"What?" Lazar asked.
"On the bridge, I very clearly heard the speedster in purple call Razordemon 'Dad'."
"So what?" Blue Streak asked, having arrived behind Kevan in almost the span of a blink.
"No running in my house," Gabe said, taking his seat.
"Is it true?" Kevan asked, looking over his shoulder.
"It's an open secret," she said. "What's it matter to you?"
"Oh, he just didn't strike me as the paternal type."
Blue thumped the back of Kevan's head. He didn't feel it. She shook her hand as if trying to cast off water. "You must have been the one doing the 'no sell' to mister invincible."
"You caught me miss," Kevan said. "Lucky us our secret identities aren't really secrets."
"No licenses?"
"Pretty much."
Errol finished his food and moved his plate to the dishwasher. "You brought a bow?" he asked, almost timidly. If she had a reaction behind the full face mask, it didn't show.
"You're the archer?" Blue asked.
"Yes, ma'am."
"Weren't you blond?"
"Just a wig, ma'am."
"Cut that out."
"What?"
"Calling me 'ma'am'. I'm not that old."
"Sorry." After a moment of silence, Blue headed back to the living room at a more sedate pace than she'd left it. Errol followed her.
"Here," she said handing over the plastic case. "I am officially very sorry for having destroyed your personal property, and should have assessed the situation better before acting."
The case looked too small to hold a bow. Opening it, Errol found a silver-white object that looked like a compound bow that had been hinged just above and below the grip. The string was taut between the arms, which were a mere handbreadth apart.
"I know you can't fold a normal compound bow, because you lose tension on the string and would have to put it in some sort of press to re-string it when you unfold it," Blue said. "The string on this one is woven from something like the material our suits are made from. It can change lengths when you trigger the folding or unfolding, so that the bow never loses tension."
Errol extracted the bow from the case and held it as if he were lining up a shot. Spotting the stud to toggle the bow's state, he depressed it with his thumb. The bow arms snapped into proper position and the string remained taut.
"I know why you look familiar," Blue said, bursting out laughing. "After what happened on Valentine's day..." she couldn't stop laughing. "With that stupid video going around..."
"I am well-aware of the irony," Errol said. "You don't have to laugh at me."
"I'm not laughing at you," Blue said. "I'm laughing at them."
The next afternoon, it was Lazar's turn at the Mercer Clinic. He walked in with his hood down and a smile on his face. Winding up his headphone cable, he tucked it in his pocket with his phone. "Hey Doc, nice to see you again. I see you still wear ugly sweater vests."
"Take a seat Lazar," Lindenbaum said. "It's only been a few months, and I'm not going to have changed my wardrobe in that short a time."
"I don't know, someone could have torched your closet."
"Wool is fire resistant."
"I did not know what." Lazar sat down in the chair opposite Lindenbaum, leaned back, and put his hands behind his head. "Not sure why I'm here though. My biggest problems are gone."
"You mean your wings?"
"You know, I didn't realize that there was a pain in my lower back caused by their weight. But then after they were gone, I woke up one morning and realized 'hey, my back doesn't hurt.' I had to get new shirts because the old ones all had holes in them. But the incident also led my mother to stop speaking to me, so wins all around."
"About that..."
"You heard my little tirade the last time around, I don't think we need to go over it again. She hasn't changed any more than your wardrobe has."
"So, all your problems are solved?" Lindenbaum asked.
"Don't get all monotone sarcastic with me. I've got problems, but they're normal problems. What am I going to do for a living? How am I going to support myself? Can I find a girlfriend? Not really the sorts of issues you can help me with. No offense."
"Have you given much thought to what you want to do with your future?"
"I don't want to spend it in jail, that's for certain. I was actually contemplating seeing if the Community Fund would have me."
"Oh?"
Lazar laughed dryly. "Yeah, but I doubt it."
"Why?"
"Can you imagine the do-gooders taking on a delinquent as a sidekick?"
"Yes."
"You have a better imagination than I do," Lazar said.
"No, I just know the Fund better. Do you know why your team is called the Junior Redemptioners?"
"Not really."
"There is a program for powered adult criminals wherein they perform missions on behalf of the government. The risks are high and the survival rate low. If they finish their terms they receive the equivalent of a judicial absolution for their crimes. They're known colloquially as Redemptioners. Several who have completed their terms are on active duty with the Community Fund. Your program was inspired by the other, only with lower risk missions, and with less serious offenders. The goal being to avoid having you or your teammates go down the road that would qualify them to be Redemptioners themselves. If they'll take a reformed Redemptioner, I'd imagine they'll take a reformed Junior Redemptioner."
