No Hero Page 8

  Five years ago. We were at City Hospital. Doc Arts, the best and the brightest in ranks of the super geniuses, had insisted. Back then it was thought that super/tippy cross-couplings couldn't produce a child. At least not a healthy one. Most women miscarried and tippy girls were afraid that babies with powers would come ripping out of their stomachs. Of course, that's never happened. Children rarely display any super powers before adolescence and less often in the womb. That didn't stop the old wives from talking.

  Gale and I met on campus; she was studying meteorology and I think I was in Poly Sci (though that may have been during my Psychology phase). Supers were becoming increasingly common though there was still a lot of fear and resentment among the general population. The early nineties were the heyday of the super registration movement and there was a lot of strife. The more law-abiding supers immediately registered. Others took some convincing. After years of fighting, the super civil war was settled when world governments decided that they'd allow a borderless Super State. Registration became voluntary for all, but mandatory to be counted as a citizen. As the Super State quickly became the richest country in the world, supers soon didn't need much persuasion to sign up.

  We met a couple of years before the establishment of the Super State, around 1998. She had kept her powers hidden and really didn't come out until I gave her some encouragement. We dated for nearly three years and got married just before she became a full-fledged member of the State in 2002. I finally got a degree in General Studies (code for: seriously, just get out and get a job already), a degree for the working professional. Gale and I worked odd jobs until she started getting her stipend. At that time, it was just enough to live on.

  When Gale got pregnant, three years into our marriage, we were both shocked. Conventional wisdom said it shouldn't happen and, frankly, we'd been less than careful with protection both before and during our marriage. We'd just assumed it would never happen. But it did. At first, we didn't talk about it, thinking she'd miscarry or something. After a few months, she started to show (you can't hide even a small baby bump in spandex) so we had to announce it. Sort of. Gale stopped gallivanting around trying to make a name for herself and she quietly asked around for the best doctor. Doc Arts was at the top of everyone's list.

  Even back then, when he still had all his original parts, he was considered the best. He'd already stopped two super viruses, a plague, and had developed a counteragent to a gas designed to wipe the memories of everyone on the planet. He didn't want to see Gale until he learned that I didn't have powers. At that point, we became his pet project. For four months we were at his beck and call. We even moved into his building (back then he lived in a posh downtown penthouse apartment) in a place that cost twice as much with half the space. Sometimes we'd see him twice a day, sometimes not for several days. When we did see him, his enthusiasm was infectious. He talked on and on - as he scanned, prodded, and poked the both of us - about how groundbreaking this birth would be. The first tippy/super child. The first cross-birth. It would be a milestone. The child would bridge the gap between the two communities and would be the first step toward showing both sides that we really weren't so different.

  When the big day came, we rushed to the hospital. Doc Arts wanted the birth to be a public spectacle, but Gale and I had refused. Really, it was more Gale. I probably would have gone along with it. As it was, Arts had a press conference standing by and filmed the entire birth. An entire wing of the hospital was cleared out. All the best equipment was on hand and I could barely fit in the room with all the nurses, attendants and filming crew. Gale, as always, looked amazing as she fought through the pain. Outside, a storm of epic proportions battered the hospital, complete with lightning, hail, and, I found out later, a small tornado. Prepared for anything, we had generators at the ready and the lights didn't so much as flicker.

  Gale probably screamed. I can't say I remember that specifically but I'm sure she did. Doc Arts was there, narrating for the camera as much as he directed Gale. Nurses encouraged her, held her hand, wiped her brow. It was, in every sense of the word, a circus. I remember at one point, Gale looked over at me. Her hair was matted down with sweat, a stray curl escaping the moisture and remaining upright. Her hazel eyes were wild, as if she were looking for a way to escape her own body. I remember the moment our eyes met. She didn't see me - I know that. She was looking inward. But I saw her. And she was beautiful. She was bringing my child into the world and, at that moment, with the blood and the sweat and the storm and the tears, I couldn't love her more.

  And then it all went wrong.

