The Infected 1: Proxy

by P. S. Power

  Brian laughed a little and told them he had to go and get ready for the press conference, which made Marcia wince.

  "Want me to get together a group of bodyguards for you?" She asked, chuckling a little, licking her lips and fighting a smile.

  Brian gave her a shocked look. "You mean you don't already have them lined up?"

  9

  Before going to the green room Brian stopped by the armory and took out a few weapons, not bothering to sign for them. No one guarded the place, which made it easy to use, but a little scary, because anyone could get at firearms, and other goodies, at any time. Including people recently locked up in the fruitloop ward on eight. Kind of an oversight in procedure. He took two nine mils and two knives. Brian contemplated a grenade, but couldn't find any reason that killing a room full of reporters would be justified, even if they all laid into him for some reason.

  That, of course, could happen. Would happen. He'd beaten up Lady Glory, a woman and national favorite. That he'd been driven into a suicidal state by her might have just been missed by the press all together. After all, most of the time her power just made everyone a fan. That kind of thing would be hard to move past for a lot of people. Brian knew why it had happened and still felt guilty about it, even if Karen had hardly mentioned it at all, being more concerned with what she'd done to him.

  Swallowing, he knew that all he could do was own his own actions, no matter why they'd happened. If he made excuses for poor behavior then anyone could. Including Infected people that really couldn't help what they did, driven by fear or rage into actions that had to be stopped. It wasn't fair, or even good, but it had to be done, because people either controlled themselves or society had to step in and do it for them.

  That kind of had to include him, right? If the IPB couldn't control him, the least dangerous person around, how could they be expected to keep a Prime in check or a Lauren? Or even little Bridget? He didn't like all the laws, but there had to be some kind of order in the world. It didn't have to be what they had now, police beating innocent people and state sanctioned kidnapping, but that meant that good people had to be willing to take their lumps if it came down to it.

  Not that he'd submit to the police again, not ever, even if guilty. They'd just kill him and probably torture him first. But that didn't mean he should get off free if he broke the law did it? The idea made his head spin, so he tried to put it on the back burner for a while as he made his way into the room they were supposed to meet in. Prime sat waiting with Charlot the PR lady, both looking tense and unhappy, but holding hands, which surprised Brian a little. The woman gave him a smile when she saw him, and didn't mention him being late, the clock on the wall only marking him as about two minutes tardy.

  Scott stood, his hand out.

  "Brian! I wanted to be there for you again when you went out, but everyone seems to think my presence might... distract from the message today. I hope you understand..." The voice sounded contrite, even humble. It wouldn't last long, but it was nice to know the guy had that kind of range. It probably meant, in the end, that he was able to be more than just his first mode and that at times at least, he wanted to.

  Brian did understand, but wasn't really happy about it, which he let show on his face. He took the hand and pumped it a few times then looked at Charlot, who gave him a look that, while not angry, probably meant that he better not ask if Prime could be there in front of the man if he knew what was good for him. He nodded to her and asked Scott if they could have the room for a bit.

  The golden man looked surprised but not hurt by this, just clapping him on the back and leaving, saying he'd be back in ten minutes.

  Charlot, hair loose and larger than the current fashion said was cute, makeup perfect, and dressed in a ladies business suit with a skirt and shoes just a bit too pretty to be practical, cleared her throat.

  Brian shrugged and tilted his head at her a little. "I'd like him to be there. Karen too. She's coming in an hour and a half, here, for moral support anyway. I know we've all screwed up, but this issue... it's kind of a big deal. If we look like we won't back each other up... Does this make any sense? I mean you're the pro here. If you tell me I'm being a moron, then I am, but it makes sense to me, if we all go in together..." He held his breath, knowing that the woman might bite his head off. He'd heard some stories that made her sound positively vicious at times.

  Instead of ripping him a new one, as he feared, she smiled, not a warm smile, a calculating one that reminded him of a reptile for some reason, even on her pretty face. Gripping his shoulder she hugged him to her for a few seconds before letting go.

  "You've got Karen out of her room? And coming here? She's not half insane with grief over nearly killing you anymore? Amazing. The psych boys have a betting pool that had her quitting before the end of next month as the favorite. Yes, if we can get the three of you problem children out there, that would work. Especially if you'll all interact with the press after the main event?"

  Shrugging, he told her he couldn't promise what anyone else would do, but he liked the idea better than going alone. She left him with a list of possible questions the press might have, and some answers that wouldn't get them into trouble. Anything else they asked he should just answer honestly. Brian knew this because it had been printed out at the bottom, as if answering with the truth would be so rare you'd have to tell people to do it. He'd already told the press his big bad hidden secret, the stuff about the police. Anything else he said would probably pale in comparison to that.

  Later, about an hour after she'd left, Charlot came in looking a bit mussed, but happy. Apparently telling Scott that he'd be allowed on camera today had made him extra pleased or something. Or she'd run into someone else... Why not? If Prime got to sleep around all the time, she should too, right? Charlot got right to work, asking him the questions in different orders, using slightly different words, stressing different parts of a single question three or four ways.

