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ffuturesContinuing my Worm / War of the Worlds crossover story.
The previous chapters are archived on these sites:
On Twisting the Hellmouth - https://www.tthfanfic.org/story.php?no=33872
On AO3 - https://archiveofourown.org/works/39112812
On Fanfiction.net - https://www.fanfiction.net/s/14083560/1/The-Martian
See chapter I for disclaimers.
Apologies for another long delay - this time blame two conventions, a mild case of covid, and a bad case of writer's block.
The Martian
By Marcus L. Rowland
IV - Men, Martians and Machines
The steel of the transport twisted and reformed around me, and reached out a metal tentacle to shield Miss Militia and Dad. It was broad, about four feet wide and twenty long, a couple of inches thick, with a lot of articulated joints. Instead of the open door, I was looking out through tiny thick windows that looked like they could take a lot of damage. More tentacles emerged under the transport, lifting it from the ground, as another bullet ricocheted off the metal in front of Dad. The body of the transport was getting smaller, I guess the metal had to come from somewhere, and behind me I could somehow feel the driver's compartment merge with the rest of the interior, as seats and controls formed where the rear doors had been. The controls looked dated, with dials and levers, and a couple of TV screens that looked like old-style glass picture tubes, but turned out to be LCD monitors with period-looking surrounds. One of them came on, showing the view in dull green tones. I knew that it was a thermal camera, without wondering how I knew.
"What the hell is this!" shouted the PRT trooper who had initially been inside with me. His name-badge said MAXWELL, I somehow remembered that the two outside were BATES and COLVIN, although I'd barely seen their badges as I boarded the transport. They were sheltered by the side of the transport, but I moved another tentacle to give them more cover.
"Sit down and strap in, it's going to be a bumpy ride."
Maxwell grabbed the seat next to me, and the screen in front of it came to life, showing a narrower camera view with cross hairs. "The joystick controls the camera direction, the Gatling pod is slaved to it."
"Are you fucking kidding us?" asked the driver, coming forward to peer over Maxwell's shoulder. I somehow knew that his name was O'Brien before I saw his badge, and remembered that I'd met him a couple of years earlier at one of the Dockworker's Union social events.
Another bullet spanged off the metal below the windows, and the green screen flared brighter for a second, highlighting a window of one of the abandoned warehouses a couple of hundred yards away. I zoomed in on it. "Sniper, off to the left, third floor of the old Brockton Fisheries warehouse, second window from the left." There was another impact, this time on the thick glass.
"Piggott will have my ass for this," said Maxwell, aiming and pulling the trigger impressively quickly. The gun was quieter than I expected, sounding more like an electric hammer drill than a serious weapon. The screen showed bright flashes converging on and around the window I'd spotted. After a couple of seconds it stopped. "Ammo's out. Don't think it was very accurate, but maybe we got lucky, or at least gave them a nasty surprise."
"Hope so." A hatch that hadn't been there moments ago opened on the side of the transport away from the warehouse, and I lowered the body to make it easier for Aunt Hannah and Dad to get in. O'Brien gave them a hand, and shouted a few words to Armsmaster, who took off on his bike in the direction of the warehouse, trailed by Bates and Colvin on foot. They'd probably be all right, they were wearing body armour and helmets.
"Did you make this?" asked Hannah.
"I think so. Dad, are you okay?"
"I've been better. Don't think they hit anything too vital." Hannah was squirting fast-setting flexible foam into his wound, the stuff most Martians have in their first-aid kits. Bandages don't work too well on us, but that stuff can usually hold a wound long enough to get medical help.
"Can you drive this thing?" asked O'Brien. "I'd need about ten hands. Better yet, turn it back the way it was."
"I can drive it, but I don't think I can change it back," I said. "I know how it works, it's bits of AFV prototypes based on Martian technology that the Marines tried during the Vietnam war, I've seen plans. But I don't know how I made it, and I sure as heck can't turn it back."
"Okay. You drive, I'll get on the radio. Head for the hospital."
"Which one?"
"Brockton General," said Hannah, "Panacea should still be there. Head inland a couple of blocks first, that way we can avoid Merchant territory."
