by John McCrae
“I don’t need you to rent it to me. No, that works,” Jamie said. She was secretly relieved to have one of the biggest hurdles handled so easily.
“Good.”
“And I have another five thousand that my relatives set aside for my school. It’d be harder to use that without people getting curious, but it’s there.”
“We’ll see. In terms of cost, Cauldron requires that the client pay two-thirds of the total amount in advance, and pay the rest over a six year period or default.”
“Meaning you employ those countermeasures you talked about.”
“Revoking your powers in the worst case scenario, yes.”
“Is that revoking of powers a part of the process of however you give people the powers, or is it something that one of your in-house capes does?”
The Doctor was typing on the computer. Without taking her eyes from the screen, she said, “The latter. You don’t need to worry about someone using a loophole or flaw in the process to take away your abilities.”
The Doctor frowned at the image on the computer screen.
“What?”
The Doctor turned the monitor around. It showed graphs and charts that made little sense to Jamie. Clearing her throat, the Doctor leaned forward over the desk and extended one manicured nail to point at a series of labels on a three-dimensional graph. ”This is the ‘P’ value as related to the cost of the power, with the expected range of powers. The amount of money you have, even assuming an additional thirty-three percent in payment made at a future date, is probably not going to provide you with the power you’d need to take on a striker-seven.”
Jamie’s face fell. Shaking her head in confusion, she asked, “‘P’? And what do you mean by probably?”
The Doctor opened a drawer and retrieved a binder. She slid it across the desk.
Every page was laminated, labeled with a serial number. Each page had a picture of a vial with a different colored metallic liquid inside, sitting beside a list of powers. The bottom half of the page or a second page, depending on the number of powers listed, had a grid with a number assigned to an arrangement of letters.
“No sample provides the exact same powers every time. The bullet points note examples of the powers gained when the sample was tried on a human subject or a client. There’s typically a common thread or theme connecting powers from a given sample. One sample might have a tendency to work with the production of acids and a tendency for physical manifestation. This might allow an individual to turn into a living pool of acid, to secrete acid from his pores or to spit streams of corrosive venom.”
“I don’t want a power like that.”
“No. For one thing, the ‘R’ value of sample J-zero-zero-ninety is very low. Note the letters on the grid. The most important ones are the ‘O’, ‘P’ and ‘R’. These, on their own, determine roughly ninety-percent of a sample’s cost. O refers to a power’s uniqueness. It’s largely subjective, and liable to change through factors entirely out of Cauldron’s control, but it is easier to stand out as a hero or villain if nobody else can do what you do.”
“You’ve already mentioned the other two letters in passing.”
“The ‘P’ value is the raw effect of the granted abilities. An estimation of the rating the PRT would assign to the powers. Higher ‘P’, more effective and versatile abilities.”
Jamie nodded. ”And ‘R’?”
“Unfortunately, as I’ve mentioned, there are no guarantees. A given sample does not provide the same effects every time it is tested. There are admittedly some dangers involved in the use of our product. Sometimes there are physical changes that cannot be masked. You have seen the heroes or villains with glowing eyes or less human features.”
That was sobering.
“The ‘R’ value refers to how predictable a given sample is. There are some that produce very simple, reliable results. In sixty-three tests of sample T-six-zero-zero-one, it has only failed to grant a form of flight on two occasions. Contrast that with sample B-zero-zero-thirty. It has, in four tests, granted an individual the ability to make things implode, it has created a powerful vacuum in someone’s mouth, that draws everything into a portal where it is promptly annihilated. Sample B-zero-zero-thirty killed the other two test subjects.”
Killed. There was an outside possibility she could die, if she took the wrong one, or if she got especially unlucky.
“How do you test this? You’re talking about a lot of tests, sixty for just one sample, but there’s no way people wouldn’t notice or that word wouldn’t get out if you were doing something like that.”
“As you’ve seen, Cauldron has resources.”
“That doesn’t really answer my question.”
“It does. Just not as clearly as you want it to.”
Something in the Doctor’s tone suggested the woman wasn’t going to elaborate further. Jamie shut her mouth, frowning slightly.
“As you can see here, this graph shows the relationship between cost and the rising ‘P’, ‘O’ and ‘R’ values.”
It was a cube broken into a multitude of smaller cubes, with P as the X axis, O as the Y and R as the Z. They ranged from white to sky blue to darker blue, purple, red, and finally crimson. The key at the bottom of the graph suggested that anything beyond dark blue would cost several million dollars. By the time it hit crimson, it was ranging into the hundreds of millions.
“This… is what you can afford.” The Doctor hit a key and the graph was reduced to the white and light blue cubes. ”You could theoretically push into the seven range of ‘P’ values, to put yourself at this Madcap’s level in terms of raw power, but you would be forfeiting a great deal in the other two departments. Your powers would be relatively simple, defaulting to the sort of abilities that countless other heroes already have… and with the low ‘R’ score, you would be risking getting something you do not want. Physical changes, perhaps, or powers outside of the area you wanted. Super strength when you desired telekinesis, for a crude example.”
