tight line.  Her fuller lips were crooked at the ends in a slight smile.  "Like I said, I've no time for this."  Still, she settled her weight differently, and her body relaxed as she clenched her fists.

Jian leaned forward, and the fight began.

Lancets of energy from space chewed up the city around them, but the two combatants were oblivious to the city around them, the death, the destruction, the noise.  All they knew was the sight of the other, the smell of sweat and bird droppings, the texture of the tarry gravel under their feet.  Their world contracted to a rooftop, and they sparred across its entire length.  Each one gave their all, and Emma connected with a solid kick to the abdomen that would have sent a lesser man retching.  Jian's left-handed backhand to the side of her head in return should have dropped her, but instead it only kept her away long enough for him to catch his breath.  She spun, bringing her leg up in a spin kick.  He blocked and held the leg, inadvertently giving her leverage to backflip and plant her other foot under his chin.  He tasted blood in his mouth and fell flat on his back.  She smiled as she closed in, but shrieked in pain and surprise, using her arms to cover her eyes from the sudden blinding flash that came from the direction of the park.  A half-second later, the energy barrage ceased, and Jian sprung to his feet, wasting no time and a golden opportunity.

His right leg shot out, catching her in her exposed stomach, then bending at the knee to kick her head as well.  She staggered slightly, still half-blind. Amazingly, she made a move to get past him, to disengage from the fight.  Jian wouldn't fall for it
again like he had at the gallery, though, and shifted his balance, spinning to take her legs out from under her.

She growled, a guttural, feline sound that scared and aroused Jian all at the same time.  Black gravel stuck to her hands as she attacked him again, while a slightly diminished glow came from the direction of the park, behind and to Jian's left.  Despite her
rage, she didn't make contact with him again, except for his blocks.  Her offensive was so venomous, so dangerous and quick, that he had no chance to counter.  This lasted a full minute, then two, and Jian felt even his vast limits of endurance begin to dwindle.

The light behind them faded, suddenly, like a candle being extinguished, and the sudden change gave Emma pause for a moment that she wouldn't get back.  Jian kicked out, hard, and Emma's breath left her lungs as she travelled a full yard in the air before skittering along the gravel on her back for another three.  Jian began to move towards her again, but she took advantage of the distance between them and flipped up and over, disappearing into the alley below.

In pain, and winded from his fight, Jian let her go. His gut hurt like hell, and there were people he had to help.  Still, he looked over his shoulder as he straightened, wondering what had happened at the park that day, and what had happened to the barrage that carved up the city.  He didn't know and some part of him didn't care.  He didn't know how long he stood
there, all pensive and sweaty and aching slightly from one too many kicks and punches.  But he did see a red swatch of cloth from a figure that flew away from the park.  Flew.  Under its own power.  Millennium Man must've been having a damn picnic while the city had its ass handed to it.  What a prick.

Parts of Pacific City still smoldered.  The city's offices had been spared, and two of the three water treatment plants were still going strong.  The third had only shut down after a loss of power.  Still, the rebuilding would be expensive and hellacious.  Several insurance companies went bankrupt that day, and many people wept over the loss of their homes, loved ones, or both.

One resident of Pacific City didn't give a damn about all that.  She picked her way among little bits of charred, blackened metal and massive craters.  The sickly sweet smell of burned grass and dirt permeated everything around her.  She was at ground zero, after all.

There were other things, too.  Bits of cloth, dark and light.  There was even a patch that was fairly large, about the size of her hand.  The blue and red of the Union Jack was still bright under the dirt smudges that covered it.  She wadded it up and let it fall from her hand.  Stepping over it, she walked to the center of the largest crater, where a glimmering shape attracted her eyes.

It was golden in color, smooth, and from the looks of things, all one piece.  She reached down to touch it. The blade was cool, hard, and smooth, like marble. She gripped harder, pulling the heavy handle and pommel free of the small hole it had made in the pulverized dirt at the base of the crater.  Once she saw the handle, she moved to grasp it with her right hand.  As she touched it, an electric sensation seized her, spreading from her hand, down her arm, to her spine, and from there to every corner of her body and back again, again, again, again until she thought she would burst.  It was power, raw, unbridled power that thrilled her like an orgasm, one that was a factor of a thousand more powerful than anything she could imagine.

She fell to her knees, panting.  Sleep threatened her, but she fought it off, though she kept her eyes closed for long minutes.  Between great, deep breaths, she opened her eyes and stared at the innocent looking metal of the sword she held.  Before her very eyes, a pale, fiery nimbus sprang from the handle and worked its way down the blade, towards the tip, the way that
fire crawls along a twisted bit of newspaper.  This flame didn't crackle, didn't pop, and didn't give off heat.  But all the same, Emma smiled as she beheld it.

In that moment, a great very many things changed.