by Drew Hayes
“It was the least I could do after not stopping by for so long.” Ivan took a step forward as Penelope released her grip on him. He shut the house’s bright red door behind him. It looked a touch out of place with the rest of the white exterior, but Helen had never been a woman who shied away from standing out.
“Then it’s an apology meal, is it? In that case, I hope you picked up the little cakes I like.” Helen met him halfway down the hall, gripping Ivan in a hug of her own. It was not as honest and open as Penelope’s, but in her firm embrace was a familiarity and tenderness that spoke to how much had passed between them. “Seriously though, do you have to get attacked at your office before you can free up the time for a visit? Because I still know some people...”
“It’s more that I’ve had a houseguest who has made it impossible to slip away,” Ivan replied. Their hug ended and he made his way into the kitchen, setting the bags down on the island and beginning to unpack them.
“You can bring them along; I don’t mind meeting new people.” Helen hopped onto one of the stools around the island and swept a long strand of her brown hair away as she watched Ivan work. “Though I’m shocked you actually know someone you’re willing to let stay with you.”
Ivan’s voice fell a few octaves, quiet enough that Penelope, who was still ambling about near his legs, wouldn’t hear. “I didn’t. My houseguest is a new intern at my job… at both of my jobs. Which is why I’ve made sure to keep her as far from here as possible.”
Helen’s eyebrows shot up and she leaned back in her stool. “Whoaaaa. You took an apprentice?”
“Mommy, what’s an apprentice?” Penelope asked from down near her mother’s feet.
Helen reached down and scooped her daughter up, setting the girl on her lap to be part of the conversation. “An apprentice is like a student, but the teacher is only teaching them instead of a whole class. Mommy is surprised because Uncle Ivan always swore up and down that he’d never take one.”
“Why not?” Penelope leaned forward, staring at Ivan with unabashed curiosity. “He helps teach me stuff when he comes over. He’s good at it.”
“Uncle Ivan just never thought he had anything worth teaching someone enough to have a full-time student,” Ivan replied. “And he didn’t exactly take this one easily. There were... circumstances.”
“Must have been some pretty interesting circumstances,” Helen replied. “This apprentice of yours, they someone I should keep an eye out for?”
“Highly unlikely. She’s smart, shouldn’t do anything to stir up trouble.” Even as he said the words, Ivan found himself doubting them. Tori was bright, that much was undeniable, but she also had a genuine talent for putting herself right in the thick of all manner of chaos.
“If you’re teaching her, she’s got to be something of a sparkplug.” Helen lowered Penelope back to the ground as she got restless, allowing the six-year-old to dart about once more. “Got a lot longer left on her apprenticeship?”
“Only a couple of weeks,” Ivan said, pulling out a Styrofoam bowl of gumbo and popping off the lid. “In fact, I slipped out tonight because she’s going to spend the weekend learning about how to job hunt.”
“Wow, she really is near the end then.” Not bothering to be even marginally polite, Helen reached into a white paper bag, pulled out a loaf of bread, tore a piece off and dipped it in the gumbo. “My old place has a class of recruits just about ready for their debuts too. These things always seem to move in cycles.”
“That they do. Anyway, in a few weeks, my home will be my own again and I’ll stop being so elusive.”
“I guess it’s forgivable,” Helen relented. “You’re just trying to keep us secret, so I won’t hold it against you. Assuming...”
Ivan sighed, then reached into the bag and pulled out a large box. Opening it up, he revealed half a dozen mini-cakes topped with chocolate icing.
Helen let out a slight squeal of happiness and clapped her hands together, a joyful outburst that that immediately drew Penelope back to her side.
“I’ll give you this, Ivan. It took a while, but you finally learned how to make a proper apology.”
Chapter 37
“Insecticide?”
Lance frowned at Beverly, an unnatural appearance on his usually cheerful face. “That’s what you call something that kills insects. Completely the opposite of what I do.”
