Subject 12

by S. W. Douglas

  I needed a haircut. I hadn't had one since I'd left the Alpha Zulu compound. I hadn't shaved, either. I looked at myself in the mirror, really looked, for the first time in months. I looked exactly how I'd wanted to look --- like an alcoholic bum halfway to terminal cirrhosis. Well, with my cover blown, might as well lose a little extra weight.

  The hair went in the bathroom to a dog grooming kit I'd gotten with a five-finger discount. The beard went the same way, though I decided at the last minute not to get rid of all of it. Then I had the extreme joy of trying to get the crap I'd cut off down the toilet and sink. That was a fun time I hope I'll never have to live through again, let me tell you.

  It looked a little rough when I was done, to be fair, but overall I looked a lot better than I had in a long time. I could have used a comb, but it was short enough I could get away with just mussing it up with some water. That was the way all the young punks were wearing it anyway.

  I shouldn't pass for a top-notch Hero Guild member. Hell, I should be lucky to pass for a member at all. But there was no way they'd mistake me for one of those strutting, preening, plastic-coated pricks. Of course, they didn't need to. All I needed was to get in the door.

  Finding Magda wouldn't be too hard after that, assuming she was in. If she wasn't I could make my escape easily enough, and if I didn't make too much noise I could come back whenever I wanted.

  Magda wouldn't leave too often, though. A good gadgeteer was a real find and, though well paid, most of them weren't given too much leash.

  Magda had left Alpha Zulu a few months before I'd volunteered for the medical tests. She was the only person I'd ever met who'd left with Kinsey's blessing, though not the only one who'd left at all. I'd always suspected some bad blood there but she'd refused to elaborate and I had never found myself in a position to ask him about it.

  Our relationship had been intense, mutually-satisfying, emotionally-distant, non-exclusive even though neither of us dated anyone else, and over much too soon. She'd told me the day before she'd left she was leaving. She never told me to not come look for her, but she hadn't encouraged it either.

  I was young and stupid. I'd just let her go.

  She'd developed several popular toys for members of Alpha Zulu strike units before she left. My personal favorite was a multi-legged remote-detonated wireless robotic spy-cam. If you pulled the stock explosive charge out and loaded it back up with a small amount of black powder and a couple of issue suicide pills you had a spy device that could destroy itself and gas a good-sized conference room at the same time. If you replaced the detonator with a magnesium-enriched fuse, stripped the electronics to a bare minimum, and replaced the explosives with thermate (a military thermite mixture), you had a locked door opener par excellence, all without the risk of blowing up what was on the other side.

  A lot of her little gems had been aimed more at the espionage side of things. A few had even been designed to be home aids, like a robotic vacuum cleaner that got its juice from a battery charged by solar panels, but those hadn't caught on too well.

  The Guild had tried to snatch her up as soon as she'd hit the street. I can't say as I blamed them.

  I just wish I'd been that smart.

  The Guild had a need for good gadgeteers: The Confederation hired the best. Between the membership's obsession with complicated doomsday devices and revenge traps, they needed the best.

  So the Guild had to fight fire with fire.

  The guard didn't even bother to look up from his TV. Apparently anyone who wanted in could get in.

  It was only when I'd passed the gate and had to wait for the front door to oscillate open that I noticed the high-powered detectors above the gate. I almost didn't recognize their type, they were so rare. Power gauges.

  They'd spent the money and bought self-contained power gauges. The waste offended me so deeply I almost lost it. Those two detectors had cost more than putting a satellite in orbit with a conventional space launch. Each.

  A power gauge was just that --- it used a variety of sensors, scientific and arcane, mystical and commonplace, to gauge a super's power. These were tuned to leave the last reading up so that anyone who saw it could compare it to whoever came in next. It was a simple analog gauge, but it was still quite visible.

  I just hoped nobody noticed I'd pegged it firmly in the red zone.

