by DarkMark

NOTE:  Roger Black and all characters in this story are original and property of DarkMark.  The setting is a future Marvel Universe, property of Marvel Comics.  No money is being made, no infringement is intended.

*******

The damnedest thing about hunting a mutant is that you never know what it’s going to throw at you.

Look at it:  they’re all fingerprints.  No two alike.  Some can shift their body mass into liquids or gas, even.  Or they can hit you with some sort of bioenergy.   Or they can just hit you.  If they’ve got ultranormal strength or speed, that’s all they need to do.

The quarry this time made a spike on my indicator somewhere around 60 percent.  That was when I did the scan when he walked out of the Traveltube.   Sometimes I think they can feel it when you do that.  Other times, I think they know what kind of bloke to look for.

A bloke like me, I guess.

Quarry was between 30 and 40 years of age, male, black-haired, padded skinsuit, average in most aspects.  I could take him if he didn’t have too many surprises lined up for me.  Or if he wasn’t too experienced in using his power.  Whatever it was.

I’d cut him out of the crowd on 15th Street and was trailing him.  There’d be a confrontation as soon as I could find a place suitable for it.  His response would determine whether or not I killed him or nulled him.

He’d seen me.  I was pretty sure of that.

You don’t always have the option of doing it without a crowd.  Cops never do.  All I could manage in this case was to try and do it where the crowd was thinnest.  We were down a side street this time, in front of a recharge station and an eatery.  What the hell.  It was time.  I think we both knew it.

The Neutralizer was under my coat in a holster stuck to my shirt.  It’s a giveaway, I know.  Unless you have a smaller model, which doesn’t have as much power as the standard issue, you have to wear a coat or something to cover it up.  That’s what they look for.  There were other standers watching and a lot of them wearing coats, but he’d picked me.  Guess it must be something in my eyes.

Whatever.  This had gone on long enough.  I hauled the thing out and said, "Freeze.  Hunter."

That’s all you’re supposed to say.  When you give the phrase, the rest—comply or face Neutralization—is understood.  All the civilians know well enough to stop what they’re doing.  Some of ‘em go for cover, and I don’t blame them.

The quarry played dumb and froze with the rest of them.  He was looking at me, though.

I approached, Neut in front of me, and tried to give the shpiel.   "You have been scanned and tested positive for probable mutancy.   By the authority of the state, you will accompany this officer to—"

That was as far as I got.  Suddenly, the guy seemed to have no arms.

Then one of the arms was grabbing my gun hand and the other was going for my eyes.

The rest of him was several feet away, and there was a blur at his shoulders where his arms had detached themselves.  I was trying to keep from firing my piece and trying to keep his other hand from gouging me.  Meanwhile, the greater percentage of the mutant rushed in and kicked me in the gut.

The hell with it.  I butted him in the head and figured that the ringing inside his skull was greater than mine.  I bit one of his hands a second later, and heard him yell.  So he could still feel what his disconnected arms felt.  Good.

The gouging arm flew away like a missile.  I figured he had some sort of telekinetic control over the thing.  I hauled down the other limb, the one that had my gun, and tried to bang it against the sidewalk.  Quarry was at me again, scissoring my legs with his.  I couldn’t keep my footing and banged the back of my head when I went down.  Bright lights and blackness, but I wasn’t out.

I wasn’t getting paid damn near enough for this job.

My eyes were still closed as his foot came down, but I rolled my head out of the way and put my boot where it would do the most good.  He howled.  The arms were flying at me.  I figured they’d go for my throat next.

I still had the Neut.  I got it into position with both hands.  He saw it and started running, the arms trying to block me.

No chance.

I let a triple-thread charge into his body, damned glad there wasn’t a civilian in the way.  If he’d been smart enough, he would have had one of his arms grab someone and haul them in front of my line of fire, a human shield.  But he didn’t think of that, any more than he thought of wasting less time on fighting and more time on running.  He was probably too scared.  I didn’t blame him.

The bioelectric charge hit him square in the back and made the blue sparks fly for several inches in all directions.  I didn’t know what his capacity was.  The best I could do was estimate.  Being attacked, I would have been within my rights to use the full setting.

Hell.  He was just another scared guy.  Another scared mutant.  He hadn’t hit anyone but me.  I figured that was enough reason to slack him a bit.

I heard three thumps.  Both arms, and the rest of him.  I picked one of his limbs out of the street, the other off of somebody’s shoulder (the bystander looked as scared as if a cobra had landed there), and piled them both on the guy’s back.  I kicked him, lightly, in the ribs.  No response.  He was out.

