by Stone, Naomi
Greg had ample opportunity to practice his dodging skills, avoiding police and an emergency medical team making their way to Donny along the crowded walks. He returned to the Computer Sciences building at a much more leisurely pace than he’d taken to reach the bridge.
He hoped Donny got whatever help he needed to keep him from going back to the bridge some night when there’d be no one around to stop him. Of course Donny would get help. Obviously, he had people who cared for him, that Toby fellow, all the strangers who’d been ready to help. He must have family and other friends. Greg had done his part. The rest would be up to others.
Gloria was right about one thing. The world couldn’t rely on superheroes to solve all its problems. The whole Justice League of America wouldn’t be enough for the job. Still, she might have been surprised and gratified to see how many people had stepped forward wanting to help when somebody needed it.
He’d be curious to hear what the reporters said about this one. No one knew his part in Donny’s rescue. What would they make of it? A surge of adrenaline and Donny’s unconscious self-preservation instincts? They wouldn’t commend any superhero for this one.
The whole episode was kind of a bust, as far as becoming a romantic hero for Gloria’s sake. Although that didn’t seem like such a big deal at the moment. In fact, he felt kind of good. If druggies got a high like this from their various substances he kind of understood the attraction.
Cursing, he stumbled aside as a bicyclist approaching from behind nearly ran him down.
Chapter 5
Gloria sent out the invitation to Friday’s staff meeting and minimized Notes. So far, so good for this morning’s calendaring tasks. She’d triaged Mr. Carlson’s email and updated the Research Documentation Procedures file with the changes he’d requested. He wouldn’t be back to the office until after lunch. She sat up straighter in her swivel chair, stretched and looked around her workstation. Her cubicle stood near the window outside Mr. Carlson’s office, where she liked to gaze out at the sky when she got the chance, and at the surrounding buildings and the small corner park twelve floors below.
She opened her web browser. This was her chance to update the Cell Shells website. Aggie had formatted pics of the new designs for the web last night. Gloria would just download the image files from her thumb drive.
She’d gotten the process down to a science, setting up new pages for their site, inserting images and product descriptions and modifying the PayPal code for each new item. She did it without thinking, letting her mind wander for the first time since getting to the office this morning. As usual, it wandered to thoughts of the future. To her happy dream of what it would be like to be married and move away from home, to be part of a nice family where people didn’t fall asleep drunk on the couch in the living room.
She could kick herself for letting Dad talk her into staying at home, saving money, rather than getting an apartment of her own. While she did have the refuge of Aggie’s house and their craftwork, the housing arrangement sucked her vital energy like a mosquito sucked blood. Maybe it made her an evil, selfish person, but she didn’t want to play governess and housekeeper to a grown man who’d given up on his own life long ago.
She felt like thin cloth torn down the middle. She loved her home, her neighbors, the place she’d always lived. Yet she didn’t want to dwell in her father’s miasma of not-giving-a-damn. She didn’t want to live with his unsubtle messages that she deserved no better. The constant struggle to keep from giving in and agreeing with him took too damn much work.
Things would be different with Pete. He cared enough to keep things nice and keep himself up. He kept his apartment pristine. He probably made a better housekeeper than she did. Of course his place seemed kind of bare, seemed like he didn’t own anything not strictly utilitarian. She’d enjoy bringing some homey touches to the house they’d get together.
She’d love to make curtains modeled after the page she’d marked in her Better Homes & Gardens Home Decorating magazine. She’d use the pretty Madras print she’d found during her last visit to the fabric store, and make matching throw pillows and choose a nice pallet of colors for paint and wallpaper. Their place would have an extra room for her home office slash workroom, and the house would be in good repair. Not like home, where anything she couldn’t fix by herself stayed broken, the gate on the back fence, the leak in the porch roof, and the stuck garage door.
She sighed as she pasted the PayPal code for the final sample–the black leatherette, with sample text saying World’s Best Dad–into the HTML page. Maybe she and Aggie would start pulling in real money. Then she’d be able to do her craftwork full time from home. Not that being an administrative assistant for ABM’s Research and Development Department Head constituted a bad thing. Mr. Carlson was easy to work for, easy to keep happy. But maybe that was the problem. The job didn’t challenge her.
She could keep up with the demands of her job and make daily updates to the Cell Shells site and do sketches for new designs and take time to gab with Jo or with Kathleen’s administrative assistants while she was at it. Shouldn’t she be doing work that took everything in her power to give?
Her phone buzzed. Gloria caught sight of the extension number on the unit’s display. Speak of the devil.
“Gloria? Hi.” Jo had a way of talking like letting you in on a private joke–it gave Gloria a lift just to hear her voice. “How’s everything with y’all in R&D?”
“Oh, hi, Jo. I’m good. It’s all good. What’s up?” Gloria settled back in her chair, swiveling gently side-to-side, crossing her ankles as she stretched out her legs.
“A couple things. I ordered the cake, it will come out of the HR budget, but you’ll have to pick it up. Will you have time before the party?”
“Sure. If we go out for lunch I could pick it up on the way back.”