  The door opened and I stepped into a climate-controlled corridor that looked as sterile as the bottom of a nuclear bomb crater. Since someone had recently waxed the floor there wasn't a whole lot more traction, either. I almost slipped a couple of times trying to cross the treacherous tile as, no doubt, dozens of sensors scanned and probed me. I had nothing electronic, nothing metallic that should trip any sensors, no guns, knives, explosives, or poisons on my person, so unless they were comparing my face and stats to a members list nobody should stop me. Of course, if someone did I'd demand to speak to Magda. What would happen after that depended on how they handled things. I wasn't in a mood to be pushed around.

  Come to think of it, I never was. Now why did that thought make me smile?

  The door on the other end of the corridor stubbornly refused to open as I approached it. I gave it about thirty seconds before I thumped it. When that didn't work I hit it again. Hard.

  "Please don't damage the door, sir. The mechanism is undergoing repair after last night's party. It'll be a little while yet. If you'd like we can pipe some soothing music in for the duration."

  I spied the speaker grill quickly, but the camera eluded me for a minute. I looked squarely at the coarse screen and smiled coldly.

  "Tell you what, buddy. If you can find some way to get me in there before I get bored of waiting I won't have to rip a hole in the wall roughly the size of a blue whale. Sound fair? I don't care if you have to use crowbars to get me in there, just open the goddamn door."

  I could hear the sigh before the speaker crackled back to life. "Please be patient, sir. The door will be open in a few moments."

  "Thank you," I said as kindly as possible. I knew they would be working hard. Norms usually did in the presence of supers, but that didn't mean the supers respected them at all. "I appreciate the effort."

  So how did I explain my attitude towards them? Simple. Supers might treat norms like second-class citizens, even here at the Guild, but that didn't mean I had to be an asshole to some guys going out of their way to accommodate me while trying to do their job.

  True to their word, the door was pried open about a minute and a half later. I refused to help them even though I could have had it open in half a second without lifting a finger once it started to creep open. It wouldn't be fitting with a Guild member, so why bother risking my cover without any gain? Especially so early in the game.

  "Sorry about that, sir," a worker said. He sounded exactly like he had over the intercom. "One of the mid-tier guys got a little ripped last night and demonstrated his ability to make things hot. He thought it'd impress one o' the women, but all he managed to do was fry something in here."

  His gesture toward the control box wasn't an explicit invitation to look, but it wasn't a request to piss off. So I looked.

  "How long have you guys been working on this?" They'd obviously torn it apart and put it back together a couple of times.

  With a voice that screamed "professional being kind to a nosey layperson", the same worker pushed another aside and tried to remain patient with me. "About an hour. We thought we had it when we noticed some buckled plastic on one of the encryption boards, but it tested out okay. To be honest, sir, we're pretty stymied."

  I nodded. My role demanded that I say something unintelligible and walk away. My brain, however, demanded that I take a closer look. To be fair, that wouldn't be totally out of character for an overbearing prick, but I wasn't acting. I was actually curious.

  I scanned the interior of the control box for three seconds before I saw a problem.

  "Is green the ground wire for this box?"

  He turned to
look at me as if to say "Duh?" but when he opened his mouth the strained respect was still there. "Yes, sir, same as it is for every wiring situation in the building."

  I nodded again. "Unless I miss my guess the problem is you have a ground wire that slipped the solder and caused a no-fault electron lock on the Gimble panel. See that one there, on the fourth power shunt from the AC tap? The one with the bend in it that looks like some moron used a wire cutter instead of linesman pliers to hook it around the third-rate Korean scramble board someone slapped a fake DCS label on." I pointed but I was sure nobody saw me. "If it's not broken then it slipped the solder on the shunt. Probably a shitty job in the first place, but maybe some extra heat helped." I scratched the side of my face and tried to ignore the awed silence surrounding me. It wouldn't do to smile at this point. "And if I'm not mistaken there's some acid etching on the PCB under a couple of those resistors controlling the power tap. If I were you I'd check that to make sure the solder used isn't substandard and destroying the leads."

