by Tom Andry
So, now to go back to the office, print out what Alan needed, and kick my assistant out of bed...again. Maybe some dinner with Alan and Suzi, play with the kids a bunch, have a few drinks, and off to the meeting with Liz. Then a few days off while Alan finished his report and Mind analyzed the data and, hopefully, found something else for me to do. Maybe I could meet with Liz and finally get past...
"Oh, for the love of..."
Alan rarely cursed in any way, so the exclamation immediately drew my attention. Alan was leaning into the steering wheel and looking slightly up. I stuck my head out of the window and did the same. Above us, the sky was shimmering like a mirage. Slowly, like a camera coming into focus, what looked to be the bottom of a huge, silver dinner plate took shape. Shining all over it were illuminated advertisements for various products. The plate took up most of the sky and, from our vantage point, only allowed a small sliver of the midday sun around its sides.
"Goddammit," I muttered.
The Super City was the newest creation of the Super State. Years ago, after a sort of super civil war, the supers had been granted their own "borderless" nation. Supers from all over the world could join and have either dual citizenship or completely renounce their country of birth. Either way, one of the conditions of membership was that they couldn't use their powers in a nation versus nation war. Since membership in the Super State came with, even at the lowest levels, a stipend large enough for a middle class family of four to live on, most supers didn't dare break the rules.
After the Day, the Super State hierarchy decided that they needed to show the world that The Raven hadn't broken their spirits. That they would recover from his devastating attack. A sign...a symbol...a monument. This took the form of someplace they could all meet since The Raven had pretty much destroyed all the major super bases and the Bulwark's secret satellite headquarters. But it couldn't just be a normal base. Something in a volcano or under the ocean. No, it had to be bigger than that. Much bigger.
Thus, the Super City was born. A floating monstrosity as large as the largest terrestrial city, the Super City floated high above other cities, using technology that any government on Earth would kill to get their hands on. The City, mostly flat on the bottom that we could see, but angling up on the sides, would teleport from location to location. Invariably, it was spotted where the weather was the nicest, though there were days when it went unreported. The SC Report was a new column in most newspapers, telling where the Super City had been the previous day. It was a double-edged sword for the locations; having the Super City floating above you meant you had one of the nicest climates on the planet, but it also meant you had that vista marred by a floating city.
Slowly, the Super City ascended, once again revealing the sun. The City stopped when it was about twice the relative size of the moon. Depending on the time of year and your location, you might be "lucky" enough to experience an S-Clipse. I knew there would be whole groups of people, right now, frantically making calls and calculations to figure out where would be the best place to experience it and when. I shook my head, spitting out the window.
"Hey!" Alan protested, "I just washed this thing."
I kicked an empty paper coffee cup at my feet, "You missed a spot."
He smiled, glancing in his rear-view mirror, "Sure, spit inside, no problem."
I laughed.
* * *
The paper slowly spooled off the integrated printer of the terminal hidden in the closet behind my desk. The terminal was a holdover from my marriage. Gale, now the leader of the Super State and the Bulwark, had "left" it with me. It had been connected to the Super State's information system, which used to be controlled by Mind. Most just thought it was a computer - high tech by tippy standards, hopelessly archaic by super standards.
"Processing the data now."
Mind was in "stealth" mode. When at home, she could use a system of targeted speakers that would direct sound toward me without others in the room able to hear it. At least without some sort of power. Something about the way it worked made it sound like her voice was coming from inside my head. Not a pleasant experience, and I had demanded that she only use it when absolutely necessary. I nodded toward the corner of the room I often referenced when speaking to her.
Alan sat next to the terminal, ripping the pages off as they spooled, and tearing off the tractor feed edges. He was sipping his celebratory brandy as I walked back into the room, my cheap business suit replaced by a pair of cargo shorts and one of my new, white T-shirts. Alan pointed to a glass of scotch on the corner of my desk and scowled at my shirt.
I glanced down. The new logo, "Supers Suck" was in what I liked to call baseball script. Bob Moore Investigations was just below it.
"What?"
Alan shook his head at my exposed metal leg as much as my shirt, "You're not seriously going to wear those out?"
I shrugged, "I've got to. I bought, like, a hundred of them."
The moment the last page printed, Alan was on his feet and ready to go. This case had been his baby - well, other than his actual baby - for the last three months. I supposed that, in some way, justified how I had led him into it.
"Honestly, Bob, you freak people out when you walk around in shorts."
"Huh?" I finished pouring myself another few fingers of scotch and turned to face Alan, papers under his arm, standing in my office doorway.
"Why didn't you let Tinkerer finish them? I'm sure he's dying to."
Ted Vente, the super known as "Tinkerer", was the super genius that built the teleportation device that had taken my right leg and left foot, but he had technically saved my life by replacing my legs. Like Liz, a distance had grown between Ted and me. Though, in Ted's case, I was the generator of the distance.
"People should know. You don't see supers walking around with mechanical limbs, right? Only tippys end up looking like this."
"And you don't think that's because they have their fake limbs made to look like real ones?"
