by Tom Andry
I nodded, thinking. It must have been hard for him, not knowing his past. All those questions. And then to have a power that you can't properly control giving you disturbing hints.
"And you've never remembered anything from your past? Nothing from before that day?"
Doe sat back in his seat, "Maybe. I don't know. When you dream, Bob, are there clues to your past?"
I dreamed of clones and murderous supers. Not so much a clue as a nightmare. "I never thought about it."
"Well, I dream. And I see things. Are they things my mind has made up or are they real places and real people I can no longer remember? I just don't know. I talk to people all the time. Anyone who will listen. Sure, part of that is for the job, but there is a part of me that hopes that something someone will say will bring it all back. Or not even all of it. A piece. A fragment. Heck, at this point I'd take my initials. Living with a name like Doe is a cruel joke."
"You didn't pick it?"
He rolled his eyes, "Technically, I agreed to it. I had to come up with something and I was still groggy. Plus, you know supers and their names. They think it is so important to be clever. And I was damned if I was going to let one of them name me Manny Memory or some nonsense."
I laughed. We were approaching the blue field. The city was looming larger and I could no longer see the ground around the edges of it. The smaller, red shield was now clearer, and I could see that it easily took up two-thirds of the surface area of the Super City. The buildings lined around it like it was a huge, red egg yolk.
Inside the red field, I could see explosions and smoke. On the top of the field, birds were sitting. Or supers. It was hard to tell. Inside, I'd see a figure hit the side and slide down, like out of some old cartoon. At street level, there were four tunnels leading into the red field. Three were heavily guarded and one was coated in ice.
Before I could ask, Doe interrupted, "Now, if I were you, I'd close my eyes for this next bit."
I glanced over at Doe and saw him squeezing his eyes tight. Over his shoulder, the blue field looked to be only inches from the front of the shuttle. I watched as it quickly passed through the ship, over Doe, and approached me. It hit my legs first and I felt a sort of tingling. From my side of the field, my legs appeared to be a few millimeters to the left. Similar to that optical illusion when you stick something into a glass of water. When the field hit my eyes, it was like I was seeing two places at once. Like those old red and blue 3D movies, but without the glasses. It passed my eyes and my vision cleared. But then it must have hit my ears and suddenly, I completely lost my sense of balance. If I hadn't been strapped to the chair, I'd have fallen out. My stomach immediately reacted and I had to fight not to vomit. I found myself listing to the side, my mind telling me that I was sitting up straight even though gravity was saying something different.
I glanced at Chris and saw him with a hand over his mouth. Before I could ask, Doe had a bag out for each of us. I waved mine away, but Chris made good use of his. I tried to ignore the sound.
"That was...uncomfortable." Slowly, my sense of balance returned, and I was able to sit upright again.
"Yeah," Doe smiled weakly, his face pale, "if I wasn't so busy talking, I'd have remembered to warn you about that. The field creates a bit of distortion as you pass through. If you close your eyes, it helps. A little." Doe stopped talking, a finger up in the air, his eyes over my shoulder. I watched as his skin quite literally took on a green pallor.
"Are you going to be okay?" I turned and noticed that the view behind me was distorted. I realized that the super, Crush, who apparently had decided to ride on the roof, hadn't been able to keep down his lunch either. I turned back to Doe and started to reach toward him to put a hand on his shoulder. Before I could, he turned and retched into the bag he had offered me moments ago. I swallowed and closed my eyes, trying to think about anything but the sounds and smells around me.
"Water," Doe croaked into the microphone. Two glasses of water appeared on the shelf. He handed one to Chris and then took one for himself. Again, he spoke into the mic, this time demanding empty glasses, "I hate that damn field. I swear, there has got to be a way to fix it."
I laughed, "I think you'd be the one to know."
He shook his head, his face still pale, "Don't think I haven't tried. Again, sorry for the short warning." He and Chris rinsed out their mouths with the water and replaced the glasses on the tray. Chris waved his thanks, closing his eyes.
