by R. J. Ross
“You’re welcome,” he says.
“It’s a robot,” she says. “You gave them a robot. Does it have built-in lasers, or something?”
“Not yet. Maybe when he gets older,” Nico says a bit obscurely before teleporting away. The chupacabra looks at her, his eyes glowing red, and then pads over to sit in front of her, long tail wagging. Reluctantly, she reaches out, patting him. Sitting down, his head comes up to her waist.
“We will name him Choop!” Skye declares.
“I wanted to name him Eric, though,” Ariel says.
“Chooperic!” Skye says.
“YAY!” Ariel says.
“Hey,” Doris says to the newly-named “Chooperic,” “By any chance, do you know how to operate the microwave?”
Chooperic barks. She decides to take that as an affirmative.
So, for the final story, we have a main character that isn’t a villain. Yes, I know, I’m breaking my own rules, but while I was deciding what our next plot should be, I realized that I needed this to open it up. And since I was already writing a book of shorts, I figured it would be easiest just to add it here! So without further adieu, I present the first Rochester short story.
Graduation Gig
The man wearing the janitor’s uniform walks down the hall pushing a mop and a bucket on wheels. No one gives him a second look, even if they notice how many piercings he has. No one cares what the guy cleaning the toilets looks like. Stopping in a hallway, he puts down the “wet floor” sign and starts mopping expertly, his body doing what it needs to as his mind goes somewhere far, far away.
In this instance, that far away is Kansas City, Missouri, Cape High.
*Two days ago*
“Okay, Rochester, since the South Branch has already opened, you’re going to at least need your high school diploma,” Nico says, lounging at his desk in the science room. “And since you’re going to graduate from Cape High, a paper test isn’t going to do it, is it?”
“Yeah, but—“ Rochester says.
“We have requirements for our graduates, even for the stealth type capes,” Nico goes on, ignoring how Rochester is trying to interrupt. “And while you’re South Branch, and might assume that Century should be the one bossing you around, this is about your graduation. You’re going to do this to graduate,” he repeats, emphasizing the words.
“In other words you need someone t’ do somethin’ shifty, an’ you’re usin’ the whole graduatin’ thing t’ put me t’ work,” Rochester sums up.
Nico gives him a shameless grin. “I’ve got a few boys that would theoretically work for the job, but you’re the one that’s best suited to bring the information back. Not to mention, this place would notice teenagers.”
“Where is it?” Rochester says, leaning back in his chair.
“It’s called SITEC. Their by-line is ‘Where science and technology meet,’” Nico says. “They’re the lab that specialized in cleaning up Hall messes before I came on board. You know that museum of mad scientist experiments? Well, they’re the ones that made the displays safe for the public.”
“So… the Hall trusts them?” Rochester asks.
“Apparently,” Nico says, “Century is good friends with the owner.”
“And you’re still sendin’ me in t’ check things out,” Rochester says.
“Century might trust the head guy, but every barrel of geniuses has to have a few rotten apples,” Nico says.
“But you took over all the stuff they were doin’, right?” Rochester says. “Shouldn’t they be more paranoid about you than you are of them?”
“Nobody’s more paranoid than me,” Nico says, almost proudly, only to stop and correct himself, “okay, Skye might be more paranoid than I am… slightly. I recently added a few tweaks to her security system that were all her idea. That’s actually part of the reason I want you to go on this mission.”
“Skye?” Rochester repeats, shocked, “What does this have t’ do with Skye?”
“That’s something I’ve been wondering, myself. For now, though, I want you to go in and do a bit of research. Find out just how far they’ve gotten with their studies on super genetics and if they’ve destroyed all evidence of any mad scientist weaponry, or if it’s being used in what they’re doing. Anything interesting, basically, should be reported to me.”
“An’ how do you expect me t’ get into this place?” Rochester asks, already knowing the answer.
“I’m not getting you a written invitation, if that’s what you’re asking. Go in however you want, but don’t get caught. You’re a full grown cape, you should know how to do that much, right?”
“So get in, get info, get out,” Rochester sums up. “I’ll haveta do a bit of research.”
“I’m relying on you,” Nico says, getting to his feet and crossing over to Rochester to shake hands. “I’ll have your diploma waiting as soon as this is over. Then you’ll be welcomed as a teacher, officially.”
“What kinda job only needs a high school diploma for a teacher?” Rochester asks.
“The school janitor,” Nico says. “You aren’t going to be teaching the real sciences, or anything. But I plan on you helping the kids with emotional problems, as well, under the table, that is.”
“Thanks,” Rochester says a bit sarcastically.
“We’re supers,” Nico says, “we tend to collect emotional baggage.”
***
So here he is, mopping clean floors while the real janitor is out on an unexpected trip to see his ailing grandmother. He needs to get to a computer, he thinks as he finishes up the floor and then uses his set of keys to get into the room he’s blocked off. The janitor’s memories are at the forefront of Rochester’s mind, including a mental blueprint of the entire building, and lunch hours for all of the scientists.