I'd never driven anything bigger than a skateboard before, but somehow I knew exactly what to do. It rose up on the under-tentacles, and I started it moving along the road at about thirty miles an hour. It helped a lot that the road wasn't busy. Once we were moving I said "I think whatever I do works a little like your power. If I know how something is made I think I can duplicate it, the difference is that I have to start off with raw materials, metal and stuff. I can't just make it out of energy."
"I felt you trigger," said Hannah. "That probably does mean you got elements of my power. And the gun design probably came from me, the transports only mount confoam launchers. You said this thing is a hybrid design, not just a duplicate, so maybe there's some innovation from Armsmaster too, I didn't notice if he reacted when you triggered."
"I don't quite remember every detail, but I think the bullets came from clips that were in a locker."
"The gun locker in these carriers holds twenty magazines of nine mil pistol ammo routinely, fifteen shots per magazine. Underpowered for a Gatling gun, and at the speed it was firing we would have burned through the lot in about two seconds."
"Okay," said O'Brien, "The hospital's ready for us, and Panacea will wait for our arrival."
"How are you holding out, dad?"
"I've been better," said Danny.
"You'll be okay," said Hannah, "Looks like it's a through and through puncture, missed all of your hearts and I think all but one of your lungs. Feels bad, but if you stay quiet and keep still Panacea should be able to fix it easily." She dipped into one of her belt pouches and pulled out a lightweight grey cloth mask designed for a Martian head. "Taylor, you'll need to wear this in the hospital."
"Isn't it going to be obvious who I am when they get Danny's details?"
"Good point." She got out another mask for him. "We'll say he's in witness protection and withhold his name. If all goes well you shouldn't need to be admitted anyway, that makes things a lot simpler."
I took a right onto the avenue headed towards the hospital, sticking out one of the handling tentacles to indicate the turn, and hoped that I wouldn't freak out any other drivers. The noise the thing made would probably help to clear our path, the lower tentacles had rubber pads but there was still a lot of clattering. With luck there wouldn't be trouble. If the police got involved my lack of a driving license might be a problem...
"I'll say one thing for it," said O'Brien, "I think it handles better than the transport, especially on the roads near the docks."
"I'm not sure how well it would work for a human driver," I said, "I need most of my tentacles to control it."
"Maybe you can modify the controls a little - not while we're moving, though!"
"If you can make it more user-friendly Squealer will be green with envy," said Hannah. "I don't think she's ever built a tentaclemobile, and the one time she tried a tripod she tripped over a Volkswagen and the legs collapsed."
"Uber and Leet had a tripod that worked," said Maxwell, "but the engine blew up while they were taking the roof off the Third National Bank. Turned out to be a scale model they'd somehow enlarged to full size."
"Those assholes never built anything that worked for long," Dad said weakly.
"What part of staying quiet and keeping still are you having trouble with?" asked Hannah.
The hospital was ahead on the right, and I took a turn into the car park and across to the casualty department entrance, rattling to a stop at a loading bay where a couple of paramedics were waiting with a stretcher. They looked surprised, and I had a feeling nobody had told them what was headed their way. I lowered the passenger compartment until it was level with the bay, locked the tentacles and opened the hatch, and the PRT guys helped load Dad onto the stretcher and get it out of the carrier, which wasn't easy considering how cramped it was, with Miss Militia standing guard, presumably for further signs of trouble.
I didn't seem to have included an ignition lock but I had a feeling nobody else would figure it out in a hurry, so I cut the power and followed them out. The paramedics started to take him into the hospital, trailed by Miss Militia and the PRT guys. I was going to follow, but an officious looking guy with a security guard's uniform stopped me and said "You can't leave that thing there, it's blocking the ambulance bay."
"Okay - where should I park it?"
"It's a PRT vehicle," said O'Brien, who'd turned back when he saw I wasn't following. "A little modified, but it's still on official business."
"I'd hate to see your definition of a lot modified," said the guard. "Okay, over there, there's a couple of parking spaces for PRT use."
"Good thing I'm her driving instructor," said O'Brien. "Okay, let's see you get this thing over there and parked, with all appropriate signals and care for other drivers and vehicles."
Once we were moving, a lot slower this time, I asked "Exactly how are you my instructor?"
"I'm instructing you to be careful... apart from that it's only legal for someone without a license to drive if there's a qualified instructor aboard. Without that we'd have to arrest you."
"Good point."