“On the way?” Jo laughed. “I suppose. If we get lunch in Uptown, Gelpe’s Bakery might conceivably be on the way.”
Gloria chuckled. They’d never get back downtown from Uptown in the time allotted for lunch. “Now that you mention it. I still need to pick up a card for Ron too.”
“Good luck tearing him away from his project long enough to attend his own birthday party.”
“I’ve got my people trained.” Gloria buffed her nails against her blouse. “Celebrations take priority. So, what was the other thing?”
“Oh, I just wanted to ask you about some missing 1099 tax forms. Maybe they’re done and not entered into the system yet?”
“I entered the 1099 forms into tracking back in January.” Gloria straightened in her chair, turning back to the computer, bringing up Excel. Maybe she had overlooked some? “Which ones are missing?”
“I started running a report on our own employees and forgot to filter out the contractors, or I’d never have noticed we don’t have tax forms for the Inspired Logic Corporation or IntelligentDZine. Kathleen lists them as resources for some of her projects.”
“Oh. That explains it.” Gloria relaxed again, shifting the phone to her other ear. “Kathleen takes care of the forms for her contractors. I just do the forms for Don’s contractors and the regular 1044s for our in-house research team.”
“Ah. I’ll call her about it, then.” Jo sighed through the line. “Or, more likely, leave her a message and never hear back. I swear that woman never holds still.”
“Yeah.” Gloria grinned at the understatement. Kathleen Pedersen seemed to live for her job, fully involved and always on the go. She should be as involved in her own work. “Where shall we go for lunch, then?”
* * * *
Ambling back along the route he’d raced before, Greg considered his options for the day. He still needed to meet with Professor Morrissey and get some lab work done this morning. He’d had enough of the invisibility thing. Even now he had a hard time concentrating while keeping a constant lookout for bicyclists and random Frisbee players.
Just to escape them, he cut across the lawns. They spread
like a long green carpet running between Northrup Auditorium and Washington Avenue, flanked by the classic old red brick academic buildings with their white-pillared porticos. Despite enabling him to save Donny, invisibility had too many drawbacks to want to keep it for his superpower.
On his way back to the Church Street entrance of the Computer Sciences building, in the relatively narrow walkway between buildings, he dodged a couple more bicyclists, but once inside he relaxed vigilance. He might like to lose himself in the world, to observe how people lived when they thought no one was around–if he didn’t feel so embarrassed by playing voyeur–but he needed to stand out. Invisible hands didn’t get noticed and Gloria would never notice him while more invisible to her than ever.
Half the morning had slipped away and he had yet to meet with Professor Morrissey. His advisor would need his help on a few more end-of-term tasks, work perfectly possible for Greg to do without the addition of any magical superpowers and work that would produce at least a nod of recognition.
Greg found the main reception area of the department deserted. He made his way past the front desk to the hallway where the professors’ offices were located. He spotted Professor Morrissey standing in the open door to his office, talking with Professor Stevens. Greg approached them and stood politely by, waiting for his advisor to finish his conversation and notice him.
The conversation turned a dark corner without either of them seeming to notice him. Oh, right. They don’t see me. I’m invisible.
“You can’t do this,” Professor Morrissey said, voice rising as if he’d breathed helium. “I’ll go to the Dean.”
“You don’t want to do that,” Professor Stevens drawled. “A man with your habits. I might have to speak to your wife…”
“Cora knows worse about me than a little flirtation with an undergrad.”
“I saw you at Rick’s place.” Stevens smiled like a wolf looming over its prey. “Your wife might understand a coed, she might even understand the ‘coed’ being a boy half your age, but maybe she won’t understand the drugs. I’m pretty sure if we speak to the Dean, he won’t be so understanding about any of it.”
“I don’t want to shout my affairs from the rooftops.” Morrissey stiffened, voice turning cold. “But I’m not hurting anyone with my after-school activities. Selling students’ research before they can publish their results will ruin their chances at grant money. You’re talking about destroying the futures of our students.”
Stevens made a brushing-off motion. “The same people who are buying from me will probably hire them right out of grad school. Think about it, I go down, you go down.”
Greg stood frozen. Too late to avoid hearing way more than he wanted to hear. Way too late to sneak away and return openly, pretending everything was normal. He couldn’t ignore this. His own research might be at risk, his own grant application, and those of his friends. Morrissey was right about one thing. If someone published the stolen research first, it would set a student’s career back, possibly by years.
He and the other graduate Teaching Assistants had research projects continuing through summer session. His project consisted of preliminary simulations testing integration of laser technology with computer processing, and would form the basis for his grant proposal.
Even after Eric’s larcenous behavior earlier, Greg wouldn’t want him losing his work, let alone anyone he liked better losing theirs. While Morrissey had always seemed like a nice person, he’d have to be more than nice to throw his own career to the winds for the sake of saving the research of a few grad students.
Even now, he’d fallen silent in the face of Stevens’ cold-eyed smirk.
“I see we understand each other.” Professor Stevens turned away.