I had a comm chip stuck to my thumbnail and I spoke to it.  "Pickup for one," I said.  Then, to everyone else, I said, "Event’s over."

They started on their various paths again but they gave us a wide berth.  That was fine by me.  I sat down on the sidewalk next to my tripartite quarry and rubbed my head.  The pickup boys had damned well better have a Painease packed.

*******

"Black , you are a damn sentimentalist," said Inspector Casey.

"You keep letting me use your CoffeePlus, you can call me what you want,"  I said, over a cup.  I liked the stuff.  I liked even better that it was on his rental.

"Did I imply it was an insult, Black?"  Casey stared at me.  I didn’t know if he was being a Dutch uncle or a bastard.  At this point I shouldn’t have cared but I had few enough people at the cop shop that I could trust as much as him, which was about 45 per cent.  "Did I imply being reluctant to kill was a flaw?  We try to drill that into our men before they pick up a damn piece.  No, that wasn’t it at all."

I sat the cup back on Casey’s beaten up plasteel desk.  "Okay, Rael.  Tell me what was it."

He leaned over towards me, looking like a uniformed slab the color of a hotcake.  "You’re too reluctant to kill mutants."

I think I sighed.  "Look. The job description says, ‘Hunt mutants.’  It doesn’t mandate, ‘Kill mutants.’  Think that’s pretty well specified. Ain’t it?"

"This guy you brought in wasn’t as dangerous as a Class A.  That I’ll give you."  He paused.  "What I won’t is that you haven’t brought any deads in within the last seven weeks."

I wasn’t really  up to this.  I wanted to go the hell home and hit a sleeppatch and trog out for a good 10 hours.  "Right.  I brought in mutants that could tell you something about their underground railroad.  I brought in guys that were still capable of speech.  That makes you feel bad, Inspector?  If so, why?"

"Because," said Casey.  "The ratio isn’t good enough.  I hate to say it, Black, but your readings…"

I banged the desk with my hand.  "My readings are still valid."

"So far," Casey said.  "I’m not saying this as an enemy, Black."

"Yeah," I said.  "I’ll be sure and invite you to my birthday bash, Rael."

"Get serious."  He looked at me with the authority of about 20 generations of Irish Cop.  "Your readings have been too ambiguous these days.  Not for me, but for others."

"Like who?"

"The ones who keep track of this sort of thing.  There’s Human readings, there’s Mutant readings, and there’s a gray area in between, not too large.  Problem is, it’s too damned large for a Hunter."

"Well, I’m still out of it, aren’t I?"

"By about 20 percent, you are.  But that’s enough to make them nervous."

"So they don’t know whether or not I’m a mutant?  That’s gratifying."

"Not if your readings get worse, Black.  If they get much worse…I won’t be allowed to warn you."

I looked at him.  "So what do you want me to do, Rael?  I mean, putting yourself in the place of an advice prophet.  Figuratively."

"Figuratively, I could see about getting you on the force.  If your readings did go all the way, you could be a Voluntary and commit yourself.  It makes a difference, believe me."

"Or I could get Hunted."

"Or that," he said.

I rubbed the back of my neck with one hand and held out the cup with the other.   "Can I have some more?"

He took it and filled it up, then handed it back.  "The readings coupled with the lag time on termination, Black, is making a few of them nervous."

"So I gather," I said.  I liked holding the cup in my hands, even if I didn’t drink from it immediately.  The warmth in it seemed to counter all the rest of the tripe I had to deal with in this place.  "So I gather."

"You know the history, Black," said Casey.  "You’d have to."

"Would they be satisfied if I brought in a stiff next time?"

"I can’t speak for them.  For me, I wouldn’t be overjoyed.  For your chances…well, that’s a decision you’ll have to make."

I sipped at the cup, then said, "I won’t bring you in a string of bodies just to make you look good, Rael.  Or to make me look good."

"How’s about to make sure they don’t pull another offensive on us?  People died in that war, Black."

"I know.  One of my ancestors did."

"So how can you sympathize with them?"

"I don’t," I said, standing up.  "But there’s Xavierites as well as Magnusites.  And even the Magnusites have their reasons for what they do.  Y’can’t exactly say we didn’t give ‘em a reason."

"They gave us enough reason, too."

"They did.  But what about the Xavierites?  They want coexistence."

"That’s what they say," said Rael.  "But a mutant’s a mutant."

"I suppose they are," I said.  "Any complaints with how many I bag in a quarter?  Any complaints with my efficiency?"

"You know there aren’t," he said.

"Then I hope they’ll keep my license in effect," I answered.  "The hit’s already been recorded, I take it."

"Secretary’s already done that."

"And I’ve already got the credits in my account?"

