Gruefield 18 (Tarnished Sterling Omnibus)

by Robert McCarroll

  At least the Russians were fairly confident that I was no more, or they had given up on me. I think the former was more probable. With the door knocked out, I could hear Vassili yelling at Grova again. We glided along the water's surface, trying to disturb it as little as possible. Splashes might very well have given away our survival. We waited under the wharfs and docks far longer than was sane. We had little choice; we didn't want to crawl out of hiding before the Russians had left.

  I drove us back to my place. My twelve grand was gone, and I had no idea who'd stolen it. I'd bet on Weeks or his goons. My few hundred in the sump was still there. It was enough to get out of town. You can bet I didn't stay in Bilgewater after that. No one has heard from Kazor Grova since then. I doubt he's alive. Lana Sullivan was not among the dead at Rizzo's Fishworks. The Russians didn't get her there either. I know, because by the time we swung by Tesla Too, someone had emptied the safe, and Evelyn had been with me the whole time.

  You'd think being the one with the access codes for the numbered account would mean I'd get to live happily ever after. You'd also be wrong, but that's enough for this tape.

  *click*

  Shadowboy

  Part 1

  Bureaucracy. I'd rather take a fist to the face than have to deal with the Bureau of Hero Affairs, but then I'd end up having to fill out one of the innumerable BHA forms.

  Since everyone who deals with the Bureau has a secret identity, their customer service desk was stuffed in an annex of the motor vehicle office, just behind dispute resolutions, making all of us look like delinquent drivers. For added realism, you have to file a DMV form and wait until your number comes up alongside everyone trying to do actual business regarding their motor vehicles. There was a cute trainee at the desk, but when she blurted out "What's a BA-20 form?" I almost had a heart attack.

  I eventually made it to Ms. Reece's office without real incident. Ms. Reece was twice my weight and about a head shorter than I was. She always dressed nicely, usually in shades of pink. Until recently she'd had a wall of autographed hero portraits on the wall. Most of them had vanished, probably because her supervisor pointed out that it strained credulity that one woman would meet so many by happenstance. Her pudgy face beamed constantly, and her all-too-chipper voice said, "Mister Colfax, how are we this morning?"

  "Lousy," I said, dropping into the client chair.

  "I see someone just turned sixteen," she said, oblivious to my comment. "I guess you're here to upgrade your sidekick permit to a class-three license."

  "No."

  She kept talking as if I hadn't said anything. "In your file, we have testimonials and recommendations from several class-one and -two license holders about your levelheadedness and impulse control. There's enough to get you leadership and organizational endorsements. These won't guarantee leadership of a team should you join one but would make you eligible for the role."

  "I don't want a hero license," I said.

  Ms. Reece looked like she'd walked into a brick wall. "No?"

  "My parents signed me up for the permit, I want to cancel it."

  "Why?" she asked, in the tone of voice one gets when the gears in their brain have locked up. "Everyone wants to be a hero."

  "Most of them haven't seen the life firsthand," I said. "I have."

  "Before you do anything hasty, I want to point out that this won't reduce your insurance premiums or remove your obligation to have insurance. Even if you're not in the business, you still have strong enough ties to the community that you're a target. That means you will have to keep up the collateral and medical coverage. Which are effectively all of your premiums given your low liability risk."

  "You mean given my lack of powers," I said. "After all, if I can't throw a car through a building, all the risk is on the collateral coverage, isn't it?"

  "There are no fees associated with the license, and you're required to keep up the insurance anyway. You're actually better off keeping the license up as it reduces your own criminal liability in the event something does happen." I let out a long sigh. "You're just going through a phase. You'll grow out of it and realize how lucky you are. In the meantime, you should just keep your license active. There's no downside."

  "Except license holders can be sued for not acting in an emergency," I said. "Bystanders don't have that liability."

  "But your license would protect you from liability for unforeseen consequences if you do act."

  I stared at her in disbelief. She really didn't get that I had no interest in running towards a burning building, or a gunfight, or a terrorist attack. She pushed a thick pile of paperwork towards me.

  "It's easier to keep a license active than to reactivate it should you change your mind."

  "You sound like my dad."

  "Razordemon? He..." Ms. Reece trailed off. Dad had one of the rather less-friendly reputations on the street. After all, his code name was Razordemon. The act he put on with the mask fooled most people. His was one of the autographs Ms. Reece hadn't asked for in the time we'd known her. "He's right," she said. "I'm glad I'm not his case worker," she murmured, not expecting me to hear. I fought the urge to defend Dad, to tell her that Lenny Colfax was a good man and that he didn't enjoy scaring people, but saw it as much of a tool as any of his powers. I didn't though. His reputation saved a lot of effort, and he'd kill me if I tried to correct it.

  "And if I need to spend more time studying than heroing?"