We made it the whole fifty yards or so without incident, and I parked it and powered down again. I tried to change things to add an ignition lock and some sort of security system, but it felt like it didn't want to cooperate any more. I had a feeling that my power made things but didn't want to change them once they were made. We headed inside, with me hoping that nobody tried to drive it away. That might be a little difficult to explain.
Eventually we caught up with Dad and Aunt Hannah in one of the small emergency wards. O'Brien and Maxwell waited outside. Panacea had her hand on one of Dad's tentacles, and he was looking a lot better already. Sophia didn't seem to be around, I guessed she was in another ward somewhere nearby.
"Okay, I think that's got it," Panacea said a couple of minutes later. "Have a good meal as soon as you can, I've had to use some of your reserves to heal you."
"I will," said Dad.
"Can you look at this young lady before you go?" asked Hannah. "She gave first aid to him and your previous patient, we want to be sure that she didn't accidentally get exposed to human infections."
"Okay." She looked at me incuriously. "By the way, you did a good job on our earlier patient, probably stopped her from bleeding out."
I said "Good to know," without much enthusiasm.
"Okay, let's see..." She put her hand on one of my forward tentacles, and I felt a strange tingling. "Okay, that doesn't feel too bad, it doesn't look like you've picked anything up. You've been under some stress, I think, let's see if I can do anything about that." The feeling intensified a little, and she looked at me appraisingly. "Recent trigger?"
"It's okay to talk," said Hannah, "these rooms have tinkertech sound screening, and you can trust Panacea."
"Okay. What do you know already?"
"I can tell you've triggered within the last day or so, most likely within the last couple of hours. I have no idea what your powers might be. Do you want me to mention your genetics?"
"You might as well, everyone knows."
"Let's hope you're right about that. Okay, you aren't closely related to him, which is a little odd because I was getting a father-daughter vibe, but you are closely related to the other Martian in the room. Mother... no, sorry, father and daughter?"
"They finally told me today, she's already done the Darth Vader joke. Anything else?"
Panacea grinned slightly. "All right... you know Miss Militia's your dad, and if you don't already know who your mom is she can probably tell you. Miss Militia is pretty healthy but she does carry the recessive gene for Kav'roz Syndrome, and you've inherited it."
"I don't even know what that is."
"A fairly rare genetic abnormality. It doesn't make the news much because it isn't life-threatening. Basically, it inhibits the chromatophores in Martian skin and the sensory cells that make it easy for Martians to change their skin colour to match their background and show emotion. If you have a child that inherits it from both parents you'll notice that their skin doesn't change colour much - they might come across as cold and unfeeling, and if other Martians react to that there's a risk of long-term alienation and even paranoia in extreme cases. But mostly it isn't a big deal, there are exercises a kid can do to minimize the effects, and you can avoid it completely with genetic screening. Before you ask, it isn't something I can fix, it's down there at the genetic level and things could go horribly wrong."
"Okay. Can you tell anything about my power?"
"Not much. You aren't a Brute beyond the norms for Martians, and I'm not sensing anything that implies any sort of unusual physical power. You aren't especially fast, stamina and your reactions are in the normal range, I'm pretty sure you don't heal especially fast, and your nervous system isn't doing anything unusual. I get a similar feeling from your mo... sorry, your dad... so my guess is something similar to her."
"Sounds about right, except I make things out of other things, not energy. I accidentally turned a PRT personnel carrier into an all-terrain machine that walks on tentacles. I don't know enough about powers to say exactly what that power that is."
"No idea. Any transmutation involved?"
"No, I'm pretty sure I ended up with exactly the materials I started with, but in a different shape. A lot of it was just the components moving around, I think the engine and fuel weren't modified at all. Same for the electronics."
"Probably a good thing, I'd hate to see what would happen if you could turn a few tons of steel into plutonium or something."
"Definitely not on my 'To Do' list."
"Anyway, it sounds a little like my power - I'm a Biokinetic, I move material around inside people's bodies and I can initiate changes, like making someone's body destroy cancer cells, but I'm essentially using the materials and processes of the body, just turned up to eleven. You'd probably count as a Metallokinetic, or something of the sort."
There was a loud buzz, and Panacea said "Someone wants to come in. No idea who it is, so let me or Miss Militia do the talking."
She waited a moment, then went to the door, letting in Armsmaster. Once the door was closed again he said "Are they all right?"