“Well, you didn’t like Bug Lord,” Tori pointed out.
“It’s not that I didn’t like Bug Lord, it’s just that it seemed a bit ostentatious for me,” Lance protested. “I’m a simple man. I’d like to have a simple code name.”
Tori, Beverly, and Lance were all sitting on the couch in their floor’s lounge while Warren stood near the entrance. They’d been given directions to gather there that morning, though with no indication of what would follow. It was a setup they were all getting quickly accustomed to, so rather than spend their time fretting over what was to come, they’d begun discussing what code names they would submit to the guild.
“Simple is overrated. I’m going with a classic: Bahamut, king of the dragons,” Beverly declared.
“Not to be ‘that guy’ or anything, but you’re, um, more queen than king,” Lance stammered out slowly.
“Somehow I highly doubt anyone is going to be checking my dragon-form to see if it’s got a scaly cock and balls dangling down there,” Beverly shot back. “Besides, I want people to make the wrong assumptions about who might be behind the dragon’s form. If I ever do slip up and get the capes looking for me, it’ll be all the better if they’re searching for the wrong sex.”
“Damn, that’s pretty smart.” Tori set her hand against her chin, adding the idea to the possibilities already swirling around in her head. “I’ll have to keep that in mind.”
“If this leads to someone suggesting I go by Queen Bee, let me save you the trouble: no, and it’s already in use,” Lance said.
The sound of heavy, clanking footsteps silenced their conversation. All three scrambled up from the couch. Several long moments stretched out, and then at last the familiar helmeted head of Doctor Mechaniacal came into view from the doorway. He scanned the room, ensuring all four apprentices were present, and then motioned for them to come forward.
“Today, you will all be allowed into a secure area of the guild. Understand this: most of where you’ve been are recreational areas, open freely to all members, regardless of status. That will not be the case where we are headed. Only full members in good standing can proceed to this area. It is a place with secure, dangerous information, and I expect you all to behave appropriately. Be silent unless you have a question, and listen hard. This is where you’ll truly learn how our guild functions.”
Without another word, Doctor Mechaniacal spun on his heel and headed out of the lounge. Everyone fell silently into line behind him, keeping a respectful distance yet never dropping behind as he made his way through the winding hallways. Soon, he took a set of stairs down three levels, and then walked over to a large wall with a single hole in it. Producing a device from the machinery around his right finger, Doctor Mechaniacal inserted it into the opening, and moments later, the wall slid away to reveal a wide, spacious elevator.
They piled in, with Doctor Mechaniacal removing his odd key and stepping in last. There were no buttons to press; the door merely slid closed once more and the elevator began to move downward. There were no windows—only metal walls enclosed them as they moved lower, farther than the bottom floor of the building could possibly be.
“This elevator is the only way in or out of where we’re heading,” Doctor Mechaniacal informed then. “It’s made to contain and neutralize all but the most powerful of meta-humans. Should an unauthorized person gain entry, it will immediately immobilize and defuse the threat. If the threat cannot be contained—remember that I did say it could only stop most metas—then the area below us will be completely destroyed, including, unfortunately, any personnel who happen to be down there. Rememb
er, above all else, the safety of the guild is paramount. If evidence of what we do were ever uncovered, it would ruin the organization as a whole. Compared to that, a few lives are a smaller cost to pay.”
No one objected to his analysis of the situation, even as they grew nervous about the fact that they would soon be in such a place. The guild had its own ways, after all.
Slowly, the elevator came to a smooth halt, and the door opened once more. Stretched out before them was a long metallic hallway, filled with cameras, lasers, and all manner of odd devices that not even Tori could puzzle out the use for. Doctor Mechaniacal wasted no time, stepping forward into the room without so much as crooking a finger in their direction. They all took the message anyway and hurried to keep pace behind the metal-suited man.