"Didn't seem to do you much good anyhow," I smiled. "I nodded toward the quickly approaching building, "So, which of those mansions is yours?"
Doe laughed, "None, actually. I'm Level 3."
My eyes were saucers, "What? You're kidding! You designed all this and they didn't immediately promote you to Level 5?"
He shrugged, "Nope." He paused, "Yeah, I've heard the same from others. I don't know what is holding me back, but I can guess. The little glitches like that field are probably part of it. But honestly, I don't know if they trust me. With the lack of past and all...I just think they're being cautious."
"Well, that'd be a first."
"It's not that big of a deal. I'm too busy to really notice where I live anyhow."
I nodded. It didn't seem fair. I'd have bet it wasn't what Doe suspected. I'd have bet it was because he didn't look the part of a super. They were probably worried that if they let in someone who looked like a tippy, they'd get all manner of tippys applying and re-applying for citizenship. Now that I thought about it, that's probably why I hadn't heard of this guy. Most of the time, when some super built something amazing, they'd splash his face all over the TV. But not Doe. Too average.
Typical super mentality.
* * *
Chapter 7
The Embassy for the United States had a single entrance with a double door. There was a small waiting room with a desk, which sat in front of a hallway lined with a number of different doors. From what I could tell, most of the rooms had never been used. They smelled of new carpet and weren't even used for storage. My office was at the end of the hall and had a wall of windows that looked over the rest of the Super City from what was a fairly dizzying height. At least fifty stories up. Probably higher.
My chair could have come from the set of a fifties science fiction movie - all rounded, white plastic, and blood red cushions. The desk was constructed out of the same plastic and didn't have a single corner on it. It had the shape of a flattened arc without any drawers or storage. The walls were bare and were constructed out of glossy, white bricks of some sort. The carpet was a plush, white affair with huge, black triangles around a large, red spot that was centered just in front of my desk. On one wall was a low, minimalistic couch with white, leather cushions flanked by a small chrome and glass table. The only other piece of furniture was a chrome coat stand near the door. My dartboard, the only thing I'd brought from the surface aside from clothes, was on the couch. I needed to figure out a way to hang it.
"Well, I couldn't hate it more," I muttered.
The shuttle had dropped us off on the roof, and Doe passed us off to a spandex-clad aide that was waiting. He spent the entire time in the elevator pulling his tights out of his ass. I thought about telling him about the double-sided tape trick, but figured he'd learn somehow. With all the technology around, I couldn't see why the supers hadn't figured the whole costume thing out already. There were trashy magazines at the checkout stands in every market that did nothing but print pictures of supers with parts of them exposed by damage or just flopping out because low necklines and hand-to-hand combat don't really go well together. I tried not to think about it.
I sighed and sat down in my chair. Despite its appearance, it was quite comfortable. I pushed back into it and felt it give. Even better. I couldn't help but smile. I might have to look into...
I jumped up. The chair moved! Moved? I stared at it, my heart racing. The cushions, deformed by my weight, moved back into their normal position. In moments, it was like I'd never sa
t on it. I put my hand on the cushion. With the slightest pressure, it oozed around my hand, supporting it at every point. I pulled my hand back and the cushion returned to its previous state. It felt weird. Like a gel more than fabric.
"Yeah, that chair thing is weird." Chris' gruff voice wafted in from the doorway. "I see you don't have any guest chairs either."
"You sit in yours?" Chris' office was just to the side of mine.
"Yeah. After a minute, it stops moving. Once you get past the, 'oh my God, it's grabbing my ass' stage, it isn't bad."
I cocked an eyebrow, glaring at my chair. Finally, without another option, I sat. Chris was right. After the initial adjustment, it just felt like a normal chair. "So," I nodded at my attaché, "where are you supposed to sit?"
Chris stepped toward my desk, shrugging his shoulders. As if on cue, one of the black triangles in the carpet started to rise off the ground and formed into a flowing chair. Chris sat on it, adjusted, pulled at the back to make himself a bit more upright, and shrugged again.
"It seems to do what you want. I mean, I can adjust it."
