by Tom Andry
"You coming? We've got work to do."
"In a moment, honey," I struggled to stand. "Just let me throw up a bit first." I managed to get to my feet and stumble to her office. I leaned on the doorjamb, clutching my midsection, "Is it just me or was that worse than normal?'
Liz called out from her office down the hall, "Yeah, I heard that from a few people. Should have warned you I guess."
I stumbled down through the door and collapsed in a well padded chair.
She organized some papers as she spoke, "You know, I couldn't be sure until someone who rode it regularly came through." She looked up and smiled again, "You just got lucky I guess."
"Funny, I don't feel lucky."
"Scotch?"
"A bit early for that."
"Coffee?"
"I didn't say no to the scotch. I was just pointing out the time."
She smiled and poured a small drink from the bottle she always got out for my visits.
"You have something for me to sign?"
"Yeah, rich boy." She passed over a stack of papers. "Need your signature everywhere there's an X."
I grabbed the pen she offered and got to work.
"If you don't mind me asking, you’re really working for Doc Arts?"
I gritted my teeth, "Yeah."
"Whew," she whistled through her teeth, "I never thought I'd see the day." She poured herself a coffee, "You sure are making him pay, though."
I shook my head.
"What?" she asked.
"He doesn't care about the money. Didn't even faze him."
"Supers," she responded, "there's no figuring them, is there."
I continued signing.
"How much longer you got on this job? I'm running out of places to hide your money."
"Today's the last day. Oh, and make sure you take a respectable amount out for yourself. Maybe get that damn teleportation chair fixed." I looked the paper over, signing a missed spot on the bottom. "How's business?"
She leaned back in her chair, "Oh, you know, there's always something to do, some right to wrong. You hear about the Names-a-Million incident?"
I shook my head. Names-a-Million was one of the many naming agencies that would suggest names for your child based on your powers, or just powers you wanted your child to have. I didn't buy it, though it was all the rage with new parents.
"Yeah, well, some mom named her kid Millhouse Crush on their recommendation." She sipped her coffee. "Changed his last name and everything. Mom's a low-level brick, can maybe bench press an economy car on a good day. Husband has some sort of stink power."
I looked up.
"Hey, don't ask me, you're the one with all the connections," her hands went up in a surrender pose. "Anyhow, kid's got some sort of flower power."
A guffaw escaped my throat.
"Yeah, he can make flowers grow. Anyhow, his parents went through the roof. Tore the agency up."
"How're you involved?" the stack of papers didn't seem to be getting any smaller. At first I scanned each one, but eventually I gave up and just started signing.
"Well, seems that dad's stink power is somehow toxic. He really let it rip, so to speak."
I didn't have to look up to know that she was smiling as she said it. Liz always did have a guttural sense of humor. We had that in common.
"Blasted not only the office but also got into the surrounding buildings. Not sure the number affected yet, but we're rounding them up now. Counseling for all, of course. Plus I hired a few more lawyers."
"To go up against the Super State?" I asked.
"Hey, you don't have to lean on them too hard to get them to pay. You, if anyone, should know that. It isn't like they care about money."
I grimaced and continued signing.
"So, what's the deal with Arts?"
"Same ol' bullshit," I responded finishing the last paper and pushing the stack over, "you know how it is. 'Someone is following me, my patients are disappearing.' All that paranoia crap."
"Anything I could get involved in?"
"Naw, it's super on super stuff. Or well, it would be if it were real."
"It isn't?"
"No," I answered, "that's why I'm cutting him loose."
"I'm surprised you're not trying to bleed him dry, given your history."
"Well, even I have my limits," I downed my scotch in one gulp. "I can only live with so much dirty money. If he cared more, maybe, but this? This could go on forever."
"Can't say I understand the sentiment, but whatever," she looked over the papers. "Everything looks to be in order. I'll send you an updated list of your accounts later in the week."
"Thanks Liz; appreciate it.”