  The worker took a full ten seconds before he could respond. "Um, yeah, I think we'll get right on that. Thank you," he said with a sincerity that surprised me. "You sure that's not a real DCS master scrambler switch?"

  "As sure as I am that I'm a guy. Since I took a piss less than an hour ago I doubt it's changed." The shift in the air was obvious and notably positive. "This one seems to be working fine for now, but if the system locked down I could bypass it with a hacked Heismann decryptor card and a cheap laptop in less than a minute. Put in a request for a replacement unit, make sure it's bought at a reputable dealer, and have Magda do a triple scramble on it before you install it. Then have whoever installed the system the first time around flogged." I caught the worker's eye and winked.

  "I'll, ah, get on top of that right away, sir. Thank you."

  "I'm sure you'd have figured it out, if you'd had enough time." I kept my voice as level as possible. I didn't relish the idea of turning back into an ass so soon. "Oh, and you should replace that slipped wire. That crimp doesn't look good and it looks a little light to carry a power surge. Might short and cause the door to lock open instead of shut."

  "Sure thing..." He sounded a bit unsure.

  "If anyone gives you any shit just tell them I told you to do it. That ought to get things rolling. Speaking of which, I need to go find the dining hall to make sure it's where I left it. See you around."

  I excused myself in a hurry. I'd already spent too long talking to them. They'd gotten a good look at my face and my clothing --- though I was glad to say I didn't smell anymore --- and the last thing I wanted at that point was for anyone to really recognize me.

  The halls were as white as the entrance. Doors were clearly marked, but you had to be standing on top of them to know where you were. Maps were nonexistent. I'd have killed for a "you are here, stupid" signpost. Still, the halls were laid out with defensive bulges, 90-degree bends, flexible mounts for weapons that obviously were not installed, and I even saw the service panel for a nitrogen gas fire-suppression system. Whoever had designed this place had done a very good job.

  Too good a job in one sense. I wasn't the only confused person wandering the halls, as I discovered turning yet another blind corner. This one was a rather nice-looking young woman who looked almost as uncomfortable in her armored breastplate and fishnet stockings as she did confused at her surroundings. I put her age at about 20, give or take three years. When I got a few steps closer the light hit the holographic H on her mirrored chest and a dazzling spray of pain washed through my corneas. I fell to my knee and clapped the hand I wasn't bracing myself against the wall with over my eyes.

  I was not expecting that.

  I didn't pass out, though I'm sure that almost everyone who got hit with that spray of light would be as out as wide lapels and polyester shirts. The pain made me wish I had.

  "Oh, shit! I'm sorry! I'm sorry! I'm really sorry! You okay? Oh, shit, I'm so sorry!"

  By that point I was guessing she was rather new at the whole "hero" thing.

  "Turn that goddamn thing off!" I roared, resisting the urge to grab her and snap her neck like a toothpick.

  "Shit! Right! Sorry! Um, um, okay, there. You okay?"

  She grabbed my arm and tried to help me up but I shook her off. The world was still spinning and I didn't want any distractions that might prove... messy. Picking pieces of someone's breakfast out of my hair wasn't anything I enjoyed doing, so I doubted she would either.

  "I'll be fine. What in unholy name of Lucifer's left testicle was that?" I could still hear the growl in my voice but I didn't think she'd be too offended.

  "You sure?" She sounded nervous. With good reason, I'd grant her.

  I pulled my hand away from my eyes and opened them. The world seemed to vibrate slightly, but it didn't make me want to vomit and it didn't hurt. Unless something else happened, I'd have to say that all in all the experience was only slightly worse than the hangover I'd had after my 25th birthday party. So I risked my breakfast (which, come to think of it had been an air sandwich on bread so thinly sliced it wasn't even there) and stood up.

  When I didn't collapse, dry-heave, or lose control of my bowels I decided all was well. I even smiled in relief.

  "Yeah, I'm fine. Just tell me what the hell that was and why the hell you had it turned on in the halls." I didn't want to look at her yet because I wasn't 100% sure she had shut it off right.