“Here, every person entering is scanned on multiple levels, ensuring that they are indeed a member of this guild with permission to be here. Everything from their fingerprints to the very strands of their DNA are evaluated. We have no shortage of wards and special cameras to detect trickery. For today, your respective genetic signatures have been given authorization. This will not be the case again unless you prove yourselves worthy of full membership. As you can imagine, those who try to gain unauthorized entry are dealt with in all manner of unpleasant ways, most of them quite permanent. And, as before, should those measures fail, everything beyond here will be purged.”
His heavy steps echoed off the metal floor as he walked, yet Doctor Mechaniacal’s voice overwhelmed them as it rang clearly through the air. Everyone followed, some with tensed nerves as they waited for an unseen trap to spring out and attack them. Eventually, they reached the end of the hallway where a large but simple metal door awaited them. Doctor Mechaniacal reached forward, pressed a small button at the side, and stood back as it began to open.
“We tried to think of a good term for this place, something unassuming that still conveyed the importance of it. Sadly, the more theatrical among our ranks won sway over the vote. Nonetheless, it is with no small amount of pride that I introduce you, Apprentices, to the guild’s inner nerve center. Welcome to Sanctum.”
* * *
There was a small knock on the door of the room. Well, not the room. His room. Apollo had showed Donald to it the night before, explaining that his very public debut meant it wasn’t safe for Donald to go home just yet. At best, as a public persona he would be hounded by the press for the next few weeks, and at worst the people he helped stop might have friends that wanted payback. His room in the AHC headquarters was nice, a bit like a hotel room in one of the places that tried to replicate apartments. They’d stocked the fridge and brought over some of his clothes, which made getting dressed that morning less stressful. Given that he was in a strange place with his whole life turned upside down, nothing was without at least a little stress, though.
Donald opened his door before the third knock, nearly leaping backward in shock at the creature before him. It looked like someone had hurled a half-dozen killer animals into a genetic blender in the hopes of putting all their muscles, scales, and claws into one body.
The thing in front of him seemed unsurprised by his reaction, waiting patiently until Donald seemed a bit more composed. “Morning.” Its voice was thick and rough, the sort of sound one might hear in a nightmare just before waking and staring wide-eyed around a darkened room. “My name is Ren Tanaka. Apollo asked me to come down and get you for your fitting.”
“R-right,” Donald stammered out. “I mean, sorry, nice to meet you. I’m Donald, Donald Moss.” Donald began to stick his hand out for the customary handshake, an impulse so ingrained in him by years of corporate schmoozing that his arm was halfway in position before he realized that Ren might accidently shred his hand as easily as shake it. Still, by that point, it was too late to pull away without seeming rude. Donald steeled his nerves and finished the gesture, trusting Ren to have the necessary control of his abilities.
“Nice to meet you.” Ren easily shook Donald’s hand without leaving him with so much as a scratch. “And don’t worry about jumping, most people do far worse the first time they see me. At least you didn’t scream.”
“If I’m being honest, it was touch and go for a second there.” No sooner had the words left his mouth than Donald wished he could yank them back in. Curse his stupid, nervous tongue! He readied himself to apologize again, but before he had the chance, he noticed a deep rumbling coming from Ren’s chest, like a cat’s purr mixed with a soft bark. It took him a moment to put the pieces together, but eventually logic prevailed and Donald realized that Ren was laughing.
“Nice to meet someone who doesn’t tiptoe around all of... this.” Ren gestured to all the misshapen strange bits of who he now was. “Most of the other rookies are too put off to even be around me, let alone actually discuss the fact that I look like something out of a bad Island of Dr. Moreau knockoff.”
“I’d say it’s far too well-designed to be a mere knockoff. You’re a penny dreadful of your own, if you’re anything.” Donald had no idea what he was saying, but the large, sharp-toothed grin on Ren’s face grew wider, so he assumed things were going well. Or he was about to get eaten. With that expression, things could really go either way.
“Dreadful is going to be the right word if you’re late to costuming. Come on, let’s get you down there.”
