patient scientists and engineers who would proceed
to bring his visions to fruition. He still needed to periodically revisit the
ongoing projects to make sure his subalterns didn’t miss some important detail
that could derail a project.
The reason Genius-Types could produce so
many breakthroughs in different fields was not a product of intelligence or
education, Kenneth had concluded after years of observing his own talents. It
was a psychic ability to identify the right answer without having to resort to
the game of trial and error that normal scientists had to play. Furthermore,
many Neolympian inventions were really not actual technological developments
but artifacts created by the same mysterious force that gave parahumans their
powers. Those creations could not be duplicated or mass-produced, and telling
the two kinds of inventions apart often took a great deal of work.
To Kenneth’s eternal regret, all the
technological wonders and miraculous creations of the Neolympian era had not
stopped murder. If anything, they had made killing easier than ever before.
The evidence was literally exploding all
around him.
As he emerged from the underground
laboratory, Kenneth activated his own signature artifact, the Brass Man suit
that had earned him his second code name. In the Thirties, he had been Doc
Slaughter, one of the mystery men who battled evil during the chaotic years of
the Great Depression. Under that name he had helped found the Freedom Legion
during World War Two. A generation later, he developed his suit of powered
armor, and the press dubbed him Brass Man and treated him almost as a
completely separate persona. In some ways, the distinction was correct. His
personality underwent some changes when he was behind the armor suit, becoming
even more dispassionate and machine-like. It probably was a coping mechanism,
necessary when he found himself wielding even more power than normal.
From hidden compartments in his belt, shoulders and boots, metal bands emerged and wrapped themselves around his limbs,
head and torso, the flexible organic metal hardening into unyielding armor
strips once all its pieces were in place. Doc Slaughter became a living bronze
figure, a thing of overlapping plates and decorative rivets gleaming in the
reflected sunlight and explosive flashes around him. Brass Man leaped and took
flight, the propulsion jets built into several points of the armor suit giving
him better acceleration and maneuverability than the most advanced fighter
aircraft.
Becoming Brass Man was a heady
experience. The sensor suite built into the armor flooded him with information
only a mind as adept at his could assimilate. While in his armor his strength
and durability were the equal or superior of most Type Two parahumans. He would
need all the power at his disposal to help deal with the current situation.
The attackers were using waves of
unmanned drones. A quick sensor sweep revealed their capabilities: they were
low speed but high stealth weapon platforms, each armed with half a dozen
cruise missiles. His sensors also detected the source of the attack, a flying vessel
the size of a pocket battleship; that vessel had launched the drones. Freedom
Island was guarded by one of the most sophisticated air defense systems in the
world, but somehow the flying carrier ship had managed to get close enough to
attack while remaining undetected. The first strike had destroyed or disabled
most defense systems; the second one had struck buildings full of innocent
civilians.
First things first. Twin balls of plasma
shot out of his gauntlets, hitting a pair of drones dead center and vaporizing
them. The plasma explosion also generated a large electro-magnetic pulse that
fried the electronic systems of another half-dozen pods around the initial
targets. Three more shots took care of seventeen drones. A part of him felt a
rush of savage elation and wished the drones had been piloted by the murderers
who had seen fit to attack
to bring his visions to fruition. He still needed to periodically revisit the
ongoing projects to make sure his subalterns didn’t miss some important detail
that could derail a project.
The reason Genius-Types could produce so
many breakthroughs in different fields was not a product of intelligence or
education, Kenneth had concluded after years of observing his own talents. It
was a psychic ability to identify the right answer without having to resort to
the game of trial and error that normal scientists had to play. Furthermore,
many Neolympian inventions were really not actual technological developments
but artifacts created by the same mysterious force that gave parahumans their
powers. Those creations could not be duplicated or mass-produced, and telling
the two kinds of inventions apart often took a great deal of work.
To Kenneth’s eternal regret, all the
technological wonders and miraculous creations of the Neolympian era had not
stopped murder. If anything, they had made killing easier than ever before.
The evidence was literally exploding all
around him.
As he emerged from the underground
laboratory, Kenneth activated his own signature artifact, the Brass Man suit
that had earned him his second code name. In the Thirties, he had been Doc
Slaughter, one of the mystery men who battled evil during the chaotic years of
the Great Depression. Under that name he had helped found the Freedom Legion
during World War Two. A generation later, he developed his suit of powered
armor, and the press dubbed him Brass Man and treated him almost as a
completely separate persona. In some ways, the distinction was correct. His
personality underwent some changes when he was behind the armor suit, becoming
even more dispassionate and machine-like. It probably was a coping mechanism,
necessary when he found himself wielding even more power than normal.
From hidden compartments in his belt, shoulders and boots, metal bands emerged and wrapped themselves around his limbs,
head and torso, the flexible organic metal hardening into unyielding armor
strips once all its pieces were in place. Doc Slaughter became a living bronze
figure, a thing of overlapping plates and decorative rivets gleaming in the
reflected sunlight and explosive flashes around him. Brass Man leaped and took
flight, the propulsion jets built into several points of the armor suit giving
him better acceleration and maneuverability than the most advanced fighter
aircraft.
Becoming Brass Man was a heady
experience. The sensor suite built into the armor flooded him with information
only a mind as adept at his could assimilate. While in his armor his strength
and durability were the equal or superior of most Type Two parahumans. He would
need all the power at his disposal to help deal with the current situation.
The attackers were using waves of
unmanned drones. A quick sensor sweep revealed their capabilities: they were
low speed but high stealth weapon platforms, each armed with half a dozen
cruise missiles. His sensors also detected the source of the attack, a flying vessel
the size of a pocket battleship; that vessel had launched the drones. Freedom
Island was guarded by one of the most sophisticated air defense systems in the
world, but somehow the flying carrier ship had managed to get close enough to
attack while remaining undetected. The first strike had destroyed or disabled
most defense systems; the second one had struck buildings full of innocent
civilians.
First things first. Twin balls of plasma
shot out of his gauntlets, hitting a pair of drones dead center and vaporizing
them. The plasma explosion also generated a large electro-magnetic pulse that
fried the electronic systems of another half-dozen pods around the initial
targets. Three more shots took care of seventeen drones. A part of him felt a
rush of savage elation and wished the drones had been piloted by the murderers
who had seen fit to attack
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