"This patient..." she gestured to Dad "...is fine now, and the young lady who helped him doesn't seem to have been exposed to anything hazardous."
"No other injuries?"
"Nope."
He looked at me and said "May I discuss today's events?"
"I don't see why not... I think Panacea knows most of it."
Panacea nodded her confirmation, and Armsmaster said "The vehicle you modified is remarkable. I recognized the origin for most of it, but it looks like a much more evolved design."
"Practical Mechanics did a special on military vehicles based on Martian technology a few years ago, speculation about how things might have gone if they'd followed through on some of the ideas. I think a lot of it came from that."
"When did you read it?"
"February the second, 2008, early evening. That's weird... how did I remember that?"
"You said you had a good memory."
"Never that good before."
"I'd imagine it's part of your power. The police officer you saw earlier today, can you remember his name?"
"Sergeant Kowalski, didn't get his first name, badge number BBPD 7433."
He tapped a tiny keyboard on his left arm and said "Confirmed. I doubt you had a reason to memorize that, so I think it's likely that you now have eidetic memory. Any other powers you've noticed?"
"We were trying to work that out when you arrived," I said. "Panacea thought I might be a metallokinetic."
"Plausible, but incomplete. You were changing plastics and other materials too. I think it's primarily a Shaker power with Tinker elements, but I could be wrong. Now, I'm sorry to say that the sniper escaped. We have the rifle, a Sig SSG 3000, the packaging from a field dressing, and human blood stains, so with luck we may be able to find them."
"How did they get away so fast?" asked Hannah.
"I found the heat trail from a car that waited on the far side of the warehouse for some time with the engine running. Unfortunately the track petered out when it got onto busier roads."
"Isn't Sig a German company?" asked Danny. "Empire 88?"
"It could be," said Armsmaster, "but they're good rifles, and there are plenty on the black market. I've sent the serial number to ATF, they might know more."
"If they were waiting for us then the whole thing at the museum must have been set up so one of us would be shot."
"It's possible," said Hannah, "or they realised that something was going wrong with their plan, and set up the hit to divert attention. We need to follow up on some of the leads we discussed earlier, and we haven't so far because there were other things to worry about."
"So what happens now?" I asked.
"We get you both to PRT HQ and ask a lot of questions, make a ton of excuses for turning a million-dollar APC into a tentaclemobile, then see about keeping you safe."
"What about the fake charges?"
"That went out of the window when the sniper opened up on your father. Unless that was a coincidence, but that seems a little unlikely."
"Can you drive it again?" asked Armsmaster.
"I think there's enough fuel left, I don't see why not. But Sergeant O'Brien pointed out that I'm not a licensed driver so someone has to instruct me."
"He's waiting outside," said Armsmaster, "he can do it again. I'll drive ahead. Miss Militia, Trooper Colvin drove your bike here."
"Okay," said Hannah, "then I'll follow on that, the troopers should just about fit into the APC, or whatever we end up calling it."
"Okay then," said Danny, rising and pointing ahead dramatically, "To the Tentaclemobile!"
"We're not going to call it that, Dad, and you're pointing in the wrong direction."
"Whatever. Let's get out of here and give Panacea some peace."
Omake - All We Know
"I can't believe the Tentaclemobile's been stolen already," said Clockblocker, "I haven't even had a chance to drive it yet!"
"And you still don't have enough tentacles to manage the controls," said Hannah. "Don't worry, it's just a joyrider."
"A Martian joyrider?" I asked.
"No, a Brit. Has a weird ability to drive any land vehicle, even if it was never intended for human use, and get huge increases in performance from it. Strange guy, he's pretty much immortal but alternates between two personalities. One's a minor villain and getaway driver and the other's a minor hero, every time he gets killed he disintegrates spontaneously and eventually comes back to life in the other form. The hero form was killed fighting Behemoth in November so we've got the villain for now, and he likes to pull crazy stunts like this."
"I never heard of any of this. What else can you tell me about him?"
"A ton of guesses, but he's never even been unmasked. All we know is, he's called The Stig."
TBC
Notes: Men, Martians and Machines (1955) was a collection of four novelettes by Eric Frank Russell.
For anyone in doubt, The Stig is not a real person, he(?) is a fictional character played at least three different drivers. References to him in this story relate to a version of the fictional character who has triggered as a parahuman, not any real person.
