Gruefield 18 (Tarnished Sterling Omnibus)

by Robert McCarroll

  "It may be a while before Claybrook is in any state to be interviewed," Razordemon said. "I have a few things to tend to. I'll check in with you later."

  "Don't sneak up on me next time."

  "No promises, detective." Razordemon slipped away, tracking down one of the floor nurses.

  "Can I help you?"

  "The patient in Operating room two, Claybrook, can we get his blood tested for foreign substances? Whatever he's on might impede his treatment," Razordemon lied.

  Gabe Derleth's kitchen table was a rather well-done homemade affair, but Errol could see where the decorative elements were starting to separate. The main tabletop appeared to be a slab of three-quarter-inch plywood with a cherry wood veneer on top and strips of molded edging on the side. The legs looked to be four-by-fours that had a run-in with a hand lathe. One of the edging strips was loose, showing the layers of wood behind it. Errol draped the simple tablecloth over the surface and laid out the table settings.

  "Flynn's brown-nosing already," Ed said as he dropped into one of the chairs.

  "You'd let Mister Derleth do all the work of preparing dinner by himself," Errol said. "I can't do that."

  "I told you, it's Gabe." Gabe shifted a pot from the stove and poured it into a colander.

  "I said I had that," Errol said.

  "Kid, I was punching out monsters the size of battleships when I was your age. A pot of water weighs about as much as a feather."

  "See," Ed said, "He's got it."

  "That doesn't mean I don't appreciate the help," Gabe said. "Sort of makes me wonder what you did to end up here. Ed, not so much mystery there."

  "Hey!" Ed said.

  "Don't dish out what you can't take," Gabe said. "Or, more classically, treat others as you'd wish to be treated." Ed visibly forced himself to not talk back to Gabe. The old man went about rinsing off the pasta in the colander.

  "So we're having spaghetti?" Lazar asked as he entered and found a seat.

  "It's cheap, and you have to earn upgrades to the menu," Gabe said.

  "Are these costs written down somewhere?" Lazar asked.

  "You could always plan and prepare dinner yourselves," Gabe said. "If you let me get around to it, you know what we're having."

  "Maybe we should do that for tomorrow," Lazar said. "I don't think I can take four days in a row of this."

  "Of what?" Kevan asked.

  "Pasta," Gabe said, dumping the colander into a bowl.

  "Oh, don't whine, food's food, and it's regular."

  "Easy for you to say," Lazar said. "You actually have gone hungry before."

  Errol transferred the sauce from the pan on the stove to a serving dish and brought it over to the table. Gabe brought the bowl of pasta and set it in the middle of the table. There was a rush to be the first at the tongs. Errol wasn't a part of it. He'd folded his hands, closed his eyes and was silently going through a prayer. By the time he opened his eyes and started dishing up his own meal, the others had started.

  "Good thing this is the cheap tablecloth," Gabe said, looking at the splattered sauce. A knock at the door put a cross look on his face. "Some timing." Gabe stood and made his way to the front door.

  "Gabriel Derleth?"

  "Yes, what is it?"

  "I'm from Paragon Logistics. I've brought the costume designer app for your boarders."

  "You'll have to wait, they're having dinner."

  "Isn't that software?" Ed asked. "Why does it need a delivery man?"

  "It only runs on a system approved to remotely access our network," the man from Paragon Logistics called back. "I brought the hardware with me."

  "You can wait in the living room. You wouldn't want them to get spaghetti sauce on your fancy electronics."

  "Will do."

  "I've got to know what Flynn's going to pick for a code name," Ed said. "We know what red has, and Birdstrike should stick with Birdstrike, since that's what I'm going to call him anyway."

  "I'd have a few choice words for you if they didn't ban profanity," Lazar said.

  "Oh come on, it's punchy, memorable, and already associated with you."

  "Whatever. Maybe."

  "I still have to think on it," Errol said. Errol was the last to finish, as he was the only one who hadn't wolfed down his food. Stacking the dishes in the sink, Errol prepared to start washing them. Gabe's hand fell on his shoulder.

  "Kid," he said, opening a dishwasher under the counter next to the sink. "It can handle a little red sauce."

  "Right." Errol loaded the dishes into the dishwasher.

  "Don't run it yet, it's not full."

  "Yes, sir." Errol sat down as Gabe bundled the table cloth into his arms and carried it towards the laundry room.

  "They're all yours," he called. The man from Paragon Logistics stepped into the kitchen. Under the ball cap and windbreaker, he wore a hero suit. He was completely covered, with only a pair of yellow, wedge-shaped lenses on his goggles as a window to the person underneath. He wore yellow, rust-brown, and gray in a combination that was not particularly pleasant to look at. He set a tablet on the table.