"Hey, thank you. Even before your recent windfall, you were our biggest supporter."
"Anything I can do to support my fellow tippys."
She frowned at the slang term for non-powered people, "Anyway, I wish you'd let us list you as a donor. People deserve to know how much you do for the community."
"And ruin my reputation?" I stood, "People like their PIs like they like their accountants... just a little slimy."
She stood as well, her hands on her hips, mock indignation in her voice, "Are you saying I'm slimy?"
"Just the right amount, baby. See ya."
"Later Bob."
* * *
"What do you mean you're dropping the case?"
I was back in Doc Arts' lair. Assistant was no longer on the table but also not in sight. The little man with the little, red beard and little, mechanical eyes was more than a little red in the face.
"Listen Ignaro," I retorted, "I told you up front, when I'm satisfied that nothing is going on, I'm done. You promised to leave me and the cops alone. I held up my end, now you hold up yours."
"But, but," he was shaking, "I paid you for today!" he exclaimed as if he had just discovered some sort of glaring flaw with my plan. "You have to finish out today!"
"And I have every plan of doing just that. But tonight, if nothing happens, when nothing happens, I'm collecting all the trackers and it's over." I couldn't help but smile.
It was obvious that Medico had fully expected me to find something. I'd managed to stay around for a couple of weeks, which was more than enough time for something to happen. If it wasn't, he would have protested that fact by now. Instead, he was trying to reason with me.
"Wait... eh..." He looked around the room as if the answer were in one of the boxes or organ transport coolers that littered the room. "I'll pay you more!" he exclaimed. "Double!"
I shook my head. If I thought the money mattered...
I contemplated taking him up on his offer - or even asking for more. In his present state, he'd probably pay even if I did come up with a number high enough to hurt. I'd spent the better part of the last two weeks replaying our deal in my mind trying to figure out what I should have said. What other condition I could have added. But I had come up dry. He had to accept the fact that there was just nothing to this.
"Come on Medico. You're a scientist. You know that you can get a false positive. Observe enough phenomena and you'll see a pattern even if it doesn't exist." I reached out to put a hand on his shoulder, then thought better of it and drew my hand back through my hair instead, "You said yourself that a few you thought were missing had shown up. We gave it the ol' college try."
He paced and stammered for a few more minutes, talking to himself more than me. Finally, just when it seemed he had accepted, he turned and pointed at me, "Fine. You want to leave? Fine. But you follow me today. Not your lackeys, but you. You stay with me all day."
So much for feeling bad for the guy. The revulsion I normally felt when I was around Doc Arts returned in force. It was claustrophobic. I felt like the room was too small, the air too thin. I reached up to loosen the tie I didn't wear, "Okay... okay... fine. If that's what it takes. But you don't call me, you don't call the cops after today. When I leave, it's over. Agreed?"
He sighed, "Agreed."
&nbs
p; * * *
I spent the majority of the day upstairs sipping the doctor's scotch. After about an hour and no hint of a buzz, I finally questioned Butler. Turned out the good doctor abhors alcohol and keeps on hand synthetic substitutes, which mimic perfectly the taste without the deleterious effects. He had the real stuff too, but Butler had been ordered not to give it to me. Seems Ignaro not only didn't want me drunk, he wanted me alert. Butler had been spiking my drinks with caffeine all afternoon. He didn't have much going on that day and was working all afternoon in his lab on God knows what. I practically gave myself a blister using the rotary phone as I checked in with Khan way more than was necessary to see how the rest of the patients were doing. So far, everyone we were tracking was still around and moving. I let him know that we'd definitely be finishing tonight and to pass that on to our people in the field.
