by Tom Andry
Chapter 8
As we walked through the doorway, Doc Arts was saying, "I don't see why we had to leave. Shouldn't we have given them a tracker or something?"
My punch hit him full on the side of his face, the resounding "crack" louder than I would have expected. I shook the pain out of my hand, which wasn't used to being utilized in that way. The doctor sprawled out on the floor of his lab, arms and legs akimbo. I was breathing hard, much harder than I should have been, given that the punch hadn't taken much exertion on my part. Back in grade school, the only other time I'd ever thrown a punch, I seemed to remember very little but red hot rage. As I looked down at the doctor, my mind was anything but blank. A thousand thoughts were screaming through my mind. More than anything, I just wanted him to stay down. If he got up, I didn't know what I'd do. It was then that the whirring reminded me that we weren't alone.
Assistant was off to my side, apparently motionless. The four-armed robot never looked more monstrous than at that moment. The metal visor device that served as its eyes didn't lend themselves to reading and, frankly, the lack of movement either to protect the doctor or to remove itself from the situation was disconcerting.
Not knowing what else to do, I said, "So, what's your move, Assistant?"
On the floor at my feet, the doctor rolled around, holding his cheek. Assistant continued its impersonation of a statue. The doctor called out and Butler appeared next to him. The hologram helped him to his feet. There were tears in the doctor's eyes and a large welt on his cheek that promised to bruise and maybe develop into a black eye. Well, as much of a black eye as he could have. He backed away, keeping the hologram at first and then his work table between us.
"You... you stay away from me!" his finger shook as he pointed at me.
"That won't be a problem, you little shit," I roared, the sound of his voice triggering my anger again. "We're done here. Don't you ever, EVER call me again."
I turned to leave.
"Wait," the doctor behind me, "what happened? What did I do?"
I just turned and glared at him. After a second, I remembered the tracker and moved toward him quickly. I grabbed him by the shoulder, using my other hand to frisk him quickly for it. He squirmed to get away but didn't have the strength to pull it off. Again, Assistant did nothing. Of course, the tracker was still in the same pocket I'd seen him drop it in the day I'd given it to him. Facing him, I wanted to say more, to say all those things I stayed up late at night thinking about, but this was just too much proximity and I spun on my heel.
I don't remember much of the drive home. All I could see was Medico's smiling face as he cheerfully told that couple that I had made their miracle birth possible. Such an idiot. As if I had anything to do with it. Would they be so thankful, so quick to offer a drink, if they knew the road to their son's birth was paved with the bodies of dead children? My dead child. And he had the gall to ask me what he'd done. What hadn't he done, was more like it.
I parked the car in my dedicated spot in the building's garage. I made my way up to my apartment with a modicum of muttering. Whenever I got really upset, I tended to talk to myself. It wasn't excessive, but when I was alone, my inner monologue tended to escape. Right then, my inner monologue was mostly curse words. I opened the door to my apartment expecting to find the waiting room outside my office empty. Instead, I found Khan at his desk seemingly waiting for me. The look on his face spoke volumes. Unfortunately, I was way too self-absorbed at that moment to read it.
"What are you still doing here?" I asked angrily, immediately regretting my tone. It wasn't his fault.
"Sorry, boss," he replied, "she's in there." He nodded toward my office.
"She? She who?"
Khan didn't respond. He looked like his cat had just been run over by a car. I opened the door to my office. The lights were off, but there was obviously someone sitting behind my desk. I threw my jacket down on the guest chair and reached over to the light switch.
"Did you really hit him?" Her voice was as familiar as my own.
My hand froze over the top of the switch. After a moment, I remembered to breathe and I turned on the light.
"Gale."
"It's not his fault, you know." She was dressed as she usually was these days, in nothing but a long, flowing piece of semitransparent fabric. With her power over the wind, she could wrap it around her as much as she wanted. It was both functional and seductive. This one was white with bits of silver sewn into the weave and at the fringes. Somewhere on it, I knew, there would be a stylized B indicating her membership in The Bulwark.
"You weren't there, you don't know..."
"Oh," her laugher was forced but it still had hints of the joy we once felt.
It hurt to hear.
She stood and walked toward me. "I can guess all right. Doc Arts might be brilliant but his bedside manner leaves something to be desired."
She was tall for a woman, eye to eye with me. Since she could control the air, she rarely wore more than she needed to and tonight was no different. The white fabric was probably five yards long but it snaked around her like a living thing. Small microbursts of wind kept it always on the move. Occasionally I'd see a flash of skin hinting that whatever she had on underneath was minimal. I remember when she first started doing that, she had to concentrate on it. Now it was second nature.