  "If they keep doing that... Given your folksy charm out there, I'd say ask them what their real question is and to stop hedging like that. Just don't call Senator Hooper a douche bag or anything. Even if it's true, that wouldn't really be advantageous for us right now. Take the high road no matter what this time. Not that you don't always, but let them really see it."

  She took him by the hand like a child and led him to a small room, about the size of a large walk-in closet, but with about eighty bright light bulbs surrounding a mirror and a thin brunette woman who looked about thirty that had a cute button nose and flawless skin. Her clothing looked practical for her job as a makeup artist, a black shirt and blue jeans, the only spot of color being her bright red socks which showed above her black tennis shoes.

  Charlot made a quick introduction.

  "Clari, this is Brian Yi. Make him look... older if you can. Not too hot, he needs to look like a military type I think. Brian, Clarice is one of the best makeup people in the world. If you fuss or make her complain about you, well, I know where you live..." The mock glare came with a smile and a pat on the arm.

  The woman went straight to work, having him take off his black fatigue top and tucking paper around the neck of his t-shirt, then explaining each thing she did. He held still, and did exactly what she told him, and refused to scratch or rub his nose, even though the makeup itched. Brian knew that if it itched long enough, it would eventually go away. He'd stop noticing it at least. When he'd been shackled for days in that police cell he'd learned that the hard way. It took about forty minutes for the makeup to be done, which surprised him, having never thought about how long things like that would take before, it was a lot more than expected. She helped him put his top back on and pulled the tissue after that, preventing smudges on the clothes she said. Then she went to the door.

  "Charlot, your opinion?"

  At the door, she stopped and nodded, as if barely satisfied or something, but not wanting to offend innocent Clari for not doing a better job, given the poor starting materials
she had to work with here. She looked at him carefully and then both went over him with lint brushes.

  "That was quick work..." the PR woman said, standing back again and nodding slightly once.

  Clari shrugged and gave the other woman a quick nod. "It's not that hard to do here, low body fat, good bone structure, enough things have been broken in the face so that he doesn't look twelve... Add the tiniest hint of beard shadow so he looks manly, but not enough to look sloppy or wild. It didn't hurt that he sat like a pro, better than a lot of professionals, to tell the truth. Sped things up a lot. Didn't even cop a feel." She grinned.

  Charlot nodded and winked at the woman, not caring that Brian saw it.

  "He's straight too, and single. We've been hiding him away so far, but once that gets out he'll probably never be here anymore. Out having fun all the time..." This sounded a bit wistful, but both women laughed, some kind of joke at his expense probably.

  No big thing.

  They were used to hanging out with team one, not some team three sad sack. Prime and the others were all pretty good looking. Even Marcia would have made the grade, and had for a long time. She cleaned up really well. Also not important. He'd gladly take her as she was right now - ready to help him not die too easily - over her being dolled up any day. Besides, her kicking his butt in a bright red mini dress would have been just as bad as in her combat outfit. Worse in a way. It would probably ruin mini-dresses for him.

  Karen and Scott walked out with him onto the stage when Director Moore introduced him, having explained exactly what had happened again before he even spoke. Brian just had to answer questions, which felt easier if not a lot more friendly than giving a speech. The first one hit really hard though. The gray-haired guy with the young face went first, his casual button up the front shirt and black slacks looking relaxed and friendly, though the question was a bit rough. Also one that hadn't been planned for at all on the list he'd practiced.

  "Proxy, did you really try to kill yourself and then attack - physically assault - Lady Glory last month?" It left him wiggle room, but also room to hang himself, he saw. Taking a deep breath he jumped in. Might as well swing properly.

  "Yes. There were some surrounding issues, but the long and short of it is that I did. I regret it... so much more than I can say. Karen, Lady Glory, is a good friend of mine and, well, her power clashed with my own Infection's first mode - the primary emotion I feel, a type of self-sacrifice - until my brain chemistry altered. We've addressed it and it shouldn't happen again. Still, I'm responsible for my actions, no one else. I don't want anyone to think I'm trying to dodge out of what I did. What my punishment for that will be has yet to be decided, but Director Moore, and the IPB as a whole, does not tolerate unneeded violence. " That should cover about anything, including if they had him taken out and shot over the whole thing. It probably wouldn't be that, but if it was, at least people would think that Brian backed it.

  The next several questions were about Senator Hooper, how he felt about the man, how he felt about the threat to Infected rights, and if the actions of Hooper and his supporters made him angry, which seemed a strange question to him.

  "Angry? No... Look, these people are scared, frightened of a threat that, let's face it, is often very real. I can't even tell them not to be scared. This organization exists because a lot of Infected people do bad things and need someone to stop them. Some don't bother to control themselves, and others just can't. The only thing that really troubles me about Senator Hooper and his followers is that they seem to forget that there are also a lot of Infected that are harmless, even friendly and helpful. Yes, that gets them into difficulties too sometimes, but everyone gets into trouble at some point. Most of the time, for most people, it doesn't ruin their whole lives. We should just keep that in mind with the Infected as well. Sure, protect yourself and make sure people don't get hurt, but don't try to shoot the guy that just saved your life either." He raised his eyebrows and lifted his voice at the end, going for slightly comedic. No one laughed today.