It was an old argument. I shrugged it off. Alan thought I was being crude. I thought of it more as a walking testament to how tippys shouldn’t be running around wishing to be a super. My leg was the reality. Taking a test and being declared "super" so that you could live off the stipend from the Super State? That was the fantasy. And a dangerous one to my mind.
Why couldn't tippys see that having a power didn't make you superior?
Alan straightened his papers, "You want to stop by for dinner?"
"Sure. You name that kid yet?"
"Nope."
"Still think Bob is a great name."
Alan laughed. "So you've mentioned. You going to check up on your assistant?"
I sighed. Assistants. They were a necessary evil. With Mind around, I didn't really need one. But part of our agreement was to keep her presence secret. She could impersonate just about anyone over the phone, but I needed, upon occasion, to have a face for people to see. If nothing else, it diverted suspicion from Mind, who generally acted as a fairly sophisticated security system when people were around, "I suppose I should."
Alan nodded, "You want me to come with you? I could use the time to look over the papers."
I smiled. Alan was always angling to drive my car. A convertible with a big engine? It was a far cry from the family van he drove.
"Sure. You drive. Let's stop by the apartment first. I need to pick up a few things before they figure out I'm not longer living there and they throw it all out into the street."
Alan's teeth flashed, "Sure. If you want. Let me just hit the head before we go."
The door had hardly finished whispering shut before Mind switched out of stealth mode and went into what I lovingly referred to as "bitch mode".
"Isn't it a bit early for scotch?"
"Oh, it's so good to have you out of my head."
"I'm serious, Bob."
"It's celebratory. It's a tradition."
"It's 10 a.m.."
"So? Alan had one, too."
&n
bsp; "Yes. Alan had one. You're on your third."
I glanced down at my glass. Had I had that many? It didn't matter, "Whatever."
"Be serious, Bob. You don't see a problem with this?"
I waved dismissively at her corner, "The day I let a talking alarm clock tell me I've had too much to drink is the day I check myself into the loony bin."
"My instruments can adequately measure your alcohol intake to the..."
"And my arm can adequately pull your kill switch if I need to!" I interrupted.
"Please, Bob. I'm being serious here."
"As am I. I didn't have that switch installed just for looks, you know."
"Fine. Are you going to work on "the project"?"
I sighed. She wasn't going to leave me alone unless I said yes, "Okay. I'll work on it."
"Great!"
"After I find my worthless assistant."
If a disembodied voice created by a computer through thousands of tiny speakers around my office and apartment could grind its teeth, I was sure that's the sound I would have heard. Alan and I joked all the way to the car, my mood always better when he was around. My smile didn't wane until I exited the parking garage and saw a number of people across the street, looking up. I followed their gaze and saw that I'd been honored to have one of the best spots for a view of the S-Clipse. Above me, the sun was completely blocked out by the Super City floating overhead. The onlookers snapped pictures and talked excitedly.
"Damn it," I muttered, gunning my engine and speeding downtown.
* * *
I had been banging on the door for the last five minutes. My hand was starting to pulsate, and I had to keep using different parts of it to keep the pain manageable. When a neighbor tentatively poked his balding head out of his door, he waved and smiled when he saw me. I waved back. He turned, speaking. Probably telling his wife it was just me. Again.
The door cracked open, held firm by the security chain. An eye, oversized and yellow, framed by orange fur, slid past at about waist height. The small slit of a pupil stealing a momentary glance at me before moving out of view. The aroma that wafted from the small opening was...interesting. Well, interesting if you like barns.
"Jesus," I muttered, then louder "what happened?"
The voice was muffled and muted, and slurred as though through a mouth full of cotton, "Go away, Bob. I can't come in today."
A quick chuckle shivered up my belly, "Yeah, I can see. Let me in."
The eye came back, focused on my chin, "I don't wanna."
My eyebrows dropped, my lips hard, "I didn't ask you if you want to."
The figure behind the door moved slightly, the eye now pointed down, "Come on, Bob..."
I gritted my teeth, "Don't make me kick it down."
The eye shot back to my face, wide. It glanced down at my leg and then slowly closed. The door shut slowly and opened again, the chain removed.
I'd been in the apartment a number of times, mostly to kick my assistant out of bed. It was never what I'd have called a clean place. Not dirty or anything, just messy. Untidy.
That had changed.
There wasn't a square foot of floor or furniture that wasn't ripped, scratched, or shredded. There was food and milk all over the floor of the kitchenette, and the small living room was covered in debris as if those mobsters you see on television had gone through it looking for their lost cash or drugs or whatever. The animal smell was worse inside, but now combined with the scent of fish and sour milk. It wasn't a pleasant smell, but I recognized it.
I turned. My new assistant's appearance, always a bit of a surprise in the mornings, was as different as I'd ever seen . Crouched behind the door, he was covered, head to toe, in orange and brown fur. His eyes had nearly doubled in size, his ears were pointed and tufted, and long claws tipped every finger and toe. While his general shape was still human in that his ears were still in the same place, his teeth were now all pointed and needle sharp. He lifted one arm to his mouth and started licking it.
"Wow. Tough night?"