  "That's another reason to keep your license up-- it lets you apply for BHA grants and scholarships."

  "If I agree to work for the government on graduation."

  Ms. Reece gave me a blank stare. "If you get the scholarship, it's a guaranteed job. A win-win all around."

  I shook my head, there was an insurmountable gap between our mindsets that I simply wasn't willing to argue across. She smiled a malignant, self-satisfied grin as I filled out the paperwork. It was easier than trying to talk her down. That, and it delayed the inevitable argument with Dad. Ms. Reece tapped away at her computer while I scribbled inane details on the forms.

  "Your code name is still listed as 'Shadowboy,'" Ms. Reece said. "Usually, heroes change it about now to what they want to use for their adult careers."

  "I haven't thought of a good one," I said. It was a half-truth. I hadn't tried.

  "When you do, just file a BA-38 form and we'll update your records. Provided it's not already taken." I gave her the pile of completed forms and the pen. "You can wait on the balcony while I process these," Ms. Reece said.

  I trudged out of her office and to the balcony. It was really more of a rooftop patio than a balcony. I'm certain that below my feet was some poor sod's cubicle at the DMV. The furniture was wire-frame and metal tubing, meant to look artistic, but installed by the lowest bidder. It was ugly, it was uncomfortable, but it was the only option apart from standing. I knew the speed of bureaucracy, and I didn't want to stand for that long.

  "Don't look so glum, citizen," a deep, overly-loud voice said, "It's a bright sunny day out. You can even see the rainbow of colors in the river from here."

  "That's the chemical runoff, Jack," I said. I cast a sidelong glance at the overly-muscled man garishly clad in green and gold off to my right. There was not enough of a breeze to catch his white cape, and it hung dejectedly by his side. He hovered at about shoulder-height above the balcony, arms crossed over his chest.

  "Who's Jack? I'm Monoman."

  "You're an idiot, Jack." Usually, taunting a flying brick was a bad idea. But after he'd taken up the moniker of "Monoman," I wasn't about to spare Jack's feelings. Despite the laughter the name gets, he seemed determined to stick it out. Jack lowered himself to the balcony and sat down next to me, fighting to keep his cape from tripping up his feet.

  "Keep up the masquerade, even when no one's around," Jack said.
/>   "What are you worried about? You're invulnerable."

  "Nigh invulnerable. I can still be hurt." Jack paused. "Especially emotionally."

  "I'm not calling you Monoman."

  "It's a step up from Azure Avenger."

  "Especially since you have always worn green."

  "Azure is green," Jack said. My face sank into the palm of my hand.

  "Azure is blue, Jack."

  "Are you sure?"

  "We told you this before, back when we convinced you to pick a new name."

  Jack hopped to his feet and changed his tone of voice. "Now citizen," he said, raising to a foot or so above the balcony. "You should know better than to text while driving. You endanger everyone on the road." A group of government employees walked by, looking askance at Jack as they did so. They'd come out of the BHA annex, so Jack's impromptu lecture was probably pointless.

  "Who would I text, Jack?"

  "Would you stop using my name!"

  "I told you I'm not calling you Monoman."

  "Give me a minute, I'll get into civvies." Jack flew off, looking for somewhere suitably private to change. I banged my head against the back rest of the bench a couple of times. Not hard enough to hurt, but hard enough to feel it. Jack slinked back in, having changed into a suit and tie.

  "Okay," he said, sitting down, "What's bothering you?"

  "I feel like my life is being railroaded."

  "You were born into the community, Travis. I'm your godfather. Your parents--"

  "I know, Jack. It just never felt like my place. I go through the motions because it is expected of me. Not because I see myself as the hero type."

  "Not long after I discovered my powers, there was a fire in an apartment block in South Wharf. The roads were icy, and the ladder truck had overturned en route. It was only a five-story building, and the middle three floors were ablaze. I could hear the crowd saying there was a kid inside on the top floor, which looked to be solid smoke. I went in and crawled around, completely blind. I nearly passed out from the smoke. I couldn't see anything, but I could hear this shower running. Turns out the kid had turned it on, because water puts out fires, you see. It wasn't completely daft. Being in the bathtub had protected him from the worst of the smoke, so he was still conscious. I flew him out of there. The only thing I remember about the rest of that evening was the look of joy on the faces of that kid and his parents when I reunited them."

  Jack paused. "It was that moment, that feeling of doing something right, that made me put up with the nonsense and bullshit we have to go through. Because when you save someone's life, the rest of it just becomes so insignificant in comparison."

  "Nice speech Jack."

  "Thank you."

  "You told me it before."

  "That doesn't make it any less true. Look, when's the last time you went on patrol?"

  "Two years ago. I stopped a robbery and the woman spent ten minutes berating me for letting the mugger break her purse strap. Then the cops showed up, and she complained about my 'poor service' to them."