Donald didn’t pause to lock his door as he followed Ren down the hall. For one thing, there was nothing inside but a few t-shirts, boxers, and a spare pair of khakis. For another, Apollo had explained how every door was keyed to the person supposed to open it. Made things much easier all around.
“I’m curious… since you’re on a different track than me, did they get you a name yet?” Ren asked.
“Excuse me, but different track?”
Ren nodded, an action which sent his fur to waving. “Yeah. You’re someone who debuted on his own. Along with training, most of us are still being primed for our debuts; everything will be planned, researched, and carefully controlled. The AHC likes to start all of its new superheroes on a good public footing.”
“That sounds... so much smarter than what I did.” Donald had imagined showing up on the AHC’s doorstep and being turned away because his ability was so useless. It had never dawned on him that they might have programs up and running specifically to get him up to snuff.
“I don’t know. The longer I’m cooped up in here, the more I wish I’d gotten to do things your way. Jump right into the action, use these powers for something good. Though, without the PR department here managing my debut, people probably would have assumed I was the villain in any situation,” Ren admitted.
“Probably beats some giant smashing on your shield, trying to turn to you into a pulped programmer.” Donald shivered slightly at the thought, quickly steering the conversation back to more pleasant topics. “I do have a name, to answer your question. Picked it out yesterday. I’m going by Cyber Geek.”
“Not too bad.” Ren thrust a clawed thumb into his own chest. Only his scales kept him from piercing his sternum. “They’re calling me Medley.”
“Medley, you say?” Donald turned the name around in his head, trying to find something positive to same about it. “That’s certainly...”
“Idiotic? Asinine? Flat-out dumb? Don’t worry, I’m well aware.” Ren shrugged his massive shoulders as they turned down a new hallway. “But if I want to help people, they can’t be scared of me. A name like that helps soften my image, at least according to the market research.”
“They market-researched your name? Wow, you weren’t kidding about them going all-out on prepping stuff for your debut,” Donald noted.
“You don’t know the half of it,” Ren said. “And if you’re lucky, you never will. Let’s just say I’ve had my fill of paperwork and image management. I’m ready to get out there and start actually making a difference.”
Donald looked his fellow aspiring superhero up and down, taking in his size and natural defenses. If Ren had bee
n there, the fight with that big meta in the office would have probably gone a lot differently. Then again, if Ren had been there, the robbers probably would have taken one look at him and gone screaming for the hills.
“Is your debut soon?” Donald asked. He had a feeling there would be a lot of criminals watching their shit once Ren took the streets.
“End of this week or the start of the next one,” Ren replied. “Almost everything is in place. Once the last few bits are done, it’s just a matter of waiting for the right crime. They have a fellow member come out with me, just so no one mistakes me for a bad guy, and then let me help save people or stop bad guys. Afterward, there’s a press conference—more or less what you went through.”
“What do you do if there’s no crime?” Donald had lived in Ridge City all his life, and while things could get crazy on occasion, the big incidents were often weeks, if not months, apart. There were only so many metas dumb enough to tangle with the Alliance of Heroic Champions where they lived, after all.
“There’s always crime,” Ren told him. “In a city this size it’s inevitable, and the AHC keeps watch over way more than just Ridge City. Now, not all of it is meta-human crime; in fact, that’s a minority by far, but there’s still enough of it that not even us and the police can stop every petty thief and mugger. We try to prioritize our responses to do the best we can. First priority is meta-humans, obviously. Then come situations where we’re in less danger than normal cops would be. After that is the mundane stuff, just pitching in where we can.”
“Gotcha. Guess I’m going to have to learn about all this,” Donald said.
Ren stopped walking, reached over, and patted Donald carefully on the shoulder. “Don’t sweat it too much. They’ve been training new superheroes in here for decades; they know how to prep us for the real world. Just do your best, and hopefully you won’t make any big screw-ups that get people killed.”