  "Yeah, sorry. Um, that was the stunner device the gadgeteer made for me yesterday. She wanted an excuse to avoid the party, so she asked me if I'd like to try something she was working on. Who would say no to a new toy, right?" She faked a smile.

  "You're new here, aren't you?" The vibrations were dying out, thankfully. The featureless walls only made the optical distress worse because there was nothing to focus on, so it made it almost subliminal. It was giving me a headache.

  "Is it that obvious?" She looked crestfallen.

  I nodded. "The map," I guessed, facing her finally and pointing at the paper still clutched in her left hand, "was a dead giveaway."

  "How about the glowing pain glyph on my chest?" She gestured dramatically at her ample cleavage. The shiny metal covered the tiny projector well enough I still couldn't see it.

  "That too." I shook my head slowly. "Are they still giving those things out to the new members?"

  She nodded. "Only if they ask. I grew up on a farm, so this is all so confusing to me." She forced a smile. "Drop me in the middle of a corn field and I can find my way anywhere. But here, damnation, it's like they went out of their way to make it confusing."

  "They did. Whoever designed this place was used to designing military buildings, unless I miss my guess. Just between you and me, I can get lost in here, too."

  I could smell the relief wash over her. "Oh, thank everything that's holy. I've been here three weeks and I still can't find my own quarters without the map, let alone get anywhere."

  I smiled. This was easier than I thought. "They really ought to paint a a couple of stripes on the walls for major rooms. Who cares if someone gets in and knows where the dining area is? Or the infirmary?"

  "I know!" She was warming up to me quickly. "I had the same thought. Unless you have, like, a perfect memory or something you're not going to know where anything is till you've been here so long you're ready to scream!"

  "I hear you. Hell, why not just put up some hall markers? At least then you could figure out if you were close and not just walk by accidentally. And how would knowing that you're on hall 69 really help anyone who hasn't been here before know where they're going?"

  "Exactly! Exactly. Geez. Three weeks and nobody's been willing to even take me to the damn cafeteria to get a cup of coffee, treating me like an idiot because I can't memorize the layout from a crummy black and white map that the ink was smeared on when they gave it to me, and I bump into someone who agrees with me by accident." She blushed. "It was an accident. I honestly didn't know that thing was turned on. She said
it projects in a 270-degree field so I can't see it and there's no warning it's on. I think I'll have to get that fixed."

  "Please, for the love of penne a la vodka, get that fixed." I shuddered theatrically for her benefit. "Other people hereabouts might not be so forgiving."

  "You're right about that," she said, looking troubled despite the blush. "You know Grid Iron? The ex-pro-football star who hangs out in Chicago? I was trying to get something to eat a couple days after I got here and the..." She censored herself, though I could see the tears that still wanted to spring forth at the mere mention of it. "He bumped into me, laughed at me when I dropped my dinner, then cursed me up one side and down the other for some of my soda splashing on his pants. I thought he was going to hit me."

  Grid Iron. I knew that name.

  A lot of pro athletes doped. It was an accepted fact of life. Some were supers, successfully hiding whatever ability or trick they had that gave them whatever edge it was they needed. When you combined the two, you got a potentially entertaining combination. When you throw in performance-enhancing drugs and some of the new crap coming out of what used to be Cuba, things really got interesting.

  Grid Iron's given name was Kurt Reginald DeStreeter III. He was the fourth in a long line of professional athletes, a spoiled brat with the temper and morals of a male elephant in musth, and the first to stop keeping the family secret a secret.

  The DeStreeters were supers, not that such a revelation should come as a surprise, with each generation was a little stronger than the last. They were basically stock, but a little stronger and faster, with better reaction times, higher endurance levels, and a near-limitless pain tolerance. A great-great-great-great-great-(etc)-grandfather or something had been a famous German knight, celebrated for a heroic last stand during the Crusades. Other than that the family hadn't been too well-known for centuries until professional sports became all the rage in the USA.