He stopped licking, staring at the arm like he wondered how it had gotten there, "Woke up last night 'round midnight, itching. Got a new neighbor yesterday."
I smiled, "And they have cats?"
His left ear twitched, "Ya think?"
"Well, get it worked out. I need you back at the office. I finished up the job today."
Leon had only started working with me a few weeks ago. I'd needed a new assistant after the last had cut out when I'd called her at three a.m. to bring me a few things from the office to the rental near EnviroKop. They all knew the deal: be available or leave. The last one had only lasted a month. Leon's chances didn't look much better. He was young, probably in his early twenties. I hadn't given him much hope of lasting when I'd hired him. But he insisted, begged even. I'd relented, against my better judgment.
When Leon had applied for the job, he had looked like someone cut out of a fashion magazine. Tall, dark, and handsome, he was muscular and well-proportioned, but carried himself like someone embarrassed of his appearance. I'd soon learned why.
He was also a super that went by the impossible to use properly in a sentence name of "It". He was a shapechanger. Unlike most shapechangers, Leon couldn't control his power. Well, he could, if he concentrated long enough, but it was hard for him. And he couldn't stop himself from taking on the features of those around him. If he went out on the town for a night with a group of girls, he'd look like an amalgamation of all of them by the end of the night. If he hung around the office too much, he'd start to look like me. And, apparently, if his neighbor had cats, he'd turn into a Cat Man.
"Oh," Leon responded, "cool. I thought you were gonna hang 'round for a few more days?"
"Yeah, well, they had different ideas."
Leon started licking his arm again and then rubbing the wet spot over his ear. I glanced around the apartment again. He'd done a lot of damage in here since midnight. I felt a bit bad for Leon. Other supers were shooting lightning bolts, tossing buildings, and flying. And here he was, stuck looking like a cat.
But then again, he had chosen the super name of It. So maybe he had it coming.
"How long before you can come in?"
Leon stopped his primping, "I don't know. I'm trying. It's hard. This transformation happened pretty quick. They must have a shit-ton of cats."
I moved toward the door, "This is decidedly not my problem. I need you in the office. Next time, call. But I can tell you what I'll say - throw on a trench coat and come in. In fact," I grabbed the knob, "you should do that now. The trench coat. Put one on, with a hat, and run down to the park. You'll be looking human enough in no time."
"A coat? With this fur? I'll roast!"
"Again, not my problem. Frankly, I don't see why you just don't go out anyhow. It isn't like people haven't seen weird looking supers in the past. Plus, with all the costumed demiheroes dressing up like man-sized animals..."
The phone rang. Leon jumped about four feet straight up and grabbed onto the wall. He slowly slid down, his claws leaving long, vertical gashes in the drywall. I stifled a laugh.
"Damn," he muttered. "I'm never getting my security deposit back." He bounded over to the phone on all fours, each leap leaving more small scratches in the floor. "Hello?" He held out the phone. "It's for you. Alan, I think."
I frowned. Alan was down in the car. "Hello?"
"You turned off your earpiece."
I shook my head. Mind. She was impersonating Alan. "I didn't think we had anything else to talk about."
"You know I like to stay in contact with you," she chided in Alan's voice. "But I called because something strange is going on."
"You're going to have to be more specific."
"Those S-Clipsers? One of them was far more interested in you than the Super City. They wore a hat and large glasses, so I wasn't able to make an identification. Also, the same car has passed by the building three times. Once they went into the garage and parked near the door f
or about thirty minutes. No one came out or approached the door. After that, they left."
"I'm not hearing who it was."
"The windows were all mirrored."
I frowned. "Did you run the plates?"
"Gee, Bob, why didn't I think of that?" Mind had Alan's sarcastic voice down. It was a little disturbing. "The plates were off a VW Bug."
"It's always excuses with you. EnviroKop?"
"Maybe. Or maybe Swell figured out who you are. That Inertial Dampener is pretty unique. Maybe if you had tried to pass it off as a power..."
I shook my head. I never wanted to be mistaken for a super, "Make of the car?"
"Black, seven-series BMW. It looked modified. Other than the windows, I mean. Perhaps armored, though it is hard to tell. Could be they had it stuffed full of guns."
"That doesn't sound like the car of a mercenary."
"Agreed, but he might have friends."
I nodded. This was not a good development. I didn't need some vengeful super looking for a chance to take a shot at me. Now that I was done with EnviroKop, I had to find my next lead on Nineteen, plus I had the meeting tonight and, likely, dinner at Alan's. If he reacted to me spitting on his car, I didn't want to think how he'd react to some super using it as a landing pad or projectile to throw at my head.
"Okay. Keep your eyes peeled. Also, did you figure out who was running EnviroKop?"
"No. It isn't in the records. At least not explicitly. Maybe Alan will figure it out."
"We can hope." I exhaled.
"Watch your back."
I smiled, "I always do." I hung up.
"Is everything Level 5?" Leon's pointed ears were rotating, his shoulders tense.
"Yeah. Just get into the office. Now. I need someone on the phones."
"Okay." Leon took a few steps to the side on all fours, looking at me from the corners of his oversized, yellow eyes, "Bob?"