  Doc Arts held up the baby. “A little girl,” he announced to the camera.

  Gale held out her arms to receive the child, calling out the name we had chosen - Abigail. Doc Arts cut the cord and suddenly the baby stopped crying. The room went silent. Slowly, dark blotches started appearing on the baby's skin. Gale was screaming again. I might have too; I don't know. All I know is that they whisked the baby away. And then Gale and I were alone in the room. Me over by the wall where I had been pushed by the crowd, her in the bed, legs still elevated. She didn't look at me. She just wept.

  * * *

  A slap on the shoulder.

  "It's a boy! Can you believe it?"

  I looked at the new father, remembering slowly where I was.

  "He's gonna be fine!"

  "Congrats." I forced a smile.

  Across the room the doctor was talking with the mother who was nursing her new child. Assistant was cleaning up the bassinet. The father was placing a cigar with a blue wrapper into my hand. I smiled again as he continued to talk. I needed to leave. Now.

  "Doc," my voice cracked slightly. I coughed softly. "Don't we have to get a move on?"

  Medico turned, "Oh, Bob. Sorry, I forgot you were here."

  "Why doesn't that surprise me?" I muttered.

  "Sue and..." the doctor stumbled.

  "Ed," the father interjected.

  "Ed," Ignaro pointed at the woman and man, "this is Bob Moore. He's... um..."

  "Helping you out," I volunteered.

  "Yes!" he exclaimed, "You know, Bob put me on the road to the development of the technology that makes cross-births possible."

  Ed's hand shot out again, grasping mine firmly and pumping it, his other hand on my shoulder slapping it violently, "Well, well," he punctuated each word with a slap, "come have a drink with us."

  There have been few times in my life where I completely lost my wits. Notably, I remember back in grade school, a kid had teased me mercilessly for months. I held my tongue until one day I just lost it. I remember my vision narrowing, as if I was in a tunnel, until he was all I could see. It took two kids and a teacher to pull me off of him. As the doctor complimented me, my vision started to dim. I could feel my face flush, adrenaline dumping into my bloodstream. I spoke through clenched teeth, "No, really, Doc. We need to go. Now." I pulled my hand from Ed's, forced smile on my face, my eyes hard.

  The doctor looked confused, "Eh, okay. Sure." He turned to Ed who was still grinning, "Ed, make sure she takes the pills I gave you. And if anything happens, anything at all with the baby, press this button," the doctor pressed a small, black object into Ed's hand.

  Sue was too busy cooing at her new baby to pay much attention. Assistant followed close behind the doctor as he moved toward the door.

  I patted Ed on the shoulder, "Congrats," I said again lamely.

  Ed's eyes were bouncing between me and Medico like he was at a tennis match. As I turned to exit, I could tell by his falling smile that he was catching on that something was amiss. He only managed a small grunt before I stepped through the doorway and into the lab of Ignaro Medico, Doc Arts. The last thing Ed saw as the teleportation portal snapped shut was my arm reaching back, my hand in a fist. If the portal had lasted a half second longer he'd have seen the doctor turn just in time for my fist to catch him on the cheek.

  * * *

  Chapter 8

  As we walked thr
ough the doorway, Doc Arts was saying, "I don't see why we had to leave. Shouldn't we have given them a tracker or something?"

  My punch hit him full on the side of his face, the resounding "crack" louder than I would have expected. I shook the pain out of my hand, which wasn't used to being utilized in that way. The doctor sprawled out on the floor of his lab, arms and legs akimbo. I was breathing hard, much harder than I should have been, given that the punch hadn't taken much exertion on my part. Back in grade school, the only other time I'd ever thrown a punch, I seemed to remember very little but red hot rage. As I looked down at the doctor, my mind was anything but blank. A thousand thoughts were screaming through my mind. More than anything, I just wanted him to stay down. If he got up, I didn't know what I'd do. It was then that the whirring reminded me that we weren't alone.