  The questions came in fast and furious, most of them having nothing to do with the Senator Hooper situation at all, being a lot more concerned with Karen and Scott than anything else, but they both very purposefully waved to him when it came time to answer questions, refusing to speak. The whole thing had Charlot's fingerprints all over it, because Scott wouldn't have avoided answering questions on his own. Ever. His own sense of infallibility and natural superiority wouldn't let him. Brian wondered what kind of mental jujitsu they'd used on the man to make it happen now.

  The rest of the questions went well, and the reporters seeming highly interested when they were told that there would be refreshments and a chance to ask more questions one on one in the adjoining room. Brian hadn't even known it existed, a room that looked more like the meeting room at a nice hotel than the press room - which looked exactly like what it was, a stage for one person to speak. This part of things made him feel very unsettled, not endangered, but out of his depth. More than ever he understood that everyone in the room with him had capabilities that he simply didn't. He could add some honest talk to things, but to face reporters, people wanting to get at the "hard answers" face to face... That would be a lot more difficult to handle.

  Not three steps into the room the first reporter landed on him, a familiar blond woman, the one that Scott had almost killed. He asked her how she was and shook her hand in what he hoped seemed a professional fashion. She shocked the heck out of him by hugging him, not a slow lingering hug, but a giddy leap into his arms, obviously trying to get it on camera for some reason. He hoped it wasn't anything bad. Being single he wasn't that worried about it for any kind of personal reason and didn't see how it could be used against the IPB, but then what he didn't know about the press could fill volumes.

  She kissed him, a cameraman taking several pictures, so he smiled and held her hand for a second.

  "If any of these turn out, send me a copy? I could use the proof that somewhere in the world women think I'm at least decent. We never got to really talk... are you... OK?" He knew he sounded hesitant, but the last time they met he hadn't exactly supported her position.

  She smiled and put an arm around him, friendly but not sexual.

  "Mr. Yi, I never got a chance to thank you. Things got tense for a while and, with one thing and another, then being played by Bridget Chambers... Well I'm sure you understand. Just... in the whole world there are only a handful of men that could go toe to toe with Prime, less than that who would do it on purpose, and you did it just to save me... That's humbling. If you ever need anything, let me know." She kissed him again on the cheek and walked off, toward Karen, who'd dressed in a nice, but plain, blue skirt and white blouse, with a red belt. Patriotic. Scott had kept to a plain gray suit that of course looked incredible on him. On the good side, with those two behind him he doubted that anyone had even noticed him out front before. Now if he could just blend into the room...

  No alcohol was served, so Brian got a glass of punch, something that probably contained real juice and sparkling something or other, to judge from the little bubbles in it, and met a surly-looking older man at the bar, who did a double take when he saw who stood next to him. The man got a coffee with cream and artificial sweetener and turned to Brian before he could walk away.

  "So, the man of the hour. Enjoying living the life of the rich and famous on the taxpayer's dollar?" His tone didn't sound friendly. Not at all. Well, not everyone was going to hug him and tell him good job, he knew. Life was never like that. Not his life at least.

  Brian raised his shoulders and realized that, if this man were a reporter, that wouldn't work. He struggled for a moment and decided to just go with the truth rather than something flip or glib.

  "It depends what you mean by life of the rich and famous. I mean, the government - which means the taxpayer - is spending a lot of money to get me trained. If that's what you mean, well, enjoying is... not exactly what I'm doing. Like last week, I go
t flown to a training exercise in a private jet. That can't be cheap, right? But then I had to eat bugs and pack my clothes with leaves and pine needles for warmth at night and survive without anything, not even a knife, just the clothes I wore in... That's where I left from when the thing with the senator happened and where I went back to."

  The man didn't look happy with the answer and asked about what he did at the base, when he wasn't out camping. Brian laughed, wondering just how bad this guy would make him look in the news, and went on. No matter how bad it was, the guy had to make a living, right?

  "I have a nice room, eight outfits - five of them sweats and t-shirts, three copies of what I'm wearing right now. I get two meals and exercise or train for at least nine hours a day, often more. A lot more if you include the firearms work, but that's not very physical. Um, more exercise, not meals, that part stays pretty constant. I've had some weight issues in the past and need to be fit, so try to not overeat now. The training is going up. In the mornings I've been walking or running, but I don't know how far. It varies, depending on how hurt I am..."

  A female voice came from behind him.

  "About twenty to thirty miles, Brian. At least on the days you can run. I've seen you walk nearly ten in conditions I wouldn't be out of medical." The woman speaking stared at the reporter. "We put him out in some of the harshest survival training in the world and it's a break for him, Richard. Even then he saved nearly fifteen people directly during that time, from the middle of nowhere. He's not one of us soft team one people." Brian thought hard seeing a woman he only vaguely recognized. The last time he'd seen her he'd been knocking her into a wall, hitting her with a convenient Prime, so he could run away from her and the rest of her team. The pretty violet costume lady.