Comments please before I post to archives.
The previous chapters are archived on these sites:
On Twisting the Hellmouth - https://www.tthfanfic.org/story.php?no=33872
On AO3 - https://archiveofourown.org/works/39112812
On Fanfiction.net - https://www.fanfiction.net/s/14083560/1/The-Martian
See chapter I for disclaimers.
Apologies for another long delay - this time blame two conventions, a mild case of covid, and a bad case of writer's block.
The Martian
By Marcus L. Rowland
IV - Men, Martians and Machines
The steel of the transport twisted and reformed around me, and reached out a metal tentacle to shield Miss Militia and Dad. It was broad, about four feet wide and twenty long, a couple of inches thick, with a lot of articulated joints. Instead of the open door, I was looking out through tiny thick windows that looked like they could take a lot of damage. More tentacles emerged under the transport, lifting it from the ground, as another bullet ricocheted off the metal in front of Dad. The body of the transport was getting smaller, I guess the metal had to come from somewhere, and behind me I could somehow feel the driver's compartment merge with the rest of the interior, as seats and controls formed where the rear doors had been. The controls looked dated, with dials and levers, and a couple of TV screens that looked like old-style glass picture tubes, but turned out to be LCD monitors with period-looking surrounds. One of them came on, showing the view in dull green tones. I knew that it was a thermal camera, without wondering how I knew.
"What the hell is this!" shouted the PRT trooper who had initially been inside with me. His name-badge said MAXWELL, I somehow remembered that the two outside were BATES and COLVIN, although I'd barely seen their badges as I boarded the transport. They were sheltered by the side of the transport, but I moved another tentacle to give them more cover.
"Sit down and strap in, it's going to be a bumpy ride."
Maxwell grabbed the seat next to me, and the screen in front of it came to life, showing a narrower camera view with cross hairs. "The joystick controls the camera direction, the Gatling pod is slaved to it."
"Are you fucking kidding us?" asked the driver, coming forward to peer over Maxwell's shoulder. I somehow knew that his name was O'Brien before I saw his badge, and remembered that I'd met him a couple of years earlier at one of the Dockworker's Union social events.
Another bullet spanged off the metal below the windows, and the green screen flared brighter for a second, highlighting a window of one of the abandoned warehouses a couple of hundred yards away. I zoomed in on it. "Sniper, off to the left, third floor of the old Brockton Fisheries warehouse, second window from the left." There was another impact, this time on the thick glass.
"Piggott will have my ass for this," said Maxwell, aiming and pulling the trigger impressively quickly. The gun was quieter than I expected, sounding more like an electric hammer drill than a serious weapon. The screen showed bright flashes converging on and around the window I'd spotted. After a couple of seconds it stopped. "Ammo's out. Don't think it was very accurate, but maybe we got lucky, or at least gave them a nasty surprise."
"Hope so." A hatch that hadn't been there moments ago opened on the side of the transport away from the warehouse, and I lowered the body to make it easier for Aunt Hannah and Dad to get in. O'Brien gave them a hand, and shouted a few words to Armsmaster, who took off on his bike in the direction of the warehouse, trailed by Bates and Colvin on foot. They'd probably be all right, they were wearing body armour and helmets.
"Did you make this?" asked Hannah.
"I think so. Dad, are you okay?"
"I've been better. Don't think they hit anything too vital." Hannah was squirting fast-setting flexible foam into his wound, the stuff most Martians have in their first-aid kits. Bandages don't work too well on us, but that stuff can usually hold a wound long enough to get medical help.
"Can you drive this thing?" asked O'Brien. "I'd need about ten hands. Better yet, turn it back the way it was."
"I can drive it, but I don't think I can change it back," I said. "I know how it works, it's bits of AFV prototypes based on Martian technology that the Marines tried during the Vietnam war, I've seen plans. But I don't know how I made it, and I sure as heck can't turn it back."
"Okay. You drive, I'll get on the radio. Head for the hospital."
"Which one?"
"Brockton General," said Hannah, "Panacea should still be there. Head inland a couple of blocks first, that way we can avoid Merchant territory."