"Wouldn’t know about that.  You can check it yourself."

"I will.  Later."

I went to the door.  He said, "Roger."

I turned to look at him.

"If your readings do go north…I hope you know the best place to run."

I left.

*******

The history is this:  Everybody knows that, in the years after the bloody Bomb got dropped, there were mutants.  By the time people figured out what they could do, they got scared.

There were two camps of mutants who reacted to the idea of human scaredness.  One was led by a bloke named Xavier.  He thought that muties should be buddy-buddy with humans.  The opposition was chaired by Magnus, a fellow who had been through some deathcamps and wouldn’t have minded returning the favors.

The muties of both camps fought each other, but us humans weren’t too enamored with either side.  There was a cute little thing called the Friends of Humanity that was supposed to represent our interests—to death.  The legal system wasn’t too hot on mutants, either.  As it was, this feeling pushed more mutants to the Magnusite side than the Xavierite.  Two generations more, and it came to a boil.

The Mutant War.

We only pulled through that one by force of numbers and with some reluctant help from the Xavierites.  We repaid them by outlawing all mutants.  You could turn yourself in as a Voluntary and be brainsurgeried  and possibly physically altered elsewise so that you couldn’t use your power.  Sometimes, you were lucky if you could use a fork afterward, too.  Or if they’d let you.

Or you could run, and be Hunted.  That was why there were men like me.

That is, as much of a reason as there can be for men like me.

If you were Hunted, you were legally dead meat.  The Hunters could kill any mutant they wanted to, if they said he was fleeing, resisting arrest, or threatening other humans.  Or if they just thought there was a chance of him doing same, or just said so.  It’s not like there weren’t casualties on the other side—a lot of Hunters got spiked, to be sure—but a lot of us didn’t seem to much use the Neutralizers on a level below lethal.

So that was where I stood, because I’d tested high enough in the aptitude level for such a job, and because I thought I might do some good with it.  That was when I started.

I don’t know that I was ever really that naïve.  But I needed a job, and I was good at it.

I got good at drinking, and vaporing, too, and at trying to keep the black things out of my mind when I slept.  Or maybe at dancing with them when they came up out of the old Id.

It was what I did, and I tried not to kill any more than I had to.

But how much killing was that?

It was always too much.  Everybody that did it knew that.

Everybody.

******

When I could get up I checked my cache for messages.  Got the bills, got the ads, got a note from Mom asking why the hell didn’t I see her once a year.  Got an offer for a job up in New Toledo at a security firm.  Probably paid better.  Didn’t specify whether mutants were part of the job or not.

I also got a holograph from Karen, which came into being when I opened the letter and flattened it on my desktop.  She was visible from the shoulders up and was wearing a black dress, a short ‘do, and the sort of makeup that made her look glam.  Do not mistake me:  Karen King is pretty, brunette, and the kind of woman I interface with regularly, but she is not a holovid model.  Pretty, not beautiful, and that suits me fine.

"Hello, Rog," she said through the voicesynth.  "If you’re getting this message before you’ve called me up, you’re in trouble.  Trouble for you means it’s your dime tonight.  It also means I pick the eat spot.  Don’t know where, but it will be expensive.  Revenge.  A woman’s option.  Call me NOW."  She smiled, folded her hands under her chin, and faded.

"Oh, yez," I muttered, or I think I did.  And to show her what kind of a man I was, I waited five minutes before I punched through a link to her.

She showed up on the holograph in representative form, which meant that she probably didn’t want me to see what she looked like just then.  "Oh, it’s you," she said with a trough of sarcasm.

"Right.  Me," I said.  "You picked the spot already?"

"I have.  Irish / Italian / Vietnamese.  Caloric Conjunction III, on Mayhew Way.  What happened to you, Rog?  Looks like somebody meatcracked your skull."

Did I mention how tactful and oblique Karen was?  "Just about," I said.  "Don’t make me talk about work, okay?"

"Well, it’s bound to be more interesting than my job."

"Wanna trade?"

"Not right yet.  Hit me at seven sharp, and I mean sharp."

"Will try."

"You mean, will do."

I shrugged.  With Karen, it is best not to give in completely in words.  She already knows you have, without saying.  "How’s the kid?"

"Still Retro-free," she said.  Retro was a drug which was said to be able to sling you back mentally to your fetal state.  It was popular among kids, and those who wanted to be.  "She’s taking a course in Elementary Yiddish.  Called me a yenta the other day.   I grounded her just on principle."

"Yenta isn’t a bad word."

"No, but she’ll know next time not to flonk new words around without defining them.  If she wants to go to any more shows on the midweek, that is."

