Not Your Sidekick

by C. B. Lee

  “Welcome to Monroe Industries. How can I help you?” A gleaming silver orb hovers in front of Jess. Its front panel scans Jess’ face. “Tours are over for the day. If you like, I can provide you a list of times they will be available this week.”

  The smooth, electronic voice is the same one installed in all vehicle computers. Jess rolls her eyes. She likes the old-school MonRobots, from before they started talking. This one seems to have an attitude.

  “Actually, I’m here for an internship—”

  A sharp clack of heels echoes from down the hall, and then Abby Jones skids across the tiled floor and stumbles over her feet as she dashes into the entryway. “It’s all right, I’ll take it from here,” she says, and presses something into the robot’s back panel.

  The orb cheeps and goes back to the desk, hovering in standby.

  Unlike Jess, who is more than a bit rumpled after that bus ride, Abby looks impeccable in a black blazer, blouse, and pencil skirt combo. She’s even wearing a bit of makeup; her pink lips stand out against her skin, and her bright red hair is swept up in a glamorous French roll.

  “Jess Tran!” Abby says. She smiles, holding her hand out. “Hi, I’m Abigail, but call me Abby, everyone does. We go to the same high school, but I don’t think we’ve met.”

  “Hi, yeah, um, yeah, I know you,” Jess says. “You work here too?” She cringes at the question, but at least her self-preservation kicked in before she asked you know my name? Then again, if Abby works here, she must have been expecting Jess, so that look of recognition wasn’t about knowing Jess from school; it was work.

  Jess has never so much as talked to Abby before, but Emma, who is on the junior varsity volleyball team, hardly ever stops talking about the varsity members she admires and, of course, their team captain. Abby led the volleyball team on a winning streak last year and so far is continuing that this year. In AP English, the one class Jess shares with her, Abby has no problem mouthing off to Ms. Rhinehart, and she earns nothing more than an amused laugh.

  She was on student council last year, and was supposedly a shoo-in for president this year, but apparently she quit the student council for some reason.

  “Yup, I’m in the same experimental division as you,” Abby says, tucking an errant strand of red hair behind her ear. “They told me to see if you were here this afternoon. Weren’t sure if you’d be here or not.”

  “Ah. Well, I wasn’t sure if the department was an actual part of the company, because the internship seemed made up, but apparently my mo—the Net seems to think you guys are a real thing.”

  “Definitely real,” Abby says with a smile. She hands Jess a folder. “Here’s all the paperwork you’ll need for tax purposes and to make it official. I’ll show you to the lab where we’ll be working and then I’ll go get M for you.”

  She leads Jess down the hallway; her pencil skirt rustles, and Jess blushes and tries to ignore how well it fits her. Jess tries to remember if she saw Abby wearing that outfit at school today. She must have changed into it before she started work. She probably hadn’t taken the bus, either. Jess has seen Abby’s sleek driver-operated Mercedes, which Abby used to give Emma and the other girls rides home after volleyball practice. Emma did mention at lunch today that Abby quit the team; Jess wonders if she quit to make more time for her internship.

  Abby’s stylish black button-up and skirt combination makes Jess’ work outfit look dull, and she hopes that M or whoever else works here isn’t going to judge her on her lack of style.

  They pass by a few other employees, but the lobby is mostly populated by MonRobots flying or whizzing around the floor. They’re variations that Jess hasn’t seen, models that probably aren’t out yet.

  Abby waves her hand at a clear glass elevator and the doors open. Jess stares at the numerous buttons for all thirty-eight floors and an official looking keypad at the top; it must be motion activated because Abby just waves her hand and a small button labeled “B7” lights up.

  The elevator doors close, and Jess tries not to be nervous, being in a small, enclosed space with her crush. Oh gosh, her hair looks especially nice. Are we going to work together? Jess isn’t sure she can handle it.