"Huh. I'm learning a lot today."
"If that is really the path you want to take, this program is an excellent chance to make a positive impression on the right people."
"It had sort of just been a fantasy," Lazar said. "But, if it is possible... I'm going to have to give it more thought."
"Are you sure you're all right with not speaking to your mother?"
"Seriously? She tried to have me declared mentally unfit to speak on my own behalf. Just because I didn't want to go along with come kooky discrimination or persecution defense and wanted to take the plea bargain that avoided having the crime on my permanent record. I had to get a court order to get surgery to have my wings removed. I was a prop in her 'victim theater.' I'm fine with not talking to her."
"All right. But it does sound like you've still got a lot of anger about it."
"I've got that under control because I'm free from her. It's not going to make me act out or snap, or anything like that. My circumstances have changed for the better, now I just need time for the old wounds to heal."
"I see."
Future Products was housed in a two-story concrete building painted to resemble sandstone. It was connected to a four-story white concrete building bearing a sign for Paragon Logistics. Behind the two were four corrugated steel buildings taking up what used to be a parking lot. Armed guards patrolled the sidewalk. Armed guards who appeared to be from the Army instead of the Community Fund.
"What's going on?" Ed asked.
"Nothing," Razordemon said. "Alienists occasionally try to break into the labs and steal some of the Ygnaza tech they're trying to figure out."
"Why do we have slaver technology?"
"We took their ship when we freed the slaves," Razordemon said. "Now we're trying to understand it. Of course, aliens have alien ways of thinking, so the going has been slow."
One of the guards approached the driver's side window. Razordemon presented his documents.
"This is a weird job," the guard said.
"You're new to this post, aren't you?"
"Third week," he said.
"You get used to us," Razordemon said, driving into the limited space for vehicles. He picked one of the two available spaces and led Ed inside the building. They passed
another security checkpoint just inside the door. The hallway had faded red-and-blue checkerboard tiles, pale blue walls and white doors.
"You've really got to fire your interior decorator," Ed said.
"We're here to lend a hand, not critique the decor," Razordemon said. He opened a door on the right and gestured for Ed to go inside. The room was lined with workbenches, all cluttered with cardboard boxes hastily scrawled with tracking numbers. Many had adhesive barcodes slapped over the handwritten number. A man in a pale green lab coat was moving through the room, looking at each number, then moving along. His hair was brown, though speckled with gray.
"Doctor Norling," Razordemon said. The man in the lab coat shot upright like prairie dog poking out of the ground.
"Oh, yes, you were bringing over Mister Wilson," he said. Razordemon gestured towards Ed. Norling hurried forward and offered up a handshake. Ed politely shook it. "I take it this is your first time at Future Products."
"You could say that," Ed said, suppressing the urge to be sarcastic.
"In case you can't tell, we could use some help around here."
"What kind of help?" Ed asked. Looking around, his first thought was that he was about to be asked to catalog the boxes. Norling moved to the back of the room. He stood by one of the few countertops not filled with cardboard. Between two lines of white tape on the countertop sat a scattering of misshapen objects of pearlescent color. Their design didn't imply human intelligence at work, and their purpose was not immediately clear.
"We recovered these from the Ygnaza ship," Norling said. "What I would like you to do is to come up with a procedure for testing them to figure out what they are for." Ed reached towards the objects, but Norling caught his wrist. "If you don't know what they do, touching them might not be a bright idea."
"So, what then?"
"Write up the procedure," Norling said. "When you're done, I'll look it over. If it looks good, then you can carry out the tests." Norling scurried off and returned to looking through the boxes.
"What? That's it? That's all the instruction you're going to give me?"
"Be thorough, and be cautious," Norling said. "Also, the more expensive the equipment, the longer the wait time to use it is."
Ed stroked his chin and stared at the iridescent lumps of alien material. "But--" he said to himself. Looking around, he saw no trace of Razordemon. "Right, I can figure this out."
Errol didn't see the fist coming, or who threw the punch. He did feel the knuckles connect with his cheek, and his jaw shift sideways before the rest of his head followed. Another punch from a different attacker found the base of his skull. He was on his hands and knees on the pavement, the world spinning around him. A foot came up under his middle and delivered a kick to his gut. The impact toppled him onto his side. Bringing his knees to his chest and wrapping his arms around his head, Errol tried to guard the most vulnerable parts of his anatomy. Stomping and kicking followed, causing eruptions of pain through his frame. Looking at who was attacking him meant exposing his face to a potentially devastating kick. It had to be other Leyden Academy students, no one else had been around him when the first punch landed. Since they were wearing trousers and not skirts, there were no girls in the mob.