"Tscha," I said.  "Sevenish."

"Seven sharp."

"Bye now."

I dialed her out and a band of information ran across the bottom of my holoscreen.

MASKED TRANSMISSION.  RECIPIENT IS NOT BOUND TO ACCEPT.  ADVISE CAUTION BEFORE ACTIVATION.  TRANSCOMM IS NOT RESPONSIBLE FOR CONTENT OR EVENTS IN CONJUNCTION WITH THIS TRANSMISSION.

By the time it started running that over again, I’d hit Receive.  The face in the holoscreen was blank.  A mannequin.  That’s what you use when you don’t want to reveal your face.

"Black," said a male voice.  "You know me."

Bloody double damn.  I certainly did.

"Don’t bother responding.  We need to talk, soon.  A54.  Prioritize this.  That’s all."

The blank head snapped out and I had the DepthSaver screen in its place.  Hell and double hell.  This was the final ingredient in the day.

Noel, the Xavierite, wanted to interface.

I checked my Neut again and got my coat.  I’m sure I could’ve smelled better under the Cleanspray I used, but I didn’t have time to bathe.   If I worked it right, I might be able to keep the date.  I hit a SendMessage and told Karen I’d possibly be late, but I would by damn be there.

Then I got in my RLT and went where Noel had told me to go.

******

It wasn’t often that Xavierites let you see more than one of them, even if they trusted you.  Hunters used mutant squealers the way regular cops used informers.  The squealer always took a chance.  He had to trust you enough to make sure you wouldn’t full-charge him when your quota ran low.

Noel Henshaw had been a lawyer before his readings went north.  Now he could mind-push a bit…insinuate himself into someone else’s consciousness, to a degree, and pick up what was there, if it was unshielded…and he became the leader of a cell of Xavierites.  He tried to use it to keep himself and his people one step away from the Magnusites and two steps away from us.  But one time, when it was a choice between him and a Magnusite, I chose the latter.  He was grateful.

I think he mindpushed into me.  If so, he may have seen enough to trust.  I don’t know whether I should be flattered or indignant about that.  It doesn’t really matter, so I disregard it.

A54, by a code we’d arranged, was a block of real estate presently occupied by a groundlevel Blood House.  Lots of people went there to donate, or just to sleep if they’d given enough red to net them a bed for the night.  I really don’t like those places.  Don’t ask me why, I’ve seen enough red in my time, but I really just don’t.

I didn’t want to go through the scan between the outer office and the inner part with my Neutralizer on me.  I just said to the girl at the desk, "My name’s Roger Black.  Somebody inside wants me."

She looked up.  "I’ll page."  She did.

A number of seconds later, Noel pushed through a membranous doorway.  The things were supposed to keep surface-carried disease out of the interior of the building.  "Roger.  Hi," he said.  He was blonde, curly-haired, wore antique collared sweaters and loose-fitting pants, plus shoes that could be run in.

"Greetings," I said.  "Where to talk?"

"We’ll walk for awhile," he said.  So we went outside and did.  Under the stars, under the LiftCars, with only the few bums about who were going to sell blood or who were going to rough it on the street that night.

Noel looked about us, as if expecting to see four guys with bulges under their coats converging.  "Roger, are we still quent?"

"As quent as we can be, provided I get out of here to make a date at seven.  What’s happening?"

He dragged in a long breath.  "Picked up something in a push the other night.  You need to know about it.  It’s Magnusite."

"Oh?  What is it?"

"Apparently it’s called Breakdown," he said.  "Not really sure what it is, but got some images from a forebrain.  A human figure, breaking down in shards like busted crystal."

"What makes you think this isn’t just a fantasy, Noel?"

Noel looked sick.  "Why the hell did you think I wanted you to be here?  Come over this way."

We were on the outskirts of a FreePark, the kind that doesn’t get patrolled more than twice a day.  He took me in, and I made sure I could reach for my Neut.  In those places, Magnusites watch their back at night.  But we weren’t in there for long before he took me to a restroom that had a guy outside pretending to be on vapors.  He saw Noel and nodded us both in.

"Nobody’s using stall seven," he said.  "Go take a look."

I opened the door.

The floor was very wet inside, but not with what usually wets a toilet floor.  A light brown paste was all over the steelcrete floor, and it didn’t smell very good.  I got some on my shoe and didn’t want to get any on my hand.

I looked at what was lying beside the toilet.

It was what was recognizably a human head, with a horrific expression on it.  The neck was partially dissolved into the pasty substance with which the floor was covered.

Noel was beside me.

"If you have to go, use another stall," he said.

It took me ten seconds before I could bring myself to say, "Tell me everything."

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