  "You don't look like a delivery boy," Ed said.

  "When the Fund pays your insurance, you have to pay them back. Sometimes you fight aliens, some times you play delivery boy."

  "Isn't that degrading?" Ed asked.

  "Given what my premiums are, I'm a very highly paid delivery boy."

  "What is your name?" Errol asked.

  "My code name is Wolfjack. You don't need to know my real name."

  "I didn't mean it that way, sir."

  Lazar picked up the tablet. "Why is there an undergarment tab?" he asked, tapping it.

  "This Scyan crap hugs your skin, and it can be very revealing without the right underwear."

  "Is there anything to make you look more ripped?"

  "It's called exercise."

  "I thought I was the funny guy," Ed said.

  "That usually requires being funny," Kevan said.

  "Done," Lazar said. He put the tablet down on the table. Out of curiosity, the others crowded around it. The design he'd come up with was black from the waist down and gray above that. The mask had been left on the default domino shape, but he'd added a hood to the suit.

  "That's just you," Ed said.

  "That's how I know I'm going to be okay with it."

  "Save it under your name," Wolfjack said. "Whatever machine they have to churn these things out will probably start making it before the others have even finished with their designs."

  "Does that mean we'll get them tonight?" Ed asked.

  "No, I'm not a speedster." Lazar handed the tablet off to Ed. He put together a design in sky blue, white, and black. His had no hood, and he still hadn't changed the default mask. Kevan quickly hammered out something in red, black, and bronze.

  "You didn't put much effort into that," Ed said.

  "When they said I was taking on the Ranger Roy legacy, they meant the whole outfit too, from helmet to boots. Nobody is even going to see this." Kevan nonchalantly handed the tablet to Errol, who looked at the designer with trepidation.

  "Don't tell me you don't know how to work a touchscreen," Ed said.

  "Unlike Kevan, I have to put some thought into this," Errol said.

  "Okay with me, community service is clocked by the hour," Wolfjack said.

  "That's a lousy attitude," Gabe said.

  "I've got nearly two hundred hours to work off," Wolfjack said. "It's a little hard to keep the enthusiasm up when you're in that much debt."

  "You could always volunteer to be a liaison with this team," Gabe said. "Helping delinquents reform has got to be more in the spirit of the Community than playing delivery boy."

&
nbsp; "Can you volunteer on how you provide Community Service? Usually the Fund just comes to me and says 'do this'."

  "There are things you can volunteer for that count towards Community Service," Gabe said. "Helping these guys is one of them."

  "I'd have to get a more specific job description before I say yes."

  "Talk to Razordemon, he's the project coordinator."

  Errol turned in a design in black and red. He still hadn't changed the default mask, having spent more time looking for the most modest undergarments they had on offer.

  Part 4

  Errol hadn't ridden the city bus before. It was the only way to get from the halfway house to Leyden Academy. Figuring out how the bus pass worked with the fare box wasn't the hard part, it was riding in a shambling metal box with so many strange people. It was so full there was nowhere for him to sit. Taking hold of an unusually warm metal bar near the ceiling, he fought to retain his footing as the driver seemed determined to dump the standing passengers in the laps of those with seats. The bus slowly emptied as it moved away from downtown, and a seat freed up for him. The moment after he sat down, Errol realized he was next to the creepy kid with the eyepatch.

  "Um," Errol said. "Travis was it? I'm sorry about what happened."

  "Which part, breaking into the school or Tasing me with an arrow?"

  "Shooting you. I mean, I'm trying to apologize for having shot you."

  "Did you ever go on your date with Fae Fowler?" Travis asked. Errol was confused at the change of topic.

  "I'm not sure why it matters."

  "Her uncle's my godfather. She's sort of a spiritual cousin."

  "We had our date."

  "And?"

  "And I'm not sure if we're still going out or if she's moved on."

  "Did you try asking her? It might clear things up."

  "Look, I hardly know you, I don't think this is an appropriate conversation."

  "Tell Fae, she's been bugging me to find you."

  "I was suspended, and they took my phone away."

  "Catching up after an absence here isn't fun, I've tried it."

  "What?" Errol asked. Travis pointed to his eyepatch. "Oh. You know, I expected you to be more angry."

  "I haven't got the time to waste on that," Travis said. "That doesn't mean you can shoot me again. I've only got so much forgiveness in me."

  "What about the rest of the students?"

  "You can't shoot them either."

  "That's not what I meant. How mad are they?"

  "I don't know. You're not the topic of conversation, but there's also an element of out of sight, out of mind. You'll have to find out when you get there." Travis' one eye glanced toward Errol. "You never rode this bus before, why are you here now?"