  Assistant was off to my side, apparently motionless. The four-armed robot never looked more monstrous than at that moment. The metal visor device that served as its eyes didn't lend themselves to reading and, frankly, the lack of movement either to protect the doctor or to remove itself from the situation was disconcerting.

  Not knowing what else to do, I said, "So, what's your move, Assistant?"

  On the floor at my feet, the doctor rolled around, holding his cheek. Assistant continued its impersonation of a statue. The doctor called out and Butler appeared next to him. The hologram helped him to his feet. There were tears in the doctor's eyes and a large welt on his cheek that promised to bruise and maybe develop into a black eye. Well, as much of a black eye as he could have. He backed away, keeping the hologram at first and then his work table between us.

  "You... you stay away from me!" his finger shook as he pointed at me.

  "That won't be a problem, you little shit," I roared, the sound of his voice triggering my anger again. "We're done here. Don't you ever, EVER call me again."

  I turned to leave.

  "Wait," the doctor behind me, "what happened? What did I do?"

  I just turned and glared at him. After a second, I remembered the tracker and moved toward him quickly. I grabbed him by the shoulder, using my other hand to frisk him quickly for it. He squirmed to get away but didn't have the strength to pull it off. Again, Assistant did nothing. Of course, the tracker was still in the same pocket I'd seen him drop it in the day I'd given it to him. Facing him, I wanted to say more, to say all those things I stayed up late at night thinking about, but this was just too much proximity and I spun on my heel.

  I don't remember much of the drive home. All I could see was Medico's smiling face as he cheerfully told that couple that I had made their miracle birth possible. Such an idiot. As if I had anything to do with it. Would they be so thankful, so quick to offer a drink, if they knew the road to their son's birth was paved with the bodies of dead children? My dead child. And he had the gall to ask me what he'd done. What hadn't he done, was more like it.

  I parked the car in my dedicated spot in the building's garage. I made my way up to my apartment with a modicum of muttering. Whenever I got really upset, I tended to talk to myself. It wasn't excessive, but when I was alone, my inner monologue tended to escape. Right then, my inner monologue was mostly curse words. I opened the door to my apartment expecting to find the waiting room outside my office empty. Instead, I found Khan at his desk seemingly waiting for me. The look on his face spoke volumes. Unfortunately, I was way too self-absorbed at that moment to read it.

  "What are you still doing here?" I asked angrily, immediately regretting my tone. It wasn't his fault.

  "Sorry, boss," he replied, "she's in there." He nodded toward my office.

  "She? She who?"

  Khan didn't respond. He looked like his cat had just been run over by a car. I opened the door to my office. The lights were off, but there was obviously someone sitting behind my desk. I threw my jacket down on the guest chair and reached over to the light switch.

  "Did you really hit him?" Her voice was as familiar as my own.

  My hand froze over the top of the switch. After a moment, I remembered to breathe and I turned on the light.

  "Gale."

  "It's not his fault, you know." She was dressed as she usually was these days, in nothing but a long, flowing piece of semitransparent fabric. With her power over the wind, she could wrap it around her as much as she wanted. It was both functional and seductive. This one was white with bits of silver sewn into the weave and at the fringes. Somewhere on it, I knew, there would be a stylized B indicating her membership in The Bulwark.

  "You weren't there, you don't know..."

  "Oh," her laugher was forced but it still had hints of the joy we once felt.

  It hurt to hear.

  She stood and walked toward me. "I can guess all right. Doc Arts might be brilliant but his bedside manner leaves something to be desired."

  She was tall for a woman, eye to eye with me. Since she could control the air, she rarely wore more than she needed to and tonight was no different. The white fabric was probably five yards long but it snaked around her like a living thing. Small microbursts of wind kept it always on the move. Occasionally I'd see a flash of skin hinting that whatever she had on underneath was minimal. I remember when she first started doing that, she had to concentrate on it. Now it was second nature.

