The Infected [Books 1-6]

by P. S. Power

  Looking scared still, the man did it and then asked, his voice shaking, a simple question that seemed obvious to all the IPB Operatives that were there.

  "Why stand back, isn't closer better?"

  Brian nodded.

  "If they aren't armed, and you have to shoot, yes. Right now they're an unknown. If they pop up quickly, or have powers, being away from them will give you a chance to shoot. Really, when possible, stay back even if it's a regular person. Now, to pull the masks off of these three and see who's trying to shut down the national holiday special..."

  Tobin missed that reference, but several others laughed, and one of the men on the ground, the one that almost deep fried his hand, and was burned anyway, tried to spit.

  At Wayne Burgess.

  "Nocturne endorses the destruction of the rain forest! Down with capitalism, down with capitalism!"

  The other two started to chant along, but it wasn't very catchy.

  Finally Denis moved in and waved at them.

  "I guess we actually do call the cops?" Stepping forward toward the sitting trio, who had linked arms for some reason, Denis spoke softly. "I get that you have an agenda, but Wayne here is working for free, so you might want to change up your tactics on this one."

  That didn't play with the agitators. Tobin liked them much better than regular protestors however, since they didn't seem to care about him being there at all, and didn't even whine about him having used powers on them. That was normally one of the first things that people said when they were subdued without being hurt by the IPB. That they'd been attacked by super powers. It really was illegal, if you were breaking the law at the time, but you could use them in self-defense. Though, by law, he could have done it anyway, just for fun. It was one of the only good things about being with the government really.

  The police came and while they all took turns touching their side arms and looking scared of Proxy, they just took statements and got the people away from there. It wasn't a great way to start the morning, but it was a way. Everyone was awake and invigorated already even. Without being asked Bridget came over and took Wayne away, going inside the main building, which was a vast warehouse like space. Rachel went with her, looking miserable, but after a bit he got it, they were helping with the morning meal.

  That meant he needed to get people coffee. Otherwise they'd complain about things. The strange thing there, was that as he walked around handing out cups and filling orders, which he had to write down, since some of them were really complicated, everyone got up. Even the ones that had gotten drunk or stoned the night before did it.

  It was the first day of shooting after all, and that meant the pros got to work, or at least sat in a chair and pretended they were available to. It was a good sign, he hoped. By seven-thirty everyone had food, that wanted it, which some of them didn't, and by eight-thirty they were busily working on the song tracks in the studio. He'd done that before, so it wasn't unfamiliar, though the studio they got wasn't as high tech. The booth people made it work anyway.

  "Great job, Mr. Peterson. We should get a few more takes."

  Glen kept making everyone do at least ten takes, which was a bit strange, but not so much that the rest of the people didn't get the idea. They were going to put on a show and their part, for right now, was music. That meant doing it right. The older man didn't slack off either, until late into the evening, meaning that Tobin had to go and get everyone food, making sure they didn't realize that he'd made the sandwiches for them himself. If they got that he had, no one complained about it.

  True they weren't all polite either, but at dinner that night he was given a bit of a break and asked to sit by Christian, Mark and an old friend of hers, Tara Strong. The two women had, once upon a time, been on a reality television show together. He hadn't realized that Chris had ever done anything like that.

  Tara batted her eyes at him and Mark, but didn't act too interested in either of them.

  "That was a long time ago. Almost another life. So, not to be crude, and admitting that I haven't buttered either of you up even half enough to like me yet, I don't suppose there's any chance you could help me get a decent part in this thing? It's..."

  Mark snapped his fingers and then vanished, which made the woman jump and seem scared.

  "What happened?"

  Tilting her blonde head Christian focused for a bit, then smiled. It was a bit of a tight and cold thing considering she had her old friend there, but it was probably wearing on her too. First modes didn't take vacations. It was one of their worst qualities.

  "One bit... There they are." She gestured as if producing the two men that came by force of will. It was Mark, naturally, and Alan Brown.

  Mark gestured with his head at Tara.

