Sidekick

by Carl Stubblefield

  Not wanting to compromise the integrity of his spheres, Gus had the ether leashes trailing underneath, reinforcing his grip around them so they wouldn’t be dropped and lost. He undid his anchoring tether and the sphere shot upward.

  “Slow down!” Nick yelled, and Gus hit the brakes, throwing out two ether lashes that slammed him to one side of the sphere. “Well, not that much.”

  “Dammit, you scared me,” Gus said, resuming his climb, sliding up in a rappelling fashion to avoid too much speed.

  “That’s better, we should be good as far as oxygen is concerned,” Nick reported.

  Gus saw the outer sphere stretch back to its old dimensions. He had expected more complications or having to worry about the bends. He just felt… normal, albeit tired. He was exhausted from all the mental exertion, but he was sure he would bounce back if given just a small time to recover.

  The ascent was much quicker and more relaxing than the descent, and took a mere fraction of the time. When he broke the surface, the sunshine felt heavenly. He hadn’t realized he felt chilled to the bone with the mental focus required to maintain the spheres under pressure.

  He lay down in the inner sphere and put his arms behind his head. Using an ether leash, he lazily pulled himself back toward the beach where Aurora was still waiting. The hot sun filtered through the clear spheres and Gus basked in the release of pressure and tension he had felt while constantly flexing his mental muscles. The sphere bobbed on the waves, but in his inner sphere, the rocking motion was soothing rather than jarring.

  He began to feel drowsy and sat up. Looking towards the beach, he noticed that he was getting close, but still a good half mile away. Aurora’s comm finally managed to reach him.

  “Gus! Can you hear me yet? Gus. Gus!”

  “Okay, I can hear you, what’s up?”

  “Did you get what you went for?”

  “Yes, no problems or complications.”

  “Then, what are you doing floating in the ball? Did you forget you can fly?”

  “Um, I needed to recharge my MP after resurfacing,” he lied. He really just hadn’t thought of it, flying wasn’t ‘normal’ for him yet. “I think my MP is high enough now, I’ll be right there.”

  Allowing the outer sphere to disperse, Gus pulled the tethers holding the Kroutonium and canister of Nth to him and allowed the inner sphere to pop as he took flight, keeping himself dry.

  He sailed back to shore carrying his loot, intent on making more hybrid-Nth.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Cat’s in the Cradle

  “Father, we need to talk!”

  Tempest looked over his shoulder. “Not now, I’m in the middle of something—”

  “I challenge you to a duel of supremacy for your title,” Cyclone said, almost shouting.

  Tempest turned and saw his son standing there with his hands on his hips, trying to look bold. Rampage and Aftershock stood behind him, smug looks on their faces. It was obvious what was happening here. Unable to beat him in a fight themselves, they were using his son to make a power grab. Cowards.

  “Cyclone, don’t do this. These are not the individuals you want to side with in the Faction. They are going nowhere and want to use you as their puppet.”

  “They told me you would try to confuse me and keep me from my rightful place. Father, you have had your time and now I am stepping up to claim the role. Purple Faction must evolve! We have clung to old ideas for too long and the other factions are outpacing us. I will not allow you to hold us back any longer!”

  Insanity. How did they convince him to do this? “We will discuss this later; I am in the middle of something important—”

  “You are always in the middle of something. Do you forfeit to avoid the challenge? It sounds like you are afraid,” he said, gaining confidence.

  Tempest narrowed his eyes. “Enough. You realize what this means for you when you lose though, don’t you? You will lose your ability to challenge another until you are challenged, which is unlikely as a class D super in the Faction. You will be stuck there with no possibility for promotion, as a failed challenge will lock you in that tier.”

  “I am not afraid,” he said, trembling voice betraying his uncertainty.

  Sighing deeply, he turned to one of the administrators nearby. “Set it up, and let me know the time.”

  “I have already taken the liberty to set everything up. The arena is ready and the council is gathered.”

  Those weasels! Tempest gritted his teeth and stared at Rampage and Aftershock, who shrunk slightly behind Cyclone. It took all his control not to attack them directly, which would lead to even worse repercussions. He would be stripped of rank and incarcerated until there could be a trial. He didn’t have time to be out of commission.

  Realizing how well they had orchestrated the entire encounter, Tempest relented and followed them to the arena. Apparently, he had been so caught up in the search that he had not seen them rallying. The arena was full to the brim with members of Purple Faction and he was even more surprised to see that the majority were rooting for his son.

  What had he done to them? Or was this more of Rampage’s handiwork? If he didn’t know better, he would have suspected they had been using a Psi-manipulation power. Rampage could vibrate objects, especially large ones, and cause them to crumble and break. He had no mental abilities. The same with Aftershock; he only had the ability to cause earthquakes and form pits and traps by manipulating the ground below a battle. Less useful powers against other supers, and both ineffective against him, since he could fly. It was clear now why they didn’t oppose him directly.