Her green eyes locked in on mine as her brown, waist length, wavy hair flowed around her like she was underwater. She had a golden tan, evidence of how much she liked being outdoors. She was barefoot and wore a large, silver upper arm bracelet inscribed with the words or symbols for wind in multiple languages on her left arm, a ring on her index toe on her left foot and an anklet on her right. While it wasn't warm outside, she rarely wore anything else. I could feel the air temperature increase as I neared her, evidence of her power.
"So, to what do I owe the honor of this visit? This can't be about Medico."
"You know it is."
"I damn well DON'T know any such thing, Gale!" I shouted. "I can't believe you, of all people..."
"Oh, cut it out," she interrupted. "It's all fine for you to go on hating him but I don't have that luxury."
"Luxury!" I stammered.
"Yes, luxury!" she spat. "I've got to work with him. It isn't like I can ostracize him. He's easily one of the top three minds on the planet."
"Well, as long as it's for the greater good, I suppose," I muttered, walking behind my desk, searching for a clean glass and my bottle.
Gale circled to the other side, "Don't start that again, Bob. It's not like he didn't try."
I poured a shot and grabbed the glass so violently that I spilled most of it, "Yeah. Amazing how when he tries for his own daughter, it works. But everyone up until then is out of luck." I threw the alcohol down my throat, not noticing the burn.
"That's conspiracy theory talk and you know it."
"If the shoe fits, I say."
"I didn't come here to have that same old argument with you."
"How about this for conspiracy: How does a man like Medico end up with a tippy? He fell in love? I don't buy it. I'd bet dollars to doughnuts it was so he could have that daughter."
"That's crazy."
"You didn't see her. She spends more time with his creations than she does with him."
"He's a busy man..." she started lamely.
"Fine," I interrupted, "Make excuses. So why did you come, Gale?" I said, pouring another glass.
"I've come to ask a favor of you."
I gripped my glass so tightly I thought it might break, "Don't say what I think you're going to say," I replied, quietly.
"Stay on the case."
I closed my eyes, slowly, dropping my head.
"Listen, I know you don't like him but he's really worried about this."
"I couldn't care less about what he's worried about," I replied. "And that's another thing. Why don't you and The Bulwark check this out? You've got a lot more resources than
I do."
"We have," she replied. "Thing is, the missing supers are low level. Some of them are brand new registrees. They're in the system but we don't track them that carefully. And you know how it is; supers go missing all the time. Vacations, missions, deaths... it could all be normal. But as long as Arts thinks there is something to it, he'll be distracted. The others in The Bulwark don't see it, but I do. These last two weeks, since you've been on the case, he's gotten more done than in the last two months combined. With a man like Doc Arts, a bad week or two, and hundreds, maybe thousands of people die."
"I seem to remember that on his good weeks, people still die," I sipped my drink.
"Come on, Bob. I haven't asked you for much. Just keep on it for a while longer. Once he's convinced there isn't a problem and he's back to his A game, you go." She paused, then added softly, "What would Abigail want?"
I gripped my glass tighter, my knuckles white, "That's not fair."
"Maybe not," she looked away from me. "But I need you. Will you do it?"
I hung my head, looking for inspiration at the bottom of my glass of scotch. I downed the last of it. "Okay, fine. I'll stay on. But on two conditions. First, you let me tell him, which I promise you won't be until tomorrow. The bastard deserves to sweat a bit. Second, go out with me."
She stopped in her tracks. I stunned her so acutely that her fabric almost fell away. "What?"
"Sorry, forget it. I don't know why I said that."
"Bob, I... I... can't." She turned back to me, moisture in her eyes. "It'll never work."
"It worked once. It was working," I pleaded. Every time I saw Gale I ended up in this position. After every meeting I promised I wouldn't beg again.
"Bob, you'll always be special to me..."
"Yeah, yeah, okay," I interrupted. "It was worth a try."
"Bob, you know I know about the terminal right?"
I most certainly did not. It must have shown on my face.
"Khan is good at covering his tracks but not perfect. Plus, you can't hide anything from Mind. Giving you access is a great risk for me, you understand that?"
I nodded, glumly.
"Isn't that proof that I still care for you?"
"Just not enough to be in the same room with me."
She cringed, "It's just too... Every time I see you..."
"Yeah, I know."
She didn't have to finish. She may have the power to change the weather, suck the air from a room, or create a tidal wave, but there were some things even she was powerless against.
She turned to leave.
"I'll need the location I was at this afternoon. He used some sort of teleportation device so I don't have the address."
"I figured," Gale replied, "I left it with Khan."
"Good."
Her hand was on the doorknob, "Bob?"
"Yeah?"
"Why don't you call me Wendi anymore?"
I shrugged and poured another drink.
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