  Abby smells nice too, like warm cinnamon and sugar on a cold winter’s day. That’s not even a smell. Abby smells like a cookie fresh out of the oven, made with a dash of nutmeg. Or maybe like gingerbread.

  Great, now she’s hungry.

  Jess notices they’re dropping floors at an alarmingly fast pace. She wants to ask about the experimental division and what’s expected of her, but she’s too tongue-tied.

  Finally the elevator comes to a stop, and Abby presses a combination onto the keypad before the doors open again.

  “Okay, here we are!”

  The floor is well lit, but it lacks the hustle and bustle of people and robots moving everywhere as on the floors they passed. Jess’ first impression is that the place is a mess. A single white reception desk is emblazoned with the luminous text: EXPERIMENTAL DIVISION. The desk and the chair behind it are the same sleek, modern furniture as in the lobby, but everything else is haphazardly thrown together: tables and benches and pieces of scrap metal.

  Behind the reception area, Jess can see a huge open space filled with boxes and electronic paraphernalia. There’s a dedicated area for computer consoles and a raised table covered in tools. In the distance is the sound of drilling, and desktop projectors are scattered everywhere, projecting different holos intermittently.

  Abby leads her down a hallway to the right, and Jess peers at the line of doors, wondering who else works here. They stop at an open door at the end, and Abby gestures inside with a hopeful smile. The office also has modern furniture, which contrasts with the heaps of dusty boxes overflowing with paper files.

  “Sorry about the mess,” Abby says. “We just relocated from New Bright City. Here, sit down. M will be with you in a minute.” Abby’s heels tap out a quick beat as she dashes down the hallway.

  What’s the rush, Jess wonders, as she gazes around the office. It’s not decorated, and everything appears to have been placed in a hurry, as if they haven’t had time to move in properly.

  A new desktop projector hums on the glass desk. A few DED chips are laid out, but other than that, everything seems to be dated. Paper files were almost obsolete even in the twenty-first century. Is it a security thing? Paper isn’t hackable, Jess muses.

  Jess can’t hear any other people on the floor. Maybe this room is soundproofed. No, she definitely heard Abby walk down the hallway.

  The boxes are labeled in an untidy scrawl with various—codes? One is labeled “January attempts and failures”; there are more of those for each month, and also a very slim file labeled “successes” and it’s just for the year.

  Jess flips open one of the files from the “successes” folder.

  What?

  This doesn’t look like a financial report or like anything she would expect from a robotics manufacturer. There aren’t designs or anything MonRobot-related. This looks like headlines reporting a string of robberies, all for—

  Jess gasps. “Master Mischief.”

  “I hope that won’t be a problem,” comes the electronic voice, and why, why hadn’t Jess put it together earlier?

  Ch.4...

  His eyes glowing, he stands in the doorway. Master Mischief’s mechanical armor clanks as he steps into the room. The faded “M M” logo is blistered in purple paint on his chest.

  Jess’ brain stutters. Has he figured out her parents’ secret identity? Is this is a kidnapping? A ruse to draw her parents out? She steps back and grabs for the pepper spray in her backpack, but that’ll be little help. Mischief is blocking the only exit.

  He’s not an A-class villain, but Jess has never met any villain in the flesh. Despite all the funny T-shirts and silly videos of Mischief, and despite Jess’ arguments that som
e of what he does isn’t villainous at all, it’s hard to shake off years and years of seeing villains do terrible and destructive things in the news.

  And now a villain stands in front of her; his electronic suit crackles with power.

  Mischief can manipulate tech, but what is he’s doing here, in the heart of Monroe Industries? He’s certainly in his element. Anything electronic that isn’t too complicated, he can manipulate and control for a limited time. Jess has seen him direct cars to rebel against their owners and reprogram traffic lights and signs and computers.

  Jess swallows and stands her ground. He’s silly. He mostly does harmless pranks. He’s ridiculous, not scary.

  But it’s one thing to casually joke about villains and another to see one in person.