Greg would have to stop Stevens if Professor Morrissey wouldn’t. But how? What evidence did Morrissey have of Stevens’ scheme? Who was Steven’s customer? And how the heck could Greg even begin to find out?
Following Stevens around waiting for a clue was out of the question. It might be hours, or days, before the man did anything revealing. Maybe he’d better confront Morrissey for some answers. Except, he’d hate to embarrass the man by letting on how he’d overheard the conversation with Stevens. There must be another approach. Time to get visible again. He’d overheard enough should-be-private conversations to last him a lifetime.
He left the office area, found a deserted stretch of hallway and spoke aloud, “See ya.”
Ah. His hands and feet appeared again exactly where they should be. He’d never been so glad to see the familiar evidence of his own presence in the world. Good solid feet in their worn running shoes, good strong hands with their scattering of light brown hairs, knobby knuckles, and cleanly trimmed nails. Perhaps foolishly happy, because he’d felt them all along, he clenched his fingers and flexed them open again a few times. He ran a hand through his hair, assuring himself all his parts were still attached.
He made his way down the hall to a back stairwell, ducked through the door to pause on the landing, listened to the hollow echo of the stories-tall space for a moment before calling softly, “Serafina? Ma’am?”
“Yes, dear?” A quizzical look on her face, she stood above him on the flight of stairs leading to the next floor.
“This invisibility thing isn’t working for me,” he told her, reminding himself exactly why. It made him feel like a sneak is what it did. He’d rather deal with people face-to-face. Avoiding collisions with people who didn’t see him made it too much work. Plus, for Gloria to see him as a hero and a man of mystery, she first had to see him.
“Say no more.” Serafina winked at him. “I understand perfectly. What would you prefer?”
Good question. Sneaking might be a good way to find some answers to the questions the situation with Stevens had raised, but he should be able to handle this with some simple human detective work. The superhero business called for something more. A superhero was supposed to step in where ordinary human abilities weren’t enough to save the day. A superhero had to be something out of the ordinary, and Greg had to admit he’d gotten a kick out of feeling capable of extraordinary things, like a singing in his blood. He could get used to this.
“Would it be too much to ask for the same powers as Superman? I mean, I know it’s a lot–nearly everything about him is super: his strength, his perceptions, his speed.”
“Not at all.” Serafina raised a forefinger as if it were an exclamation point. “What an excellent idea. Very versatile. I’m sure it will prove helpful in a great many situations.” She gave him a smile he might expect from a doting grandmother. “Just say ‘Super-ize Me’ to activate the power and ‘Back to Me’” to return to normal. I think you’ll like the costume. I noticed a lot of golden browns and greens in your apartment and used the same palette. Oh, I should mention, with the similar powers come similar limitations.”
Before he responded, which would have required closing his gaping mouth, she’d vanished.
He closed his mouth, glancing around to find the stairwell as deserted as when he’d first entered. What did she mean by limitations? He should watch out for kryptonite? Nothing like that around here.
* * * *
Eric and Will looked up at Greg when he returned, fully visible, to the lab. Eric stood leaning over the monitor at a station in the back of the room while Will hunched over the keyboard.
“Ah, there you are,” Eric drawled. “Saw your bike wheel and thought you must be around somewhere.”
“Just down in the office.” Greg paused at the front desk, looking hard at Eric. He seemed different. After witnessing his trick of stealing stuff from Greg’s drawer, he saw something rodent-like he’d never noticed before in Eric’s features.
Eric turned back to his computer, taking no further notice of Greg.
Did Greg even know this guy? Eric attended half the same classes as Greg since they were undergrads together. They’d hung out with the same crowd, grabbing lunches and doing late night study sessions, d
itching it for gaming tournaments. Had they ever talked about anything other than classwork, computers or gaming? Greg opened his drawer, grabbed his book bag, and then set himself up to work at one of the stations near the front of the room, well away from Will and Eric.
He didn’t know much about Eric beyond his preference for games with a strong strategic element. Maybe he came from an underprivileged background or one where possessions were shared freely. Aggie had told him things about her commune upbringing he’d found hard to understand. Even so, taking without asking seemed an act of contempt.
Maybe Eric considered their friendship superficial and felt justified in taking things from Greg? That didn’t make it okay, but Greg couldn’t work himself up to be angry over it. The crime seemed too petty. Did superheroes bother with the truly petty criminals? It seemed beneath them.
Still, he didn’t make any more income as a TA than Eric did and was no better able to afford to buy disks or the other equipment he needed. His needs deserved as much respect as anyone else’s. Maybe a petty crime deserved a petty response.
Greg made a mental note to buy a mousetrap, then turned to concentrate on running another simulation. He managed two productive hours of work before he thought of getting some lunch.
* * * *
“What’s with the traffic?” Gloria and Jo headed to the bakery, walking from the side street where they’d finally found a spot to park. “I’ve never had this much trouble finding a parking spot on Hennepin Avenue.”
“Some kind of parade.” Jo, taller than Gloria, saw over the heads of the small crowd lining the main road.