  "Mrs. Cratchet?" That was all he said, but Alan made a considering face and ran to get a copy of the script. It wasn't a hard role after all. Not in their version. She'd just have to stand there and look worried a few times, then say 'Merry Christmas, Mr. Scrooge.' once. It turned out that the woman could actually act and while she was in her forties and looked younger than that, she did claim that she could manage to add a few years, for the scene, if they had a good makeup department.

  In all it was an interesting thing to watch. The whole process was. Even after things were set, everyone, or nearly, tried for bigger parts, more screen time, and to have their little trailers moved around so that they were in the best positions. That part changed daily. The first day people all wanted the ones in the first row, since the photographers would be able to see them go in and out, meaning they could make the tabloids.

  The third day, after the first pictures were out, everyone wanted the back row, since most of the pictures were not all that flattering, showing men coming out of their tiny mobile caves with other men for instance, since they were sharing, or getting shots of people tiredly picking their underwear from their behinds first thing in the day. Tobin was all the way in the back, but that didn't mean that he was immune to the coverage. He found that out on the fourth day of shooting when a rather dark and brooding Wayne Burgess plopped a paper tabloid down in front of him as he sat eating his breakfast pancake, along with some orange slices.

  "Looks like we're famous." The man didn't sound all that pleased, but Tobin didn't see why. The article on the cover had a picture of the man, with a tiny one of him in the corner and the story was all about how they rather bravely defended all the other stars from terrorists. True they oversold that angle a bit, making the men sound dangerous and the woman like the mastermind, but it wasn't rude, and didn't call him a monster, so Tobin was happy enough.

  Clearly not getting it fast enough, Wayne gestured at the paper several times, as if that would make it clearer.

  "They didn't mention Proxy at all. The guy will think that I told them to do that. He already nearly kicked my ass once. I didn't know it was him, then I was owned by his personal chef. That was not a proud day for me. What do you think he'll do?"

  That one Tobin knew first hand. He'd seen it often enough after all. It was the common thing in the IPB. He was on the first team now, so the rest of them would go with whatever story came up. This time however, it was actually true.

  "Nothing. They got it nearly right. You were actually a little more heroic than they made you sound like, but Proxy was on mop up detail. Even if it was a lie and made him look like a fool, he wouldn't care. He won't hold a grudge about you hitting someone. No one in the IPB will. That production assistant might. If I were her I'd ambush you, and..." Except of course he'd never really do that at all. "What were you on anyway?"

  "Um, diet pills. The really good ones from Mexico. They can make you a little hot headed, so I stopped for the week. I don't have another movie lined up yet, so I need to stay in shape. Do you think that PA will sue?"

  "Do you think she should?"

  That got the man to stop and bury his head in his hands. There was a solid groan, and then a closed eyed nod.

  "Hell yeah. It wil
l make her a lot more money than working at any rate. Fuck. I do not need press like that. Going around beating up on girls. The studio is going to love this."

  Tobin couldn't really help. The man had done it, and in polite society that was just wrong. There was no way to make it right either. He could, possibly start by apologizing, but that might not mean anything at all. Even offering to give her money probably wouldn't. She had a reason to be upset. Then again, it was worth a shot.

  He was about to suggest it when everyone was called inside, since Alan and Glen wanted to talk to them. It didn't seem that important, more like a staff meeting, but they all got caught up at least.

  Alan spoke in a nice loud voice, amplified by speaker. It wasn't a huge microphone, but it worked pretty well. Just sitting there on his shirt collar.

  "Thanks everyone. I just heard the music and it's fantastic. Now we need to put everything together. We should be done in two days, with pre-production and the set-up. I know that these haven't been the most ideal of conditions, but so far this is one of the best productions I've ever been involved with. I just wanted to let you all know how much all your hard work and dedication means to me."