What does this place have to do with Skye? The question is repeating over and over in his mind, and his hand almost tightens too much on the door handle. He likes Skye. Skye was the first person in the South Branch that he considered a friend. In his life, he’s not had many friends that accept him after finding out about his psychometry. Even more importantly, she doesn’t hesitate to touch him. That means more to him than she will ever know.
He heads through the office that he’s just broken into, looking around for a moment before heading to the rather grungy looking desk. He reaches down, touching the keyboard. He doesn’t press any of the keys, doesn’t try to get into the files, he just touches it. His eyes glow faintly as memories rush through his mind.
The person that uses this keyboard has been researching tanks, hoping to design a special suit for military purposes. Or, Rochester notes, that’s the line that the man has been giving his superiors. Truthfully, the scientist is a huge fan of female tanks, and uses this research as an excuse to obsess over them and still get paid. He tells his superiors that studying lab samples will help him to create a new alloy and he has several hair samples of the weaker tanks. He dreams of getting a chunk of Marigold’s or Jeanie’s. He’s bought several things off of the black market that were claimed to be genuine samples, but so far it’s always been some sort of animal hair. Considering both their jobs and their S-class tank natures, it’s not surprising he’s found nothing.
“Hey!” a man says as he steps into the office. “What are you doing in here? I didn’t ask for a janitor!”
“Sorry, sir, I’m filling in for Tommy,” Rochester says. “I’m from the same company,” he adds, tugging out a card and flashing it.
“I don’t care, get out!”
“Yes, sir,” Rochester says, walking right past a Marigold poster and not saying a word. He isn’t worried about that one, he thinks, as long as the Hall has Shadowman under wraps, a norm has no chance of getting too close to a tank, male or female. He packs up his mop and bucket and moves on to the next office in his mental map--the room that had sent off an internal alarm the moment he found out about it.
He sets up like he had for the last one, mopping the floo
r, his mind sorting through the information he’d learned, almost absently. There’s a lot of genetic research tossed in, and it’s a new subject for him. He’s never really bothered to use his ability on intellects. He’s gone to fighting tournaments, and he made a habit of sneaking into prisons when he was younger, just to see what got the inmates caught. He’s been to hundreds of bars and orchestra performances, as well, usually to sneak into the back. But scientists have never really interested him.
“If you’re going to clean in front of my office, get that gum out from under the bench over there,” a woman says, stepping out of the office and looking him over.
“That bench?” Rochester asks, pointing to the one across from her door.
“That’s the one,” she says, leaning against the doorframe. It looks like she plans on watching, he thinks, feeling a bit awkward as he crouches down to start cleaning. She isn’t the type to stand out in a room. She’s got her hair pulled back, and big plastic framed glasses. She doesn’t look like the type to sexually harass a janitor, either, he thinks, glancing over, so this isn’t about checking him out.
“I wouldn’t’uv thought people’d chew gum in a place like this,” he says.
“More than half of the people working here are just fanboys that happen to have the right schooling to be called scientists,” she says, pushing her glasses up her nose with a scowl. “No one takes it seriously. Have you gotten it all?”
“Yessum,” he says, cleaning off his scraper and standing. “I’m new t’ the job, filling in for Tommy—“
She looks at his face. Maybe he didn’t even HAVE to explain who he was, he realizes belatedly. To people like this, janitors are interchangeable, right? But then something changes, and her eyes narrow slightly. She steps forward, reaching up and grabbing his chin so she can look at his face. He pulls back, but that brief touch made his eyes glow faintly as he picked up on a little of her past and her name. Busted, he thinks darkly.
“It’s you,” Thelma Farkinkle says. “Skystep’s--“ she stops herself, looking both ways before grabbing his arm and tugging him towards her office. “Come with me!” she urges him.
He follows. She closes the door behind them, locking it quickly. He’s too busy looking at all of the pictures of the Deadly Darlin’s lining the wall. There are sections and reports about the places they’ve robbed, the people that have encountered them on their off days, and there—he thinks as he sees a grainy picture of himself, a picture of him on the beach.
His internal warning bell starts to go off. Maybe this was what Nico was talking about? This lady is clearly obsessed with the girls…
“You’re their favorite person!” Thelma says, so excited that he almost falls over. “Oh, my gosh, I have so much to ask you! I’ve interviewed several people that have run into them, but it’s just not the same as talking to one of their actual FRIENDS—oh, where should I start—I need to record this! Where did I put my camcorder? It’s got to be somewhere, right?” She starts digging through all of her papers and files, throwing them this way and that without a care. “I’VE FOUND IT!” she bellows, holding up a camcorder a second later.
“Ma’am—“ he starts out, only to be pushed down into a chair on top of yet more files. “I’m not sure—“
“You’re sneaking in, I get that, don’t worry, I won’t blow your cover—I figure if you help me, I’ll help you—that whole ‘scratching of backs’ thing, you know what I mean,” she says. “Tell me what you know about the Deadly Darlin’s,” she orders. “ALL of it. How did you meet? Do you see them on a regular basis? Do any of them have a boyfriend, or a lover, or whatever they want to call it?”