  “Cy-clone, Cy-clone, Cy-clone!” the crowd chanted, and Tempest thought he saw a couple people he didn’t recognize inciting the mob. If he had to guess, they were mercs that Rampage had hired and outfitted with Purple Faction uniforms. It burned Tempest that he could not call out his suspicion, as it would be counted as a weak attempt to get out of the battle. Could it be that I’m actually that unpopular, and I’m looking for an excuse to all this animosity directed towards me? No, it couldn’t be. The only way out was to win and ruin his son’s future.

  They made their ways to the opposite sides of the arena, a massive dome in the center of the Purple Faction complex. Once the battle started, referee supers would create a shield around the perimeter and the battle would continue until one super relented or was rendered unconscious. Support supers stood on standby to heal any mortal injuries.

  Requiring healing also was considered a forfeit, and the super had only a five-count to refuse healing and battle on, else they could do what they needed to save a life. No one had ever died in a duel, but there had been some close calls. As he thought of it, there hadn’t been a battle in quite some time. And everyone liked a good fight.

  “I’m getting too old for this,” Tempest muttered to himself as he charged up his skills. He knew his son’s attacks and skills intimately, having trained him throughout his time at the academy. How does he think he could possibly win?

  The referee dropped the shield that separated both halves of the dome, adding his strength to the outer dome shield. Cyclone raised in the air, supported by a swirling mini twister. Tempest shook his head, knowing the effect was just for show and did nothing to actually support Cyclone. He refused to give it up, wasting precious MP that would eventually be needed in a battle and not be available.

  Tempest applied pressure fronts counter to the rotation of the tiny tornado and ripped it away. As expected, Cyclone settled to earth, unwilling to cede that it was necessary. Tempest extracted energy out of one area in front of him, transferring it to another area rapidly, cycling and alternating the effect to create his own twister, directing it to where Cyclone would land. The force of the blast threw his son to the ground but did not have enough time to develop enough momentum to do any damage.

  Just submit, we’ll find a way out of this later.

  Cyclone jumped to his feet, hair wild from the blast. He reached his arms ou
t in front of him and exerted his ability to create an increase in pressure right above Tempest.

  I taught you this, and you try to use it against me? Tempest reached a single hand upward and easily resisted, countering the force and pushing against it. He affected a yawn to further rattle the boy and get him to see the futility of his attacks. He also had to maintain his persona. These battles were a waste of time and he didn’t want to be fighting a new upstart every week.

  Sweat beaded on Cyclone’s forehead as he strained to push against the increasing counter pressure. In frustration, he dropped his attack and charged at his father.

  Tempest easily sidestepped and pushed him in the back as he passed, causing him to stumble with the additional momentum and nearly fall.

  Cyclone turned, face red and nostrils flaring as he charged again. This time he tackled Tempest and began punching. While it was obvious he was giving it his all, the blows barely registered, only occasionally dropping a single point of HP here and there. Taking advantage of their proximity, he decided to get to the bottom of this fiasco.

  “What did they say to you, Cyclone?”

  “You wouldn’t understand,” the boy growled as he continued to punch, getting angrier as he noticed that his father’s red bar was not diminishing.

  “Try me,” Tempest said.

  “You say that they want to make me a puppet, but you’re the one always keeping me on a leash, limiting my potential.”

  “I’m trying to keep you safe. The only time I’ve kept you back was from missions you obviously weren’t prepared for, just like you aren’t prepared for this fight.”

  Taking this as another insult, Cyclone fired his Wind Whip ability right in Tempest’s face.

  It caused minimal damage, but it did hurt like hell and Tempest’s anger flared as he easily slid out from the unstable pin and leaned in, forcing the bone of his muscular forearm down on his son’s throat. “You’ve forced my hand. I never wanted to do this. I really wish you had talked to me about what you were feeling. This was the worst choice you could have made, and I’m sure you won’t like the consequences.”

  Tempest looked into his son’s fearful eyes. They seemed to scream without words. The crowd began booing him, disgusted with the turnabout. Tempest looked up at the crowd. Faces contorted in anger comprised the majority of the crowd. Yelling and shouting obscenities.

  What did I do to warrant this hatred? These were people he had served at great personal sacrifice. No doubt a great majority didn’t know the hours he had put in to make their lives easier. Doing all the unpleasant tasks it took to run an organization this large. To enforce order on a chaotic world.

  Slightly nodding, Tempest twisted, making it look like Cyclone had broken free of the pin, and allowed his son to get the upper hand.

  Cyclone’s eyes went savage as he grasped his father’s neck and started to squeeze.

  Out of reflex, Tempest applied outward pressure around his neck, not allowing Cyclone’s hands to do any permanent damage, but he could see his son struggling. He really was trying to hurt him. The thought hurt him more than any of the attacks he had ever experienced from friend or foe.

  The crowd roared at the apparent turn of the tide. Cords stood out on Cyclone’s neck as he strained, and tears squeezed out from crazed eyes. So this is what Purple Faction has become? This is what I’ve been sacrificing for all this time? Flashes of all the hours he had spent, solving some problem or other, being a mediator between disputing supers, or off on some mission or another. What had he traded? He thought he had given enough time to family, but apparently, he knew less than he thought he did.