  Then Glen went, saying the same kinds of things, but with more of a cheerleading attitude. It did work to get everyone revved up, and about an hour later there was actual singing and dancing going on in the studio. Tobin wasn't up yet, since there were a lot of different parts for the whole thing, and Glen had decided not to make him dance, since Tiny Tim had crutches and it might look like they were making fun of him. Tara had to, and so did Kerry. Bridget was getting to play an elf, in one of the earlier bits, which was a fairly major role. She got to float around for it, but Kerry was doing that for her, since the girl's flying wasn't that great yet.

  Prime got to do some choral work and had been practicing every day it seemed, so was better than average sounding. Not perfect at all, but standing next to Robert Willis, it had to be hard to stay in key, which he seemed to manage through force of will. It had to be that, because the other man was awful. Bad enough that Tobin had to resist plugging his ears, and did nudge Glen.

  Whispering, he leaned in, even if that would look suspicious.

  "Can we have the sound track on Willis turned way down. I mean... really far?"

  Without making a face or even nodding the older man made a note on the clipboard that he always carried. There were initials, and while Tobin knew what it meant, Robert wouldn't if he caught sight of the thing. It was an ego thing, most likely, since no one wanted to hear that they were horrible at anything. Especially if they really were, and nothing would ever fix it.

  The whole thing was like that really.

  Not that most of the people didn't have their own skills, but that there were compromises and tricks needed at almost every turn to keep anyone from feeling too bad about what they were doing. Since they weren't being paid, that would be important. Except, Glen assured him that for the caliber of star they had, it was normal.

  "Really, everyone is being a trooper so far. We've only had two hissy fits, and one person storming out. I expected it to be a lot worse. We have the live run through starting at two, tomorrow. The President and his daughter are coming in. It would have been earlier in the day, but the Secret Service has to check things out first. We have some other politicians in as well. They're doing bits. Acting and singing, but all background things. We just need them to be good enough that we can show their little bi-partisan faces."

  That would be the hard part really. They'd basically already shot the whole thing, which was so that, if they screwed up doing it with the President there, they could fix it later. After all President Lawrence wasn't going to stick around for them to do fifteen takes of anything. Neither were the others. This way they had the footage ready for editing ahead of time.

  It was hard because they had to add in the new people and they were important, but if they were bad, there wasn't a lot they could do about it. A thousand things could go wrong too. A single bomb threat, and they'd have to cancel. Or if someone decided that having him too close to the President's daughter was a bad idea, or so many other things that he didn't even bother with them.

  Later that night, as he listened to Warren snore a little and Denis tossing and turning, Tobin worried over it anyway. It wasn't something he had power over, but it was so going to fail that he could nearly taste it in the air. It was a burnt umber color. Bitter and nasty. That meant he wasn't well rested the next day, so was a bit grumpy, though his shyness meant he didn't take it out on anyone. It was a good thing too...

  Because it all went flawlessly.

  The Secret Service checked things out, including all the trailers, and then all the people, who they seemed to have files on. When they got to him the dark suited men just glanced in the folder and nodded.

  "Tobin Peterson. IPB. Well, no need to worry there. The First Daughter is a big fan. We can count on your people for backup, if needed?" The man wasn't old, being in his late thirties and fit enough looking. Some of them were a little soft, but Tobin nodded.

  "You can. Do you have any data on credible threats?"

  "No, but it never hurts to have a secret weapon, if it's needed. Thanks for the cooperation." Then they just moved on, as if he were a person, and they actually knew it.

  The show went really well too. Everyone nailed their parts, including Representative McCreedy, who did make a point of staying well away from him. He still delivered his two lines really well. The man was a bigot, and worse, led the charge against the Infected. Or at least he had since his Senatorial bigot buddy Hooper had died. That man had been Infected too, and used his power to get rid of his political enemies.

  That he used hate against his own kind to make his way up the ladder of power probably shouldn't have been a surprise to anyone at all. Penny had told him about it one day, out beyond the fence line. She'd killed the man after all. It wasn't something he was supposed to talk about, and wouldn't. The important part was that she'd also taken out Stillness. The man that could make anyone do anything. That was a big blow against Braid and her crew. For the most part he didn't worry about it too much.