  Her green eyes locked in on mine as her brown, waist length, wavy hair flowed around her like she was underwater. She had a golden tan, evidence of how much she liked being outdoors. She was barefoot and wore a large, silver upper arm bracelet inscribed with the words or symbols for wind in multiple languages on her left arm, a ring on her index toe on her left foot and an anklet on her right. While it wasn't warm outside, she rarely wore anything else. I could feel the air temperature increase as I neared her, evidence of her power.

  "So, to what do I owe the honor of this visit? This can't be about Medico."

  "You know it is."

  "I damn well DON'T know any such thing, Gale!" I shouted. "I can't believe you, of all people..."

  "Oh, cut it out," she interrupted. "It's all fine for you to go on hating him but I don't have that luxury."

  "Luxury!" I stammered.

  "Yes, luxury!" she spat. "I've got to work with him. It isn't like I can ostracize him. He's easily one of the top three minds on the planet."

  "Well, as long as it's for the greater good, I suppose," I muttered, walking behind my desk, searching for a clean glass and my bottle.

  Gale circled to the other side, "Don't start that again, Bob. It's not like he didn't try."

  I poured a shot and grabbed the glass so violently that I spilled most of it, "Yeah. Amazing how when he tries for his own daughter, it works. But everyone up until then is out of luck." I threw the alcohol down my throat, not noticing the burn.

  "That's conspiracy theory talk and you know it."

  "If the shoe fits, I say."

  "I didn't come here to have that same old argument with you."

  "How about this for conspiracy: How does a man like Medico end up with a tippy? He fell in love? I don't buy it. I'd bet dollars to doughnuts it was so he could have that daughter."

  "That's crazy."

  "You didn't see her. She spends more time with his creations than she does with him."

  "He's a busy man..." she started lamely.

  "Fine," I interrupted, "Make excuses. So why did you come, Gale?" I said, pouring another glass.

  "I've come to ask a favor of you."

  I gripped my glass so tightly I thought it might break, "Don't say what I think you're going to say," I replied, quietly.

  "Stay on the case."

  I closed my eyes, slowly, dropping my head.

  "Listen, I know you don't like him but he's really worried about this."

  "I couldn't care less about what he's worried about," I replied. "And that's another thing. Why don't you and The Bulwark check this out? You've got a lot more resources than I do."

  "We have," she replied. "Thing is, the missing supers are l
ow level. Some of them are brand new registrees. They're in the system but we don't track them that carefully. And you know how it is; supers go missing all the time. Vacations, missions, deaths... it could all be normal. But as long as Arts thinks there is something to it, he'll be distracted. The others in The Bulwark don't see it, but I do. These last two weeks, since you've been on the case, he's gotten more done than in the last two months combined. With a man like Doc Arts, a bad week or two, and hundreds, maybe thousands of people die."

  "I seem to remember that on his good weeks, people still die," I sipped my drink.

  "Come on, Bob. I haven't asked you for much. Just keep on it for a while longer. Once he's convinced there isn't a problem and he's back to his A game, you go." She paused, then added softly, "What would Abigail want?"

  I gripped my glass tighter, my knuckles white, "That's not fair."

  "Maybe not," she looked away from me. "But I need you. Will you do it?"

  I hung my head, looking for inspiration at the bottom of my glass of scotch. I downed the last of it. "Okay, fine. I'll stay on. But on two conditions. First, you let me tell him, which I promise you won't be until tomorrow. The bastard deserves to sweat a bit. Second, go out with me."

  She stopped in her tracks. I stunned her so acutely that her fabric almost fell away. "What?"

  "Sorry, forget it. I don't know why I said that."

  "Bob, I... I... can't." She turned back to me, moisture in her eyes. "It'll never work."

  "It worked once. It was working," I pleaded. Every time I saw Gale I ended up in this position. After every meeting I promised I wouldn't beg again.

  "Bob, you'll always be special to me..."

  "Yeah, yeah, okay," I interrupted. "It was worth a try."

  "Bob, you know I know about the terminal right?"

  I most certainly did not. It must have shown on my face.

  "Khan is good at covering his tracks but not perfect. Plus, you can't hide anything from Mind. Giving you access is a great risk for me, you understand that?"