  "Not everyone is like that. You should come along with me tonight. We'll fly around, stop some bad guys, make the city a little safer. You'll feel better."

  "Jack."

  "Yes?"

  "I can't fly."

  "Right... I mean... How do you patrol on foot?"

  I couldn't help but laugh. "Mostly it's a lot of sneaking around on rooftops trying not to get mistaken for a burglar."

  "Ah." Jack fell silent for a bit. "I need some advice about a situation regarding my niece."

  "Dude, I'm the guy who can't even get a date. I'm the last person you want to ask about girl issues."

  "It's not exactly a girl problem so much as a community problem."

  "What did you do now, Jack?"

  Jack sighed, his usually cheerful expression evaporating. Jack said, "I agreed to let my niece stay with me over the summer while her parents took a vacation. She's a bright kid, and I'm not the best at keeping up the masquerade. So she sort of put together who I am."

  "Oh."

  "Now she wants me to introduce her around. She's a bit of a fangirl, and..."

  "And she'll probably start blabbing about it to all her friends. Thus painting a nice big target on herself."

  "Well, that's what I'm afraid of," Jack said.

  "And you're bringing this to me?"

  "Of all of the heroes her age, you're the only one not dangerously gung-ho about the life. I figure you might be able to talk to her about the danger and get her to see what the problem is."

  "Talk to her as myself, or as Shadowboy, the most forgettable sidekick?"

  "Whichever you think would work better."

  "You know, if I'd asked my dad that question, he's always said, 'They should be the same person.' He was always big on the whole 'You can't run from your alter ego' philosophy."

  "I've never tried philosophizing. I left it up to smart guys like Lenny."

  "I'm not sure 'philosophizing' is a word, Jack." I don't know what it was, but there were times when I was afraid that if I didn't remind Jack I was talking to him, he might think I was talking to myself. I knew he wasn't actually that stupid, he just seemed like it at times.

  "Sure it is."

  "Mister Colfax?" Ms. Reece called. I looked over my shoulder. "We can finish up our appointment."

  The current version of the BHA License wasn't a photo ID. It was a blue and white card, bearing the BHA logo and a mess of numeric data. The little holofoil eagle in the corner always looked wrong, sort of deformed, like the taxman's vulture. For some reason, people coveted it. A little piece of plastic the size of a credit card that said I was allowed to fight evil on behalf of the government. It could also be used as a credit card, but whatever you spent would end up on the next month's insurance premium bill. The limit was, well, the depth of a government fund created to cover property damage from heroes. So, pretty high, really. Dad would kill me if I ever swiped it.

  Hearing a key in the lock, I pocketed it. Either Nora was home, or there was trouble. The first one through the front door was Ben, a skinny guy with glasses in a button-down shirt with jeans. He was slightly taller than I was, brown hair and twitchy as a nervous rabbit. He held the door as Nora hobbled through on one crutch. She had a cast on her left ankle and left wrist. Since she was still in a suit and had her black hair in a ponytail, I guessed she had come straight from her internship. I watched them through the clutter on the kitchen's peninsula as she worked her way through the living room. She sat down at the kitchen table and leaned her crutch against the table's edge. Neither acknowledged my presence in the kitchen.

  "Thanks again for the ride," she said, pulling Ben down for a kiss. A dopey grin crossed the boy's face. "It won't be too much longer until I can get these casts off."

  "Oh," Ben said, sounding disappointed. "I mean, that's great, but I don't mind picking you up from work."

  "I'm not dating you for your car," Nora said, "So don't look like I just broke up with you."

  Nora was built like her crutch, impossibly thin, almost bony. It had to do with her metabolism; she burned through energy almost as fast as she could run. Since she once broke the sound barrier on foot, that's saying something. Doing so nearly did her in, but she'd had to prove that she could. We'd done it halfway across the country on the salt flats so there wouldn't be as many trip hazards. When you were going that fast, it was hard to see what was coming up. A stray root was what had messed up her wrist and ankle shortly before the end of the school year. And she hadn't been going nearly as fast.

  "Any idea how long your Dad will be out of town?" Ben asked. I knew what sort of thoughts were behind the question and eyed a rolling pin on the counter. I opted not to try to break Ben's face, because Nora would ha
ve intercepted me long before the swing connected. She could simply move too fast.

  "He could be back any day now," I said. Or he could be gone for weeks, but that fact wouldn't discourage Ben as much.

  "Oh, hi... Travis," Ben said. As far as he knew, Nora would be of little help to him should I get overprotective of my sister. The masquerade did have a few upsides to it. A tiny voice in the back of my mind called me a hypocrite. If I had a girlfriend, I'd practically be him, although I had a lifetime of combat training which the scrawny guy lacked.