  He had so much less to give after she was gone. Less happiness, less energy, less everything. Looking back up into his son’s eyes, he made the choice that he had given enough. The Faction would continue to take from him until it drained him to a husk and then cast him aside. Sometimes people get the leaders they deserve.

  He looked over and saw Rampage and Aftershock congratulating themselves. Tempest would lose this battle either way, by ruining his family’s legacy or by losing his career. Reaching out, he slapped the arena floor, signaling that he conceded the battle.

  Cyclone let go of his neck and stood on shaky feet. His hands trembled in amazement, and confusion was barely recognizable on his face until someone rushed forward and lifted his right arm in victory. The crowd roared again, celebrating the apparent upset.

  “The challenger has succeeded! Per Faction rules, they will trade ranks immediately. Tempest will be reclassified as Class D and Cyclone is elevated to a Commander!” the referee bellowed, voice augmented to project through the arena.

  Cyclone didn’t even give him the respect to offer a hand to get back on his feet. Tempest stood and made his way out of the arena, heading to clear out his room. No one paid him any attention as he walked out the door.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Sad Girl

  Gus and Aurora went to the Foundry with the canister and plate. “Nick, are you going to go offline forever like last time we did this? That would suck if the supers showed up and you were AFK.”

  “No, this should go much more smoothly. I have already interfaced with the hybrid-Nth and there should be no time offline upgrading and installing anything,” Nick reassured and Gus breathed a sigh of relief.

  “What should I do with the Nth in the canister? They’re first-generation, right? Should I save them for something?”

  “I would put them in for processing with the Endurium. They no doubt would be even more powerful because they haven’t overspecialized. The Endurium might even allow them to retain adaptability, which would be especially helpful with your wide range of abilities. This Foundry can process and fuse the two, and it should take less time than a straight fabrication.”

  “How long would that take compared to last time?”

  “Integration should only take about two or three hours. Once they are synced to you, they would be immediately available for use. Your shielding would rebound and be even more robust, and I think your storage problems for abilities would be gone.”

  “Good news for a change. Thanks, Nick.” Gus entered the orders and entered the materials and canister into the indicated hoppers. A timer synced with the lower left of Gus’ display.

  “And now we wait,” Aurora sighed, tapping her fingers while watching the countdown timer.

  “You know everything about me, but I still don’t really know you. Why don’t you tell me how you came to be a super to pass the time?”

  “Nah, there’s not much to tell,” Aurora said dismissively.

  “That’s not true,” Daphne broke in. “He showed you his, so he gets to see yours.”

  “Daphneeee,” Aurora warned.

  “I already have the memory queued up. Movie time!” A window popped up on Gus’ display that he could maximize just like a holovid.

  “Here, let me catch you up, Gus,” Daphne said and a montage of Aurora’s memories replayed. He saw her mother die, and her Nth transferring. From there the movie slowed.

  “Please don’t show him this,” Aurora pleaded.

  “You need this Aurora; you’re too closed off. This was a key moment for you. Now hush.”

  The little girl stayed in the shack for as long as she could stand. But soon the flies came. And the smell. There wasn’t a lot of room in the small space, and the girl realized she couldn’t stay there anymore. When she could take it no more, she rolled her meager belongings into a blanket and went outside.

  She wandered the streets, shy, yet fascinated by the large city around her.

  She hadn’t eaten since her mother had come home and she held her stomach. One boy a bit older than her offered to share his bread. After she had a couple bites, he grabbed onto her arm while older boys came, whooping and hollering.

  In a panic, she stomped on the foot of her captor and twisted out of his grasp. She ran and ran, finally escaping, but she had to leave her only blanket and belongings behind. A
fter that, she was much less trusting.

  Due to her small size, she could crawl into small nooks and try to keep warm by packing old newspapers and discarded scraps of clothing or bags around her. She constantly shivered, awaking in fear with noises in the interminable nights. She would sleep fitfully, hoping to wake in the morning, but finding only a couple hours had passed, and the cold night would endure.

  Her favorite nook to rest had a view of the clock on Svenson Tower in the distance. Even when daylight finally arrived and the temperatures rose again, it still took her a long time to stop shivering.

  The gaunt little girl was always hungry. This wasn’t new to her, but she had to swallow what little pride she had and scavenge for food from the ubiquitous trash bags that always populated this part of town. This went on for three or four weeks.

  She was loitering around a small local market that usually threw away expired, but edible food and vegetables. Cass saw a woman trying to buy some groceries, but she also saw the owner was charging her way too much for the food. The woman seemed oblivious to what was happening so Cass followed her.

  She tried to explain what was happening but neither could understand each other. The woman took pity on the little girl, and took her to her tiny shack of a house and made the two of them a meal.

  Ever wary, the girl picked at the food until she could resist no longer. She tore into the meal like an animal. Halfway through she looked up at the woman, ashamed to see her surprised look. Then she smiled and served Cass some more food and motioned for her to eat.

  After the pair had eaten, the little girl tried to learn how she had made the meal, waving to the ingredients and how she had mixed them together.

  This must have sparked an idea with the woman because she began grabbing some things and putting them on the table. She pulled out a tokencard and pointed to the girl. She then brought out various things from the cupboard and had her write a list.