  "I went into a reform program. It's like house arrest, only with their house." He pulled up his left trouser leg to show the thin black band around his ankle. "That's the locator that lets them keep tabs on me." He dropped the pant leg back into place, and pulled up his sock.

  "That doesn't look like government issue."

  "It's a Community Fund program. They have all the fancy tech that the lowest bidder can't provide."

  "They do a lot of schmaltzy projects like that."

  "'Schmaltzy'? I don't think I've heard that term before."

  "It means overly-sentimental. It's Yiddish."

  The bus turned onto the campus of Leyden Academy and Errol adjusted the knot on his tie. "Well, I guess it's time to find out." Errol stepped off of the bus into the brisk air. Most of the snow had melted, but the carcasses of the large snowbanks behind the parking lot hung in tenaciously. Most of the students drove in or were dropped off by upmarket cars, trucks and SUVs. Only those students on scholarship, the resident 'poor kids', arrived by any other means. Having been dropped off by his grandfather's battered old hatchback for most of the year, Errol didn't feel that off arriving with the other 'poor kids'. Most of the students didn't even give him a second glance. The one who did was the one Errol was least looking forward to seeing.

  Sarah Fox pushed her blond hair behind her ears and stormed over to where Errol stood. "I don't care what people say, you're a little creep, and I'm not going to forgive you."

  "Hello, Sarah," Errol said.

  "A two-week suspension is a joke of a punishment. You should have been expelled."

  "Are you done?"

  "No, but I have to get to class."

  "Bye, Sarah," Errol said.

  Jerome Claybrook tried to wipe the tears from his eyes, then did so with his remaining hand. "The whole arm?" he asked again, staring at the bundle of bandages about his stump. Esposito refrained from pointing out that he still technically had a quarter of his arm. Jerome's ankle was chained to the bed frame next to his chart. The otherwise sterile-white hospital room was short on furniture. The only patch of shadows sat near the doorway, where Esposito had unscrewed the light before the nurses woke Jerome. Jerome's dark skin was littered with darker ink from a number of overlapping amateur tattoos. One had become infected and left a scar up his forearm when it healed. His hair was cut short, and he was clean shaven. Esposito dropped the photograph of the vial of blue liquid on Jerome's lap. "What about it?"

  "Vanguard Hospital screened your blood, found three foreign chemicals in it. One of which was this stuff. We've got a chemical composition, but neither my lab, nor the boys at Vanguard have ever seen this stuff before. Has it got a name?"

  "They call it Lucid Blue," Jerome said.

  "What do you know about it?"

  "Why should I tell you."

  "Because I'm asking nicely. And if I leave, he gets a turn to ask you questions." Esposito tipped his head towards the shadow behind him. Jerome looked in that direction. His eyes went wide at the mass of spikes, spines, and blades half-concealed within the only gloom in the room.

  "What the fuck is that thing?"

  "I believe they call him Razordemon."

  "Shit, man, calling him out is overkill."

  "He has agreed to let me try to ask you some questions first. So, what do you know about Lucid Blue?"

  "It's potent shit, supposed to give you weapons-grade powers."

  "Like super strength?"

  "It gives different people different powers," Jerome said. "But yeah, it gave me strength."

  "But not durability?"

  Jerome looked down at the stump of his right arm. "I felt invincible," Jerome said. "I mean, I ripped a door off its hinges, flipped a dumpster. Then I saw the cop car and went 'I'm gonna wreck that shit'. One punch and bam, my arm was Jello, and I couldn't stop screaming."

  "Did you know Morris Huff?"

  "Paint? Yeah, I knew him. He took Blue, and suddenly he can fly. Everyone knows this shit wears off, but he didn't want to land."

  "So it wore off, and he landed the hard way."

  "Paint was always an idiot."

  "Were you?"

  Jerome looked at his arm again. "Naw, but it's the stuff. When you're on Blue, you ain't thinking straight. I was like 'bring me a cape, and I'll kick his ass.' I probably would have tried it too."

  "How many people in Riverside are using?"

  "Don't know. There are still more crackheads, so it ain't everybody."

  "Now here's the important question. Where did you get the Lucid Blue?"

  "I got it from Paint, and he's dead, so I can't tell you where he got it from."

  "Thank you, Jerome. If I have any more questions, I'll come back later." Esposito walked over to the door. He looked at the strange amalgamation of metal. There was a human-shaped depression in the back where Razordemon had stepped out of the figure. Esposito swore there was more metal than could fit inside the cavity, even without accounting for space taken up by vital org
ans.