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By The Mighty Lanzman
The big man crouched in a shadow, listening to the sounds of his pursuers. They were going the wrong way. He’d managed to lose them at last, after more than two hours.
"Lanz, we’ve heard the Kortac may be up to something in upstate New York," the man muttered to himself in a mocking voice. "Sounds like small potatoes, but I think you should go check it out since you’re familiar with the area." He growled something unintelligible. "Yeah, right, Gray. Small potatoes. Sure. Freaking Kortac scumbags have been chasing me all over the dang place since I got here."
Lanzman risked a quick peek from his hiding place. None of the vile Kortac who’d been after him seemed to be in sight. "About time," he grumbled. He tried his teleporter again. Nothing. "Rassin frassin lowest-bidder brand kludge," he said. "One little stray death ray and the crummy thing konks out. The universe hates me." He checked the charge on his own laser rifle. There was still plenty of juice in that, at least.
Lanz sat back in the shadows and pulled a package of Pop-Tarts from his backpack. Brown sugar cinnamon; his favorite kind. Okay, he thought, what have I got? No teleporter, which also means no comms. The Kortac fun brigade out there trashed my rent-a-wreck, so no wheels. One laser rifle, a fistfull of white phosphorus grenades - White phosphorus was one of Lanz’s favorite party favors, tho most of the other Cappers, with the notable exception of BuckFifty, found them too cruel even to use on the Kortac - and me own native wits and cunning against maybe thirty Kortac death commandos. Oh yeah, I’m boned.
The day had started easily enough. At the Cappers’ secret interdimensional base, Lanzman had been in one of the training rooms with Animebabe, going through one of the combat scenarios that Tolstoy had created, when Gray Zombie had come in. "Lanz," he’d said, "You’re originally from upstate New York, right?"
"Yup," Lanz replied. "Whassup?"
"Scanners have picked up some fuzzy Kortac activity outside of Albany. It looks like small potatoes, but Tolstoy and I think we need to check it out."
"The Kortac are fuzzy now?" Anime said. "When did that happen?" Lanz snickered, but Gray just gave her a blank look.
"Sure thing, Gray. Lemme grab some gear and I’ll ‘bamf’ right on up there." As a long-time fan of Star Trek, Lanz was rather enamored of the teleporters that the Cappers used.
A half-hour later, Lanz was outfitted with a laser rifle, grenades, a backpack with various useful items, and a reservation for a rental car. Gray and Anime watched him teleport out.
He’d appeared behind a Hertz rent-a-car place in Albany, where he quickly used the CapperCredit card that Tolstoy’s computer had provided to secure a nondescript compact sedan. Since the Kortac had a nasty habit of scrambling the teleporter around any of their facilities, going in via more conventional transportation was a good option.
Twenty minutes north of the city, Lanzman found the area that the scanners back at the base had identified as a possible Kortac site. It was a small apple orchard and farm. He drove past it, trying not to look too interested. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary. Lanz went a few miles up the road, then turned around for another pass.
A beam of some kind flashed out from the top of an old silo and Lanz was suddenly running like his ass was on fire, mainly because his ass was on fire. The car he’d been driving went up in a big greasy "whoompf" of flames. He’d barely bailed out in time. After a quick stop-drop-and-roll to put out the smoldering seat of his pants, Lanz was ducking for cover behind a low stone wall. He glanced around, noting that the area was remote enough that there were no houses or anything anywhere close by. No wonder the Kortac had picked this spot.
A bunch of the green-skinned invaders had come pouring out of the farmhouse, and more had come from the barn, and the chase was on.
Lanz blinked, suddenly aware that his Pop-Tart was gone. Freakin’ flashbacks, he thought. You’d think Gray and the gang would’ve come looking for me by now.
Back at Capper Central, Animebabe was chewing Gray’s ear. "It’s been over two hours, GZ," she said. "We haven’t heard from Lanz and he hasn’t come back. Something must have gone wrong."
Gray Zombie sighed. "Anime, Lanz is a big boy. If he needs help, he’ll yell."
"What if he can’t?" Anime asked. At that moment, BuckFifty and YingYang walked in.
"What if who can’t what?" Buck asked.
Gray just sighed again. Anime explained: "Lanzman went to check out some funky sensor readings Tolstoy picked up. We haven’t heard from him for about two hours and I’m getting worried."
"And you’re not?" YingYang asked Gray.
"Well, I just think if there were a problem, Lanz would call," Gray replied. "Is that unreasonable?"
"For anyone else, no," Ying said. "But aren’t you the perpetual pessimist?"
"What the hell is wrong with you people?!?" Gray demanded angrily. "It’s a freakin’ recon mission, that’s all! If you’re so worried about Lanz, go after him! I don’t give a rat’s ass!"
The other three cappers stared at Gray Zombie, stunned by the unexpected outburst.
"Too much caffeine, Gray?" Buck asked in a low voice.
The anger melted from Gray’s face. "Something like that," he replied. "Look, if you’re really worried about Lanz, go check on him. Tolstoy will get you into the right area."
Animebabe slowly turned her attention from Gray to Buck, unsure what to make of Gray’s moody outburst. "Buck, grab your bazooka-thingie. We’re going to go see what’s become of Lanz."
"Durn tootin’," Buck said. "C’mon Ying. You too." The three cappers made their exit, leaving Gray Zombie alone.
To Be Continued
(Boy, Gray Zombie woke up on the wrong side of the bed, didn't he?)