I'd never driven anything bigger than a skateboard before, but somehow I knew exactly what to do. It rose up on the under-tentacles, and I started it moving along the road at about thirty miles an hour. It helped a lot that the road wasn't busy. Once we were moving I said "I think whatever I do works a little like your power. If I know how something is made I think I can duplicate it, the difference is that I have to start off with raw materials, metal and stuff. I can't just make it out of energy."
"I felt you trigger," said Hannah. "That probably does mean you got elements of my power. And the gun design probably came from me, the transports only mount confoam launchers. You said this thing is a hybrid design, not just a duplicate, so maybe there's some innovation from Armsmaster too, I didn't notice if he reacted when you triggered."
"I don't quite remember every detail, but I think the bullets came from clips that were in a locker."
"The gun locker in these carriers holds twenty magazines of nine mil pistol ammo routinely, fifteen shots per magazine. Underpowered for a Gatling gun, and at the speed it was firing we would have burned through the lot in about two seconds."
"Okay," said O'Brien, "The hospital's ready for us, and Panacea will wait for our arrival."
"How are you holding out, dad?"
"I've been better," said Danny.
"You'll be okay," said Hannah, "Looks like it's a through and through puncture, missed all of your hearts and I think all but one of your lungs. Feels bad, but if you stay quiet and keep still Panacea should be able to fix it easily." She dipped into one of her belt pouches and pulled out a lightweight grey cloth mask designed for a Martian head. "Taylor, you'll need to wear this in the hospital."
"Isn't it going to be obvious who I am when they get Danny's details?"
"Good point." She got out another mask for him. "We'll say he's in witness protection and withhold his name. If all goes well you shouldn't need to be admitted anyway, that makes things a lot simpler."
I took a right onto the avenue headed towards the hospital, sticking out one of the handling tentacles to indicate the turn, and hoped that I wouldn't freak out any other drivers. The noise the thing made would probably help to clear our path, the lower tentacles had rubber pads but there was still a lot of clattering. With luck there wouldn't be trouble. If the police got involved my lack of a driving license might be a problem...
"I'll say one thing for it," said O'Brien, "I think it handles better than the transport, especially on the roads near the docks."
"I'm not sure how well it would work for a human driver," I said, "I need most of my tentacles to control it."
"Maybe you can modify the controls a little - not while we're moving, though!"
"If you can make it more user-friendly Squealer will be green with envy," said Hannah. "I don't think she's ever built a tentaclemobile, and the one time she tried a tripod she tripped over a Volkswagen and the legs collapsed."
"Uber and Leet had a tripod that worked," said Maxwell, "but the engine blew up while they were taking the roof off the Third National Bank. Turned out to be a scale model they'd somehow enlarged to full size."
"Those assholes never built anything that worked for long," Dad said weakly.
"What part of staying quiet and keeping still are you having trouble with?" asked Hannah.
The hospital was ahead on the right, and I took a turn into the car park and across to the casualty department entrance, rattling to a stop at a loading bay where a couple of paramedics were waiting with a stretcher. They looked surprised, and I had a feeling nobody had told them what was headed their way. I lowered the passenger compartment until it was level with the bay, locked the tentacles and opened the hatch, and the PRT guys helped load Dad onto the stretcher and get it out of the carrier, which wasn't easy considering how cramped it was, with Miss Militia standing guard, presumably for further signs of trouble.
I didn't seem to have included an ignition lock but I had a feeling nobody else would figure it out in a hurry, so I cut the power and followed them out. The paramedics started to take him into the hospital, trailed by Miss Militia and the PRT guys. I was going to follow, but an officious looking guy with a security guard's uniform stopped me and said "You can't leave that thing there, it's blocking the ambulance bay."
"Okay - where should I park it?"
"It's a PRT vehicle," said O'Brien, who'd turned back when he saw I wasn't following. "A little modified, but it's still on official business."
"I'd hate to see your definition of a lot modified," said the guard. "Okay, over there, there's a couple of parking spaces for PRT use."
"Good thing I'm her driving instructor," said O'Brien. "Okay, let's see you get this thing over there and parked, with all appropriate signals and care for other drivers and vehicles."
Once we were moving, a lot slower this time, I asked "Exactly how are you my instructor?"
"I'm instructing you to be careful... apart from that it's only legal for someone without a license to drive if there's a qualified instructor aboard. Without that we'd have to arrest you."
"Good point."