“I’m afraid that all of that is confidential,” he says, taking his most businesslike tone.
“Then I’m afraid that you’re breaking and entering,” Thelma says, standing and starting for the door.
“Wait!” he says. “Have you been… stalkin’ the Darlin’s?” he asks.
“What?”
“I was sent in here t’ find out if this place has some sort of relationship with Skye—er, Skystep. So have you been takin’ private pictures, or anythin’, of the Darlin’s when they’re not on the clock?” he demands.
“I wish—I mean, of course I haven’t! Look at the pictures for yourself, everything’s from sightings from the public or news reports. If I was stalking them, do you think I’d have to rely on you to find out about their love lives? I LOVE the Deadly Darlin’s. They’re my—my—heroes! Well, they’re villains, sure, but you know what I mean!”
“You mean… you’re a fangirl, posin’ as a scientist, just so ya c’n make money obsessin’ over your favorite capes,” he says. She turns bright red.
“Fine! Yes! That’s exactly what I mean. Do you have a problem with it?” she demands.
“As long as you don’t go too far, not really,” he says. “I c’n sortta understand it, even,” he adds, looking at a particularly good picture of the three together.
“I WAS working in the weapons of villainy dissembling branch,” she says, calming down. “It isn’t that we got much from Skystep, of course, but I have a nice little collection of water guns and everything that she left at crime scenes. But then most of us were either laid off or placed in paper pushing jobs like the one I’ve got. Right now they’re looking into branching out into other fields of super science, just to keep this place open.”
“And what does that have to do with stalkin’ the Darlin’s?” Rochester asks.
“I’ve been looking into how what little we know about her phasing ability can be applied to science,” Thelma says. “I dug for WEEKS before finding this information—can you believe they went and hid it? There are so many applications that we could use it for! Really, it’s amazing that they had it over fifteen years ago and no one even mentioned it when they hired me three years ago!”
Rochester goes still, his eyes widening. “Fifteen years?” he repeats.
“Roughly, yes,” she says. “It was one of the scientists that left to pursue his own research a few years ago, but we have to have papers published regularly in order to keep our jobs, so why did he never publish it? I really have to admire how much he found out… I just… sort of wonder how he got this much detail,” she admits, going to her computer and tapping on the keyboard.
“So he’s not here?” Rochester says. “Can ya tell me where ya found that information?”
“Hmm?” she says, looking up. “Sure, it should be in what’s the basement, now. But I really doubt they’ll let you in without special clearance, even if you are dressed as the janitor. But you’ve got to tell me, are you just a black suit? Or are you something else? I’ve never heard of a black suit with powers, before.”
“Time t’ go,” Rochester says rather than answering that. He gets to his feet and heads to the door, leaving her before she can come up with an excuse to keep him. He packs up his bucket and mop and starts for the stairs, his mind rushing. He needs to get into the basement. Usually that should be easy for a janitor, though, right? So why did she seem to think it would be impossible? What did they keep in the basement?
A better question is will Thelma keep his secret? He turns, looking behind him as the door to her office closes. He has no way of being certain, so he needs to work fast. He heads for the janitor closet, putting the mop and bucket away, and starts to search through the memories he’d picked up from the real janitor.
The janitor never went into the basement, but he knew how to get there. Rochester heads for the back of the building, walking as if he knows exactly what he’s doing—a great way to not get stopped. People barely glance at him as he heads down an unused hall, reaching the door that’s triple locked. He digs out his lock picks and gets to work, moving with a speed that would make people behind him think that he has the keys.
Time to see the skeletons in the closet, he thinks cheerfully. He’s always been better with skeletons than real people, anyway.
***
Thelma’s m
ind is swirling, and she’s trying to figure out what to do next. An actual super—she saw his eyes glow—is in the building. Not only is he a super, he’s a friend of the Deadly Darlin’s! She just let him walk out, she realizes a second later. “No,” she says. “No, no, I can’t let him go this easily. He’s…” she goes to her computer, tapping on her mouse and bringing up the South Branch Hall’s website. She already knows what she’s going to find, but she checks it, anyway. “He’s not registered as a working cape,” she whispers, racing for the door and down the hall.
She needs to find him before he escapes! She HAS to know what he can do!
***
Rochester doesn’t dare whistle as he makes his way down the stairs of the rather spacious basement. The place smells of dust and stale air, and there are cobwebs everywhere. He ignores them, and crouches down, touching the floor. Usually only extremely strong emotions will last this long. Fortunately, there had been no lack of those.
So now, just as he and Zoe had stood in the space ship in the past, he stands in the basement, watching scientists walk past, or even through him. There aren’t many. This is a part of the building that only a few have access to, but those that do are nervous. He turns his attention to three scientists whispering in the corner.
“They’re going to find out,” the first man says. “He should have never brought her HERE.”
“And where else would he take her?” the second man asks. “We’re the only place that has a set-up for that sort of thing.”
“It was a theoretical experiment!”
“With the theory that one day a super is going to be too hard for the others to control, right? Well you’ve heard about what they have at the Cape Cells! They already have this technology!” the third whispers.