  For him it wasn't that group that made him feel afraid. It was McCreedy and his crew of monsters that didn't think Tobin should live, no matter how nice he was. Still, the man did a good job, and they didn't have to try and figure out how to fix anything at all in that regards.

  The President did a little speech, for them to add into the beginning, and Maggie, his daughter, sat in the audience looking cute in her blue and white doll's dress. She was regular size, Tobin just didn't know what to call it otherwise. It had ribbons. Real ones. That and lace. She almost looked like she was supposed to be six. She was about fifteen or so, and way too old for that kind of thing, but the idea was that she needed to look innocent and not show up on the Christmas special in a mini-skirt and thigh high leather boots. He could kind of see the point.

  It all worked and at seven, when everyone left, Alan and Glen got them all together again.

  "That went well." Alan grinned and then pumped his fist in the air, getting a little cheer for it. "Awesome, in fact! Thank you all. We might have a little to do in post-production, but I think we have this ready. I'll contact you all for the air dates. Now, let's get to the after party!"

  That meant everyone left, then came back, dressed much more nicely, about an hour later. Just as he was walking in however, Christian stopped him, and patted his shoulder lightly. Ominously. She wasn't big on contact like that with most people, he didn't think.

  "Tobin? I know that I have no right to ask a thing like this, but my parents were wondering if you'd come to dinner tonight? We're leaving in the morning and while it's a bit late for it, they'd both love to meet you." The woman's short blonde hair moved in the breeze, her white dress slightly shining and she had a matching purse with it. The little kind that rich women had for important functions.

  A thrill of absolute panic came over him then
. It would have been really hard for him to walk into the party in the main building, but knew most of those people, at least in passing, and that helped a lot. Going to meet his grandparents was too much to ask. It was only when he saw Chris, his mother's face start to fall that he rallied a bit. It was one of those things that he'd never actually had to really deal with in his entire life. Familial obligations. It had come up on television enough that he recognized the idea. They were family, so he had to go, or it would be really insulting to them.

  "Do they... know?" He could barely get the words out, but his mom nodded.

  "Yes. It's why they want to meet you. I told them a few days ago, but they both understand the obligations of work, and didn't want to interrupt or disrupt your schedule. They sent a car and driver?" She waved, which, he noticed, was an elegant thing. No one called to them as they moved to the vehicle, but a few saw them leaving together. That wasn't good, since most of them would probably think they were sneaking off to have sex.

  The inside of the car made the limo's that came the other day seem like what poor people would ride in to pretend they had money. This thing was soft, everywhere inside, and had things like a television, radio and bar in the back. It was all black, the leather dyed, but it wasn't like anything he could describe, not even to himself. It smelled, a rich scent that reminded him of cedar oil and oranges, but it was a faint thing, nothing overpowering. He couldn't even see the man in front, since he was hidden by a smoky glass window that was hard to see through. It seemed like it could go up and down, but Chris didn't touch it, just sitting there and waiting.

  After a long time, with no talking at all, Tobin decided to ask some questions.

  "Are they nice?" That was the first thing to ask. He didn't know anything about her parents as people, at all. It was a strange thing, but it had never come up as a topic of discussion before.

  "My parents? They're decent people. They have their flaws and worries, like anyone else. Don't expect them to meet some ideal you have hidden about grandparents however. My father is a very direct man. He has enough wealth and power that he doesn't have to be otherwise. He tends to respect that in others. Mother is... mother. Her youth was a lot like my own, except that where mine was ruined by becoming Infected, hers was disrupted by having an inconvenient child. Me. I have a younger sister as well, but she was actually planned. They aren't unloving. When I popped they stood by me, which cost them both a lot. A good half of their friends stopped socializing with them, because of that. There were harsh words about it as well. Some in the media. Neither of them ever mentioned it at all. Nikki, my sister, she hasn't spoken to me in... actually I believe it was about the time I told her I could read minds, come to think of it. I don't think you should plan on a card from her at Christmas." There was a wince, but she didn't explain that her sister was a bigot.