We made it the whole fifty yards or so without incident, and I parked it and powered down again. I tried to change things to add an ignition lock and some sort of security system, but it felt like it didn't want to cooperate any more. I had a feeling that my power made things but didn't want to change them once they were made. We headed inside, with me hoping that nobody tried to drive it away. That might be a little difficult to explain.
Eventually we caught up with Dad and Aunt Hannah in one of the small emergency wards. O'Brien and Maxwell waited outside. Panacea had her hand on one of Dad's tentacles, and he was looking a lot better already. Sophia didn't seem to be around, I guessed she was in another ward somewhere nearby.
"Okay, I think that's got it," Panacea said a couple of minutes later. "Have a good meal as soon as you can, I've had to use some of your reserves to heal you."
"I will," said Dad.
"Can you look at this young lady before you go?" asked Hannah. "She gave first aid to him and your previous patient, we want to be sure that she didn't accidentally get exposed to human infections."
"Okay." She looked at me incuriously. "By the way, you did a good job on our earlier patient, probably stopped her from bleeding out."
I said "Good to know," without much enthusiasm.
"Okay, let's see..." She put her hand on one of my forward tentacles, and I felt a strange tingling. "Okay, that doesn't feel too bad, it doesn't look like you've picked anything up. You've been under some stress, I think, let's see if I can do anything about that." The feeling intensified a little, and she looked at me appraisingly. "Recent trigger?"
"It's okay to talk," said Hannah, "these rooms have tinkertech sound screening, and you can trust Panacea."
"Okay. What do you know already?"
"I can tell you've triggered within the last day or so, most likely within the last couple of hours. I have no idea what your powers might be. Do you want me to mention your genetics?"
"You might as well, everyone knows."
"Let's hope you're right about that. Okay, you aren't closely related to him, which is a little odd because I was getting a father-daughter vibe, but you are closely related to the other Martian in the room. Mother... no, sorry, father and daughter?"
"They finally told me today, she's already done the Darth Vader joke. Anything else?"
Panacea grinned slightly. "All right... you know Miss Militia's your dad, and if you don't already know who your mom is she can probably tell you. Miss Militia is pretty healthy but she does carry the recessive gene for Kav'roz Syndrome, and you've inherited it."
"I don't even know what that is."
"A fairly rare genetic abnormality. It doesn't make the news much because it isn't life-threatening. Basically, it inhibits the chromatophores in Martian skin and the sensory cells that make it easy for Martians to change their skin colour to match their background and show emotion. If you have a child that inherits it from both parents you'll notice that their skin doesn't change colour much - they might come across as cold and unfeeling, and if other Martians react to that there's a risk of long-term alienation and even paranoia in extreme cases. But mostly it isn't a big deal, there are exercises a kid can do to minimize the effects, and you can avoid it completely with genetic screening. Before you ask, it isn't something I can fix, it's down there at the genetic level and things could go horribly wrong."
"Okay. Can you tell anything about my power?"
"Not much. You aren't a Brute beyond the norms for Martians, and I'm not sensing anything that implies any sort of unusual physical power. You aren't especially fast, stamina and your reactions are in the normal range, I'm pretty sure you don't heal especially fast, and your nervous system isn't doing anything unusual. I get a similar feeling from your mo... sorry, your dad... so my guess is something similar to her."
"Sounds about right, except I make things out of other things, not energy. I accidentally turned a PRT personnel carrier into an all-terrain machine that walks on tentacles. I don't know enough about powers to say exactly what that power that is."
"No idea. Any transmutation involved?"
"No, I'm pretty sure I ended up with exactly the materials I started with, but in a different shape. A lot of it was just the components moving around, I think the engine and fuel weren't modified at all. Same for the electronics."
"Probably a good thing, I'd hate to see what would happen if you could turn a few tons of steel into plutonium or something."
"Definitely not on my 'To Do' list."
"Anyway, it sounds a little like my power - I'm a Biokinetic, I move material around inside people's bodies and I can initiate changes, like making someone's body destroy cancer cells, but I'm essentially using the materials and processes of the body, just turned up to eleven. You'd probably count as a Metallokinetic, or something of the sort."
There was a loud buzz, and Panacea said "Someone wants to come in. No idea who it is, so let me or Miss Militia do the talking."
She waited a moment, then went to the door, letting in Armsmaster. Once the door was closed again he said "Are they all right?"