  “I know we were deliberately vague in the job listing and interview, but I hope you understand why we needed the utmost discretion,” Mischief says. The voice is a little different than what she remembers, but that could be her imagination. It’s more electronic—is that a thing?

  “Master Mischief?” Jess asks.

  Mischief tilts his head; he almost fills the doorframe. But Mischief is quite a few inches shorter than Mistress Mischief, and the difference is always exaggerated in the comics.

  He looks taller than Jess, and the suit—she can see black fabric at the knees under the metal armor, as if it doesn’t quite fit. And the logo is old, too; this version of the suit hasn’t been seen for at least a year. “What’s going on here?” Jess asks. “Why do you have Master Mischief’s mecha-suit?”

  “Ah, I see you figured that out. I’m M, by the way. Nice to meet you.”

  “Who are you?” Jess demands. “Do you actually work for Monroe Industries?”

  “I’m not Master Mischief, that’s for sure. But yes, he works for Monroe Industries, and I do too. I was his assistant—am his assistant. He’s busy at the moment, and I’m running his lab in the interim.” M folds his arms and tilts his head and lights flicker without a discernible pattern on his helmet’s front panel. “You can laugh now. Villains need jobs too.”

  Jess doesn’t laugh. It makes sense, actually. Mischief’s power of technological manipulation would be incredibly handy here; if his meta-powers weren’t low-level he’d be a formidable and almost unstoppable villain. As it is, he can’t use his powers very long before he has to recharge, just like her parents. “If you’re his assistant, why don’t you have your own suit? What do you do exactly? And is this internship with Monroe Industries or with you and Master Mischief?”

  M shakes his head, and makes a noise that almost sounds like a laugh before it is garbled into electronic static.

  “I’m wearing an old prototype of his suit because we’ve been incredibly busy working on other projects. New mecha-suits aren’t a priority right now. And yes, you will be working for Monroe Industries, in a subsidiary with special interests. If that’s something you’re still interested in?” M asks.

  “This isn’t a kidnapping, is it?”

  The panel on M’s helmet blinks various shades of orange, and he throws up his hands. “No, no, absolutely not,” M says. “We wouldn’t kidnap you, do you—do you want to leave?”

  “Why are you here? What’s going on?”

  “Why would we kidnap you? Monroe Industries isn’t about hurting anyone. Neither is Master Mischief. We just like to cause a little mayhem, rob the rich, and generally mess with Shockwave and Smasher.”

  “Yeah, that much is true,” Jess says. She knows the title “villain” is a slightly inaccurate moniker for someone who is just a glorified criminal in a mechanical suit, who for the most part just keeps her parents and their superpowers occupied. And, just as her parents, as C-class heroes, are only in the Associated League of Heroes but not in the Heroes’ League of Heroes, the Mischiefs, as class C villains, are not in the United Villains Guild.

  “You’re here because you applied for the job. And I—I think I could trust you, you know. We just need a lot of help in this—secret experimental department.”

  M stands still, the lights on his face panel blinking at her. The rapid pattern almost looks… hopeful.

  Jess steps forward. Her shoulders relax and her heart rate slows to normal as she unclenches her fists. She hadn’t realized she’d been in a “ready” position to fight, even though her skills are poor and unpracticed. Li Hua had tried to train her in the Nán quán style she’d learned as a child from her own mother, but nothing beyond the basics stuck with Jess.

  Her initial fear quickly gives way to curiosity; the so-called rivalry has always been a source of entertainment for Jess, and, she’s sure, for many citizens of Andover.

  With M standing there in front of her, Jess finds his suit garish, but not frightening. M is standing, shoulders hunched slightly, looking to Jess for a response—it seems as if he’s nervous.

  Working for Master Mischief? This would be an act of sheer rebellion. Her parents would be livid if they ever found out.

  And it would be hilarious.

  And so much more interesting than working at the sandwich shop.