Khan was happy to hear it. The good doctor had given him news about his condition a few days after his experiment. Something to do with electrolytes or some such thing having to do with salt and water. I even looked it up on the Network and couldn't find anything on it. Medico, of course, was all excited. Said that Khan's body was shutting down to protect itself and that the long sleep was necessary for his body to replenish itself. Other bodily systems were as fast as his legs but apparently not this one. Medico had devised some supplements that he could take to counteract the effects as a stopgap measure. He was supposed to be working on something more permanent. Early experiments by Khan with the pills had been promising. His parents were ecstatic. I was less so, but then, I was the one who would be losing an assistant.
I spent some time pacing around the doctor's house and lab, though I didn't learn anything useful. I found out how to switch off the hologram in the freezer that hid the stairway. I could walk through it if I wanted, but I just about killed myself missing the first step when I tried. I discovered that the force field paired with the Butler hologram was fairly weak. It could serve drinks and carry groceries, but it couldn't, say, catch a man who was about to break his neck falling down a set of stairs. I saw the Doc's daughter a few times, mostly playing alone or with Butler. She asked me about Assistant but I didn't know when the Doc would be done with it. I tried to scope out the security systems, just to get an idea of what he had, but everything was so foreign, so alien to anything I'd seen before, it was pretty much useless to me. Ted would have given his pinky to get his hands on nearly any of it, I'd have bet.
Finally, the doctor bounded up the stairs, Assistant hovering behind him. While the bio-mechanical robot had spent all day with its skin and metal exposed, it was dressed in its trench coat and hat. Apparently, we were going out.
"What's the deal, Medico? We on the move?" I asked.
"Bob, excellent," the doctor put on his sunglasses, hiding his mechanical eyes, "yes, I must see a patient. A very fascinating case." He turned back to Assistant, which adjusted his glasses so they properly covered his eyes, and again faced me. "Are you ready?"
"Sure," I grabbed my jacket off the back of my chair, "you driving?"
"Eh? Oh, no. Nothing so mundane. Just step through here." He moved toward the kitchen, Assistant in tow.
Shrugging, I followed. I'd been in the doctor's kitchen a number of times over the last few hours. What I stepped into was definitely not the doctor's kitchen.
This kitchen was homey and warm. It showed evidence of use: utensils in large containers on the tile countertop, a toaster with crumbs on top, woodgrain cabinetry with floral accents. Nothing at all like Medico's kitchen, which looked like it was designed for a showroom floor instead of daily use, with black granite countertop, stainless steel cabinetry, and not a utensil or cooking implement in sight.
I looked behind me at a country-style breakfast nook. The table top and long bench seating was constructed of pine, the legs painted white. There was what looked to be handsewn cushions on the benches and fresh cut flowers on the table. On one bench was a stack of plaid fabric placemats and matching napkins ready for the next meal. There was a brand new contemporary highchair to the side, a fragment of wrapping paper hanging by a piece of tape from the seat.
"Um... Doc? Where are we?"
"Oh, thank God!" a voice behind me exclaimed. "Doc Arts, this way. The baby's coming!"
I turned around as a balding, slightly overweight man grabbed Medico's arm and led him from the room. Assistant followed close behind. I swallowed slowly, threw my jacket over my shoulder, and followed the clear sounds of a woman in distress upstairs.
* * *
Chapter 7
The only person who didn't want me to witness the birth of this child more than the parents, was me. Aside from the obviously rustic choice of furnishings, there were just too many similarities to my past. The man (I guessed him to be the husband by the ring and the fact that he was the only other person in the room besides the pregnant woman, the doctor and me) had the look of ineffectualness that only fathers in a delivery room can have. It's sort of a mixture of empathic pain, guilt, and fear that would be funny if I hadn't been there before. He held her hand, whispered words of encouragement and occasionally remembered lamaze techniques. She responded with derision, glares, and the occasional threat. They'll probably remember this as a beautiful moment. It really wasn't.