"This patient..." she gestured to Dad "...is fine now, and the young lady who helped him doesn't seem to have been exposed to anything hazardous."
"No other injuries?"
"Nope."
He looked at me and said "May I discuss today's events?"
"I don't see why not... I think Panacea knows most of it."
Panacea nodded her confirmation, and Armsmaster said "The vehicle you modified is remarkable. I recognized the origin for most of it, but it looks like a much more evolved design."
"Practical Mechanics did a special on military vehicles based on Martian technology a few years ago, speculation about how things might have gone if they'd followed through on some of the ideas. I think a lot of it came from that."
"When did you read it?"
"February the second, 2008, early evening. That's weird... how did I remember that?"
"You said you had a good memory."
"Never that good before."
"I'd imagine it's part of your power. The police officer you saw earlier today, can you remember his name?"
"Sergeant Kowalski, didn't get his first name, badge number BBPD 7433."
He tapped a tiny keyboard on his left arm and said "Confirmed. I doubt you had a reason to memorize that, so I think it's likely that you now have eidetic memory. Any other powers you've noticed?"
"We were trying to work that out when you arrived," I said. "Panacea thought I might be a metallokinetic."
"Plausible, but incomplete. You were changing plastics and other materials too. I think it's primarily a Shaker power with Tinker elements, but I could be wrong. Now, I'm sorry to say that the sniper escaped. We have the rifle, a Sig SSG 3000, the packaging from a field dressing, and human blood stains, so with luck we may be able to find them."
"How did they get away so fast?" asked Hannah.
"I found the heat trail from a car that waited on the far side of the warehouse for some time with the engine running. Unfortunately the track petered out when it got onto busier roads."
"Isn't Sig a German company?" asked Danny. "Empire 88?"
"It could be," said Armsmaster, "but they're good rifles, and there are plenty on the black market. I've sent the serial number to ATF, they might know more."
"If they were waiting for us then the whole thing at the museum must have been set up so one of us would be shot."
"It's possible," said Hannah, "or they realised that something was going wrong with their plan, and set up the hit to divert attention. We need to follow up on some of the leads we discussed earlier, and we haven't so far because there were other things to worry about."
"So what happens now?" I asked.
"We get you both to PRT HQ and ask a lot of questions, make a ton of excuses for turning a million-dollar APC into a tentaclemobile, then see about keeping you safe."
"What about the fake charges?"
"That went out of the window when the sniper opened up on your father. Unless that was a coincidence, but that seems a little unlikely."
"Can you drive it again?" asked Armsmaster.
"I think there's enough fuel left, I don't see why not. But Sergeant O'Brien pointed out that I'm not a licensed driver so someone has to instruct me."
"He's waiting outside," said Armsmaster, "he can do it again. I'll drive ahead. Miss Militia, Trooper Colvin drove your bike here."
"Okay," said Hannah, "then I'll follow on that, the troopers should just about fit into the APC, or whatever we end up calling it."
"Okay then," said Danny, rising and pointing ahead dramatically, "To the Tentaclemobile!"
"We're not going to call it that, Dad, and you're pointing in the wrong direction."
"Whatever. Let's get out of here and give Panacea some peace."
Omake - All We Know
"I can't believe the Tentaclemobile's been stolen already," said Clockblocker, "I haven't even had a chance to drive it yet!"
"And you still don't have enough tentacles to manage the controls," said Hannah. "Don't worry, it's just a joyrider."
"A Martian joyrider?" I asked.
"No, a Brit. Has a weird ability to drive any land vehicle, even if it was never intended for human use, and get huge increases in performance from it. Strange guy, he's pretty much immortal but alternates between two personalities. One's a minor villain and getaway driver and the other's a minor hero, every time he gets killed he disintegrates spontaneously and eventually comes back to life in the other form. The hero form was killed fighting Behemoth in November so we've got the villain for now, and he likes to pull crazy stunts like this."
"I never heard of any of this. What else can you tell me about him?"
"A ton of guesses, but he's never even been unmasked. All we know is, he's called The Stig."
TBC
Notes: Men, Martians and Machines (1955) was a collection of four novelettes by Eric Frank Russell.
For anyone in doubt, The Stig is not a real person, he(?) is a fictional character played at least three different drivers. References to him in this story relate to a version of the fictional character who has triggered as a parahuman, not any real person.
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