The few moments during which Errol was subjected to a barrage of feet felt like a fortnight. An outcry from a staff member sent his assailants scattering. Blood dribbled from his mouth and nose as Errol sat himself up. He looked up at Mister O'Brien. The chemistry teacher gave a sorrowful look as he helped Errol to his feet. Errol staggered the first couple of steps, but grew steadier as he went. O'Brien led him back inside Leyden Academy and to the nurse's office. The nurse's office at Leyden was well-stocked and clean. There were no windows, and had two small examination rooms off to the side. The nurse waved them to one of these rooms.
Grossly overweight with a flabby lower lip that formed a perpetual scowl, the nurse moved slowly and deliberately. She gathered up a handful of paper towels and handed them to Errol, pressing them towards his face. Getting the hint, Errol took the paper towels and staunched the trickle of blood.
"Where does it hurt?" she asked. Her voice was high pitched and obnoxious.
"Just where they kicked me, ma'am," Errol said. Errol blinked in surprise. "I'm sorry."
"You bet you are," the nurse said, lumbering from the room.
"So what was that about?" O'Brien asked.
"I don't know, I forgot my manners."
"I'm not talking about your sarcasm, I mean the beating at the bus stop."
"I'm afraid they didn't tell me," Errol said. "And I didn't get a good look at who it was."
"You have to have some idea why five other students decided to attack you. This isn't a school where random violence is common."
"It's obvious, sir," Errol said. "It has something to do with Valentine's Day. It's the only reason anyone would go after me." Silence lingered for a moment before Errol spoke up again. "Am I going to get expelled over this?"
"What?"
"Any more demerits and I get expelled," Errol said.
"I didn't see any sign that you hit them back," O'Brien said. "I wouldn't say it counts as fighting."
"I don't know if the Headmaster will agree," Errol said. "I think he wants to be rid of me."
"Why do you say that?"
"I keep causing him headaches."
"Let me worry about the Headmaster. All right?"
Errol nodded. O'Brien walked out of the nurse's office and headed back to his classroom. Fishing a cell phone out of his desk, he dialed a number from memory. A synthetic, monotone voice answered. "Regional Coordinator's office, central United States," Shiva said. "The officeholder is out at the moment."
"Identify, Arrowwarp," O'Brien said.
"Voice print analysis verified. Identity: Class 2 freelance member Arrowwarp," Shiva said.
"Please connect me with the Regional Coordinator."
"Connecting, please hold." Generic music filled the line for a minute and a half.
"Hello?" Razordemon said.
"The candidate I referred to the Junior Redemptioner program got attacked less than half an hour ago at Leyden Academy."
"How bad is it?"
"His injuries are superficial, but I'd wager good money the Headmaster is going to use the incident to charge him with fighting on school grounds. That's enough for expulsion and to trigger a failure condition of the program at large."
"And?" Razordemon asked.
"And I said he was attacked. He wasn't fighting. If it was his own behavior, I'd say let him suffer the consequences. But, he was following the rules. It doesn't strike me as appropriate to pile on penalties for an infraction he didn't commit."
"I'll see if we have any favors left," Razordemon said.
Rain pattered against the window as Lazar stared at the darkened ceiling. His head rested against the overstuffed pillow, his hands on his crown, their fingers interlaced. The quilted bedspread was pulled up to his armpits. No matter how hard he tried, he could not sleep face-up. He'd spent so many years sleeping face-down because of his wings that everything just felt wrong the other way around. He sat up and found a shirt to put on. He made sure the draw string on his sweatpants was properly tied before he wandered into the hall. Most of the second floor was dark, save for a light under the door to Ed's room.
"Are you still up?" Lazar asked.
"Don't bother me, I have to figure this out," Ed said from the other side of the door.
"Figure what out?"
"The test procedures!" Ed said in an exasperated tone as if it should be obvious.
Lazar shook his head and wandered downstairs. The building was too quiet. He sat down in the living room and stared off into the darkness. "This is absurd," Lazar said.
"That two of us
are sitting around in the dark, yeah, it is," Kevan said. Lazar jumped. The other youth was seated in the corner, staring at the pattern the rain made on the glass as it ran down the window.
"What are you doing up?"
"I was thinking about all the crap I've been trying not to think about."
"That all?"
Gruefield 18 (Tarnished Sterling Omnibus) Page 58