The doctor and Assistant were far too busy to even introduce me. They scanned the woman, her bed, and occasionally the father. The doctor was murmuring to himself mostly and once sent Assistant off. I watched as it approached the bedroom door and paused momentarily in front of it. I barely noticed the distortion around the frame. When it exited, I could see the doctor's lab through the doorway. It grabbed a few instruments and returned. As it passed through, the hallway behind reappeared. Whatever teleportation technology they were using was unlike anything I'd ever seen. I'd have to give Liz a head's up about it. I didn't feel a thing.
Eventually the doctor shooed the husband away from the bed. He looked a little relieved though I couldn't help feel a wave of deja vu crash over me. He noticed me standing to the side and approached.
"So, what's your deal?" he asked apprehensively. "You look a little old to be an intern."
"Right, no," I tried to laugh it off and looked for a place for my eyes that didn't have a direct or indirect view of his wife's private parts. "I'm working with," I almost slipped and said his real name, "Doc Arts on... a different project."
"Different?"
I wasn't exactly putting him at ease.
"Sort of private." I extended my hand, "Bob Moore."
"Hi Bob, nice to..." his eyes narrowed in thought, "Moore? You're that PI guy? The one who only investigates supers?"
"That's me."
"I've heard of you." He turned to face me directly, "Maybe you can clear something up for me. Why'd you change your name to Bob Moore? That's kind of a weird name for a PI."
I looked down. Down seemed to be pretty safe, "Well, I didn't change it. My parents gave me the name. I'm thirty-four, so I was named before the supers really started showing up."
He nodded, more to show that he was listening rather than agreeing. "So, how come you don't change it?"
"Because it's my name?" I asked sarcastically.
"Hmm..." He thought some more, "So how come you only investigate supers?"
Before I could answer, we were interrupted by a huge scream. It didn't take a doctor to know that the woman was in much more distress than normal.
"God. I hope he can help," Ed intoned.
I nodded toward the bed, "I'm guessing her power is the problem?"
"Uh-huh. She regenerates. Great for the baby, there isn't a toxin or virus that can survive in her body. Bad thing is, she can't get the baby out. The parts that are supposed to..." he motioned with his hands.
"Rip?" I offered.
"Yeah, rip. Well, they won't. Or at least won't rip long enough for the baby to come out. Arts thought this might happen. He thought he could figure out a way to cut it out of her."
"It?"
/> He sighed, "Yeah. We didn't want to know the sex of the baby. Doc said we could find out but we didn't want to. You know. Didn't want to get too connected..."
"In case you lost it?" I finished.
"Yeah. I don't have powers and…well, you know."
I nodded, not that he was watching.
He got quiet after that. The doctor seemed to decide that the baby wasn't coming out the normal way so he covered her up a bit and started working on her stomach. He could easily cut her, but as quickly as he could open her up, her skin was closing. Assistant had all four arms in play as the doctor spoke quickly to both it and the mother. Twice more, Assistant returned through the doorway to the lab to get more supplies. Finally, they seemed to be making progress with the wound staying open longer and longer. After about fifteen minutes, they were pulling a crying, gooey baby from its mother's stomach. The minute they turned off their devices, the opening closed up. Whatever power she had, it was significant. I'd heard of healers but never one who healed this fast. I wondered how they had managed to conceive. I supposed it'd be like she was a virgin every time? Every thrust? I cringed just thinking about it.
The doctor took the baby over to a bassinet off to the side of the bed. The parents were all questions. How's the baby? What's the gender? The usual. The doctor was far too busy with the baby to answer. Once the father tried to approach, but again the doctor sent him away, this time with a verbal rebuke. He and Assistant hovered over the baby, syringes and scanners descending upon it like birds diving into the sea after fish. A minute passed…two. The parents stopped asking questions and fell silent as we all listened to the crying of the child, the hum of Assistant's motor, and the murmuring of the doctor. A third minute…fourth. No one moved, the parents were barely breathing. If the stress in the room materialized, you wouldn't be able to see your hand in front of your face. I couldn't help but feel like I was back, in that room, so long ago.
* * *