“I… I’m not fixated on anything particular, powerwise. Flying would be cool, but I’ll take anything that works.”
The Doctor tapped a key, and the graph shifted so there were only three rows. She’d removed the samples with higher uniqueness values.
“Then the question is…” the Doctor said, “How much are you willing to gamble? A hero can beat a superior foe with strategy, tactics and forethought, and I get the impression you’re focused enough to put your mind to the task. Perhaps you’d want to emphasize reliability in a sample over the power it could offer you?”
“Can you zoom in?”
The Doctor did.
“So… how unreliable is a five, if we’re talking about ‘R’?”
“If you decided on a sample with an ‘R’ score of five, I would tell you I could make no promises. There would be perhaps a three or four percent chance you would experience some unwanted physical changes. Zero-point-five percent chance that you’d experience changes of a degree that you wouldn’t be able to go out in public without drawing notice, even with heavy clothing. You would, I’d venture, not be buying a particular power, but the broader category of that power. To use our earlier example, you would not be buying acid spit, specifically, but an acid power.“
Jamie looked at the other lines on the graph, “And I’d be getting something like an ‘O’ of three and a ‘P’ of five.”
“Something in that neighborhood, yes.”
“A power rating of five to Madcap’s seven,” Jamie put her elbows on the edge of the desk and her head in her hands.
“There’s a chance you could get lucky and achieve a power with a greater ‘P’ value than expected.”
Again, that misdirection. Jamie shook her head. ”And a roughly equal chance that I could get unlucky, since it’s an average.”
“Admittedly true.”
“Is there anything else I could do? A way to get better results?”
“We have options, but I don’t kno
w that they apply to your case. I mentioned the psychological testing earlier. You should know that an individual’s personality, mental state and background do seem to have a great deal of effect on the resulting power. I would even say it’s one of the primary factors, outside of the sample itself.”
Jamie wondered momentarily how her own mental state would influence her powers.
The Doctor went on, “We have a package we call ‘Shaping’, and another we call ‘Morpheus’. Both are intended to make the most of the two month waiting period and help a client reach an ideal mental and emotional state. It’s often purchased by our high-end customers, to refine the powers they want and help ensure there are no untoward effects. For a low-end customer such as yourself, I don’t know that it would suit your needs. You would be buying a lower quality sample to pay for the package… perhaps if you were someone who wanted powers for recreational purposes. If you wanted to help guarantee that you got the ability to fly, for example.”
Jamie nodded.
“There’s the Nemesis program, but you already have an opponent in mind, and I expect you’re more interested in a fair fight than having an opponent you’re guaranteed to succeed against when it counts.”
“Yeah.” This Nemesis program… how many prominent heroes or villains were out there that had faked or staged confrontations like that?
“Hmm. Nothing else springs to mind as our packages go. When we design an additional feature or program, we tend to aim it at our more wealthy customers.”
“You guys are doing lots of testing. Could I do something like help with that? Or something outside of these packages and programs?”
“Perhaps.”
“I’m serious, I’m hard-working, and I stick to my guns.”
“It’s our tendency to require that any client be prepared to perform one unspecified favor for us at a later date. Usually a simple task or a week of service. It serves as a way to cover our bases without revealing too much in respect to our operations.”
“Very Godfather. Do these favors mean doing anything illegal?”
“Sometimes. But no, often it is a request to meet someone, to pass on a message, or help manage an information leak, a show of force to scare someone who is poking too deep.”
Jamie’s leg bounced nervously as she looked at the screen. ”And?”
“If you agree to perform three favors at a future date, and I suspect we could extend something of a discount.”
The Doctor hit several keys, and the graph extended a little in every direction. Where it had been white and light blue, it now showed cubes of dark blue.
“What would you ask me to do?”
“I don’t know yet. I prefer to leave that option open.”
Everything in Jamie’s gut told her there was some small lie or misdirection in there. Either the Doctor did know what she wanted to ask for, or she knew her customer wouldn’t like what she heard.
Whatever these favors were, all she could do was hope she could do enough good to counterbalance any wrongs she’d have to commit.
“Alright,” Jamie said. ”Sounds like a deal.”
■
Jamie’s fourth visit to Cauldron was less out of her way than her first. She entered the same way as before, but this time the hallway from Cauldron’s location was transplanted into the middle of her apartment. She wasted no time in stepping through.
The Doctor was not waiting for her, but she knew where she was going. She strode down the empty, spotless hallways, past innumerable matching doors. There were no windows in this place. Nothing peeking into the outside.
Still, she knew where she was. She’d checked the GPS data on her necklace. The Ivory Coast. The west coast of Africa. It was dangerous information to have.
If I tried to open one of those doors, would it be locked? What would be inside? Or would alarms go off, my chance here spoiled?