  “I’m in,” Jess says.

  M’s suit makes a gleeful whirring noise.

  The first afternoon is spent working out a schedule with M. Jess plans to work three days a week after school for two hours, and then five hours on Saturday. She doesn’t have any clubs or sports to interfere with that schedule and finds herself looking forward to work.

  On paper, Jess doesn’t seem to be the brightest of students, but that doesn’t mean she isn’t intelligent. She just gets nervous when taking tests, what with all those bubbles and the whole thing being timed, and she’s left-handed, so essay questions make her smudge graphite all over her fingers.

  Unfortunately, Andover Heights High School is all about standardized tests: pass this test to get into this class; take all the approved tracks for your career of interest; finish all these prerequisites to apply to this college. The Collective provides many career options; it’s just that she wants to be a hero. A proper one, like Captain Orion.

  So maybe Jess can’t get into the training program because she has no superpowers. She just needs a different goal. But she’s working with Master Mischief’s company now, and she can learn more about their tech and have access to their resources. If she’s good at her job, she can get into a great college, and maybe she can be CEO of a company like Monroe Industries one day. Or have a job here, one that doesn’t have to do with robots.

  Jess knows she’s good at learning. When she finds something interesting, she throws herself wholeheartedly into it. She’s really good at research papers.

  It’s going to be great.

  Afterward, Jess takes the bus home. Out the window the streetlights flicker. Excitement flutters in her heart.

  A cold plate of spaghetti waits for her when she gets home. She can hear her mom in her office, writing away and cursing loudly at her characters, and from upstairs come the noises of Brendan’s video games, or experiments. She can never tell. “How was your first day at your job, Mei-Mei?” Li Hua asks as she passes by the office door.

  “Great. I worked out a schedule so I’ll be there after school and Saturdays. Where’s Dad?”

  “Still patrolling downtown.” Li Hua sighs. She yawns and stretches, and then puts the notes on her desk aside.

  “How’s your new novel coming along?” Her mother has been trying to break out of writing the backstory for the Smasher and Shockwave comics and to tell her own stories for a while. She’s extremely interested in detective noir fiction, set in Old America.

  “It’s going pretty well. I just added a character whose husband lost his job.”

  Jess laughs. “You tell Dad that?”

  “Maybe I will. I’m hoping he’ll throw his focus onto something else. Actually focus on real estate, I don’t know.”

  Jess can’t
help a grin that spreads from ear to ear. “I don’t think Master Mischief or Mistress Mischief is really gone. Who knows? Maybe they’re taking a break. Building up to something big. Biding their time. They’re still around.”

  Ch.5...

  “Don’t you guys have any organization at all?” Jess curses as she trips over a box, toppling forward. She winces, trying to catch her balance.

  There’s a heavy flop as something is dropped behind her and she hears the whir of a mechanical suit.

  M catches Jess before she hits the floor. Jess expects the metal to be cold, but the suit is pleasantly warm, with a thrum of electronics. They’re both suspended in the air for a few seconds before M lands neatly on the ground and the thrusters turn off.

  “Are you okay?” M asks, the electronic voice sounding a lot less electronic than any time Jess has heard it.

  “I’m good, it’s kind of a walking hazard, all these boxes.”

  “I’m not good with paperwork,” M says, and the voice is back to the even electronic cadence Jess remembers. She imagines M flying around the office in the mecha-suit, dropping paperwork everywhere, trying to hold files in the clunky hands of the suit.

  Jess laughs, and M’s panel flickers in pink and yellow. Do the colors these correspond to mood? She should start keeping a log of what the colors might mean.

  After a moment of studying M’s helmet, Jess realizes she’s still being held. “You can put me down now.” she says.

  The panel lights blink white, and then M sets her down gently and waits for her to stand upright before moving back.

  “Thank you. I did mean to say thanks first,” Jess says. “Could have brained my head on that other box, but you saved me. My hero.”