I shook my head, "This place is freaking me out. Did you see that view?" I thumbed over my shoulder.
"I'm trying not to. My stomach still hasn't recovered from that field."
"Right. You want something? I'm sure they must have drinks or something around here somewhere."
As I said it, one of the walls opened, revealing a well-stocked bar. A slow smile spread over my lips.
Chris rolled his eyes, "Maybe you spoke too soon. Any place that provides alcohol on demand should be okay in your eyes, right?"
"Shut up. You want a brandy?"
"Ugh, no. Water." Chris turned as I passed, "Scratch that. Milk. Anything to get this taste out of my mouth."
I walked toward the bar as I heard a knock on the door, "Anyone home?"
I glanced at the door. Doe was standing there, two square, metal devices in his hands. They were about the size of a credit card, but they had a cable coming off each corner. Behind him was the hulking shadow of his sentry, Crush. Doe waved him back.
"Sorry to interrupt." He looked around, "Isn't there anyone here to show you how all this stuff works?"
I shrugged; Chris shook his head.
"Golly. Okay." Doe walked in as I poured a milk for Chris and a finger of scotch for me. I didn't want to push it on my still unsteady stomach. "Each office has its own, dedicated system. It is all touch or voice activated. Chris, you must have stepped on the red dot to activate the chair. Someone must have mentioned a drink or being thirsty for the bar to open." Doe walked over to the desk and placed the metal rectangles down. "When you sit," he sat, squishing his bottom into the chair and grimacing, "it activates the desk." A small light at the lower, left-hand edge illuminated. Doe touched it and suddenly the half of the desk closest to him was lit up with controls. "It's all pretty self-explanatory, really. I meant it to be foolproof."
"Don't underestimate Bob," Chris muttered. I shoved his milk into his hand.
"So, what, there are cameras? Recording equipment?"
"Oh, God no. Nothing in the Super City is recorded. At least, nothing outside of Proving Ground. It's law. And at an embassy? Well, gee, you could imagine the scandal!"
I nodded, "It isn't that I don't believe you..."
Doe looked at me, his eyes hard, "Bob, I swear, I take this stuff seriously. If you think someone is spying...well, I'll check it myself. Whatever it takes to make you comfortable."
My eyes tightened as he spoke. I didn't see any telltale signs of deception. Finally, I nodded, once.
Relief flooded his face, "Anyhow, yeah. Pretty self-explanatory. The chairs...ugh, what can I say? I don't like them, but they are all the rage. They are not mine, but..."
"Badmouthing my chairs again, Doe?"
The man at the door took up nearly every square inch. He was wearing nothing but military-style cargo pants, combat boots, and a headband that looked like it was hastily made from a torn-off T-shirt soaked in blood and mud. The man's chest and arms were rippling with muscles, the outline of which was exaggerated by the dust, grime, and blood of what appeared to be a recent battle or war. Glistening with sweat, he had a belt constructed out of bullets and held the most oversized gun in the history of men with small penises.
Chris jumped out of his chair and retreated toward the window. The chair slowly melted back into the carpet.
"Jesus, Tinkerer," I grumbled. "What, did you trip and fall into a war movie on the way over?"
The man placed a fist on one hip, the gun slung over his shoulder, a smile flashing across his war-torn face, "Bob? What the hell, man. I didn't know you were coming here!"
Chris shot me a curiously frightened glance, his bald pate glistening with sweat. I nodded that it would be okay and he stopped retreating. His eyes returned to the oversized man in the doorway warily.
"Yeah, well, it was sort of a last minute thing. The Vice President asked me last week."
"Wow! The Tveep huh?"
I paused, "Tveep?"
"Tippy Vice President?"
I shook my head, "What is it with you supers that you can't just say things? You're constantly shortening them to stuff no one recognizes. I mean 'Tveep'? That's not even easy to say."
Doe interrupted, "I see there is no need for introductions. Tinkerer, I was about to set them up with their USBs."
Ted's mouth hardened, "That's my job, Mo."