She’d been here twice since her first meeting. Both times, she’d had her psychological testing. She’d also had a full workup done. The psychiatrist had been a young-looking white man, the doctor a heavyset Greek. They’d said little beyond what they needed to for the testing, and had volunteered nothing about Cauldron.
She made her way to the room where she’d done her stress test. Here, she’d run back and forth with steadily increasing speeds until she couldn’t run anymore. She’d rested, then run again, then again, until she couldn’t even stand.
The Doctor was waiting for her. A metal canister sat on a table, and there was a sturdily built, cushioned chair sitting close by.
“You’re ready?” the Doctor asked.
Jamie nodded.
“If you’ll change into this, we can preserve your clothes for the return trip home.”
Jamie took the offered clothing, a plain gray bodysuit that would cover everything from the neck down. A word in blocky black letters on the front read ‘Jamie’ while one on the back read ‘Client’.
There was no indicated change room, and the Doctor was focused on the canister and the stack of papers she was setting down on the table. Jamie changed where she stood, folding her clothes and setting them on the edge of the table.
“Sit.”
Jamie sat in the chair. Comfortable.
“Sample T-one-one-seven-seven, with the agreed upon addition of Sample C-zero-zero-seventy-two. This is correct?”
“Yes. It’s what I paid for.”
“Read and sign here. And there are stipulations on, let me see… pages twenty-six and twenty-nine that you need to sign as well.”
Jamie leaned forward and read through the contract. It was every term they’d agreed upon, legalese and politely worded warnings about the hell Cauldron would try to bring down on her head if she broke the terms of the contract. There were pages of receipts covering the financial transactions, and pages more of details about her own medical and psychological evaluations.
There were two stipulations to agree to. One for the three favors she’d agreed to perform. Another on the psychological testing.
Nine years ago, she had been kidnapped for use as leverage against her father. She had been held in their custody for three days. No food, six water bottles to drink and no bathroom. She’d gone to the washroom in the corner, had removed one sock to keep the pee from making its way across the sloped hardwood floor.
She’d assured the psychiatrist that she had gotten over any of the trauma and any fear of the dark that had stemmed from that incident. It was her father that’d had a hard time dealing with the event.
She’d been young then, and the event hadn’t really stuck in her memory. But she couldn’t shake the idea that the kidnapping might have left some lingering effect on her that would taint the process.
“You haven’t eaten?”
“Nothing since this time yesterday.”
“You don’t have any colds, no aches and pains?”
“No.”
“That’s too bad. The sample we use to moderate and control the effects of the finished products has a short-lived regenerative effect. This is one of the selling points we offer to the clients we find in hospitals and the like. Some have even recovered or partially recovered from life-long disabilities. We’ve had reports from people who were mildly ill when they gained their powers, who found they never got sick again. It would be nice to verify this.”
“You couldn’t have told me that before?”
“It could easily be a placebo effect. Not worth a rescheduling. You’re comfortable?”
“Sure.”
The Doctor unscrewed the canister and withdrew a vial. It was no longer than a pen and no thicker than one of the Doctor’s fingers. “The faster you drink it all, the quicker and cleaner the transition is.”
“You said something about a dream quest?”
“Some experience it. Some don’t. Don’t be concerned if you don’t. Simply relax to the best of your ability and stay focused. The higher and more pronounced the physical reactions like your heart rate, sweating, adrena
ls, and emotional response, the greater the chance of a physiological change. I recommend that you keep from dwelling on any stressful thoughts or memories. Just stay calm and try to relax as much as you’re able.”
“Isn’t that like asking someone to not think of a blue elephant? They’re going to think about a blue elephant.”
“I stress, only a small percentage of people experience enough stress that they undergo any physical change.” The Doctor removed the stopper from the top of the vial and carefully handed it over, not letting go until she was sure Jamie had a firm grip.
Jamie held the vial for several long moments. “Now?”
“When you’re ready.”
Jamie tossed it back like she’d seen people throw back shots of hard liquor. She coughed as it coated the inside of her throat, her saliva doing little to nothing to help it down. The Doctor reached out, and Jamie handed her the vial.
It began to burn, the intensity increasing second by second, until she was convinced it couldn’t get any worse. It did.
“Hurts,” she groaned, trying to push herself to a standing position.
“It’ll get more severe before it gets better. Stay in the chair.”
“Didn’t tell me,” she could barely speak with the way her chest felt like it was caving in on itself.
“I didn’t want to alarm you before we began. It’s normal, and it does get better. A minute, maybe two, and you’ll be surprised at how fast the pain goes away.”
She clutched the arms of the chair. As unfathomably bad as it had been just moments ago, it kept getting worse. She had to endure another two minutes of this? It felt like the burning inside of her was melting through the walls of her throat and stomach. She could imagine the tissue blistering and dissolving, expanding outward until it touched on her lungs and her heart.
As it seemed to consume her lungs, her breathing began to dissolve into breaths too quick and small to bring enough oxygen into her lungs. Darkness began to creep in at the edges of her vision.