Doe smiled, running a hand through his unruly hair, "It's Doe."
"Right, Doe."
"And, let me say, Bob showed me his leg. That's a piece of work you did there."
"Yes it was."
"If you wouldn't mind, I have a few questions about how you..."
"I do mind." Ted stared down the smaller man.
I watched as Doe grew more and more uncomfortable under the intensity of Ted's gaze. Finally, Doe grabbed the metal squares off the desk and walked quickly over to Ted.
He extended the hand holding the devices, "I'll leave it to you then."
Ted snatched them out of his hand and the smaller man fled the room.
"That was rude," I scolded.
Ted's smile returned as he watched Doe flee, "Screw that guy, Bob. I don't trust him."
My head snapped back, "What? Why?"
Ted walked over, Chris moving out of his way and giving him a wide berth, "Guy shows up out of nowhere and suddenly he's the Bulwark's golden boy? Plus," he nodded at me knowingly, "he always recognizes me. Always! I don't trust it."
I sat back down and Ted waited for his seat to rise out of the carpet.
"Hey, I always recognize you too. Don't get my carpet dirty," I chided.
Ted waved a hand at me, "Ah, don't worry. All the dirt is illusionary. And you're different, you know me." I took a closer look at Ted and noticed that what I thought were bullets around his waist were really various tools - most of which I didn't recognize. He tossed the gun to the side and it disappeared before it hit the ground. "So, you're the next ambassador. Seems like you guys are going through them these days."
"That's what I hear. What do you know?"
Ted shrugged, "Nothing. They come, they go...who can keep track?"
"Someone is. They are going missing."
"Missing? This is the first I'm hearing of it."
I shrugged, "The Vice President said they'd had their best people check it out. That there was no evidence."
Ted frowned, "No evidence? Like with Doc Arts?"
The breath caught in my throat. He was right. It sounded just like the Doc Arts case. Doc Arts had come to me with missing patients when no one had believed him. It ended up being his cyborg assistant commanding his microbots based on off-hand comments Arts had been making. But Ted was right! The similarities were eerie and I hadn't made the connection. What was wrong with me? I rubbed the spot on my leg that housed the earpiece. I wanted desperately to put it in to get Mind's take, but I hadn't had enough time to myself.
"But, what did you mean 'their best people'? I'm part of their best people!" Ted was sitting upright, his illusionary muscles rippling.
"Settle down, Tinkerer. That's just what the Vice President said."
"You know," Ted growled, "that's just like them to cut me out. First they let Mo design the SC, then they won't promote me to Level 5, and now they are cutting me out of important investigations! That's bullshit, man! Bullshit!"
Ted was pounding on my desk, his face getting redder by the moment. I often wondered how his Personal Persona Projector did that. It must have read his physical reactions and translated them onto the illusion.
I put out my hands, "Now, settle down, Tinkerer. Let's not get worked up."
"No, man," Ted slammed back into the chair, which caught him, rocked back, and then slowly moved him forward into his original position. Ted's arms were crossed, his hands passing slightly through his bulging biceps. "This is crap. I took down The Raven. I built Compartment. I've done everything they've asked. And all because of the human thing, I'm stuck at Level 4."
"Human thing?"
Ted rolled his eyes, "They want me to be able to work with living tissue. You know I don't do humans. It's not my thing. And I don't need to! You're living proof of that."
I clenched my hands, my eyes tight and fixed on my leg, "Yes."
Ted continued to grumble, now more to himself than to us. Chris moved closer to me, his eyes wary. I waited. I knew Ted. His anger would blow over in a few minutes. Usually. But there was always a way to help.
"You want a drink?" Once again the bar opened at my words. I could get used to that. A room that reacted to me without telling me I was fat? I'd have to talk to Mind about creating a silent mode. A tiny smile flickered across the corner of my mouth at the thought of her reaction.
Ted looked up, remembering where he was, "Yeah, sure." He nodded at Chris, "Who's this guy?"
"Chris."
Chris didn't move.
Ted squinted, "You know a Chris?"
I smiled, "Yep."