Gruefield 18 (Tarnished Sterling Omnibus)

by Robert McCarroll

  "You know, if Miss Pain were less of a bitch, she'd be beautiful."

  "I can see where you're coming from with that sentiment."

  While the Community Fund had been prompt in issuing us a team charter, it took the BHA a while to sign off on it. They had to issue a group policy and a mess of other paperwork. As part of the approval process, they required an inspection of the base by a case worker. It was just my luck that it turned out to be Ms. Reece. She was polite as she took pictures. I'm not sure if they were required, or if it was her inner hero fangirl abusing the power of her office, but I'm sure she'd claim the former in either case.

  "So... No accredited medical staff on site?" she asked, poking through the medbay.

  "No," I said, "This is for treatment of minor injuries and long-term recuperation. Vanguard Hospital would be our first stop for emergencies."

  "Ah, yes, the Community Fund's not-so-little for-profit medical center," Ms. Reece said.

  "There's no law against running a hospital for profit. The Fund has built plenty of free clinics."

  "All right, so the team won't be handling medical emergencies in-house," Ms. Reece said, making a note on her paperwork. "Where is your comms center?"

  "We don't have one." Another note on the paperwork.

  "Your training facilities appear to be lacking space for three-dimensional scenarios."

  "This place was built for a guy who can't fly," I said. Another note.

  "You don't appear to have any recreational facilities."

  "There's a regulation requiring that?" Another note.

  "You have a mixed-gender team, but only one set of bathing facilities."

  "Uhh..." Another note.

  "There is no armory."

  "Each member maintains their own equipment," I said.

  "Uh-huh," Ms. Reece said, making yet another note. "I'm not even going to go through the detailed code inspection, you haven't even got the basics of a proper facility here."

  "What's that mean?"

  "That means the BHA can't sign off on your team charter until you present documentation of a revised facilities plan and have secured financing."

  "The individual licenses don't require facilities," I said.

  "Correct."

  "You mean we could operate independently out of a cardboard box for all the BHA cares, but the moment we want to call ourselves a team, we have to get all this fancy crap?"

  "A team is not a collection of individuals, but a crime-fighting organization, and as such an employer bound by all the regulations therein. For this type of work, an employer must provide its employees with the proper facilities to do their jobs." I stared dumbfounded at Ms. Reece. "Perhaps you should take it up with the Community Fund, of which you propose to become a subsidiary." She headed back to the garage. From her disapproving look around, I knew there were more regulatory violations inherent in the structure. "Now, where's Xiv?" At the sound of his name, the dragon boy scurried down from upstairs.

  "Hello," he said.

  "I have something for you," Ms. Reece said in an inadvertently-condescending tone reserved for small children. From his expression, Xiv didn't appreciate it. "Aren't you going to ask what?"

  "What do you have for me?" Xiv said in the mechanical tone of someone going through the motions to avoid confrontation. Ms. Reece pulled out a manilla envelope.

  "A new identity," she said. "Under the 'Cloning Victims Well-being Act,' you've been given a paper trail." Reaching into the envelope, she extracted a sheaf of paperwork. Unclipping an ID card from the front sheet, she handed it to Xiv. It was a passport card for minors.

  "Xavier?" Xiv said, "I don't want to be Xavier."

  "We created your cover identity using the letters of your name as initials," Ms. Reece said, apparently oblivious to Xiv's irritation. "There aren't too many names that start with X."

  "Xiv does," he said.

  I knelt down beside Xiv. The full name on his ID read 'Xavier Isaac Vogel.' "Listen," I said, "You know how the rest of us have two sets of names, a code name and a secret identity?" Xiv nodded. "Well, we only got to choose our code names, and someone else picked out our secret identities for us." I avoided mentioning parents to stay as relevant as I could. "The name they gave you is just what goes on all the official documents. You don't have to like it. We will still call you whatever you want. Okay?"

  "Okay," Xiv said, still somewhat disappointed.

  "How about a consolation prize?" Ms. Reece asked. She removed another card clipped to the next piece of paper. It was blue and white, bearing the BHA logo.

  "Is that..." Xiv asked.

  "A sidekick permit," Ms. Reece said. The rotund woman was nearly bowled over as Xiv launched into a hug. After a moment, I separated them. Xiv's grin was still creepy because he couldn't help but bare his canines, but I hadn't seen him this happy since I let him out of the cultists' box. "Technically, Blue Streak is your sponsor, but you can learn from any licensed hero who wishes to teach you." I looked over at Nora, she shrugged.

  "He just moped around here all day," she said, "There are only so many trades he can take up anyway."

  "So," Icerazor said, "We don't have a team, but we do have a sidekick?"

  "We could put in a provisional approval contingent on facilities improvements," Ms. Reece said, "But you'll have to appoint a leader who will be our point of contact, and be responsible for ensuring that the contingencies are fulfilled."

  "I nominate me," Jennifer said.

  "You don't have a leadership endorsement," Ms. Reece said. "I can't put you down as team leader."

  Jennifer scowled.

  "So who does?" Icerazor asked.

  "In this group," Ms. Reece said, "Ixahau and Shadowdemon. We just need to hold an election."

  "Secret ballot?" Ixa asked.

  "Show of hands should work," Ms. Reece said.

  "Who can vote?" Ben asked.

  "Class three holders, no sidekicks." Ben actually looked relieved at hearing he was ineligible to cast a ballot. "Since there are five of you, there won't be a tie."

  "Lets get this over," Ixa said.

  "Right," Ms. Reece continued. "All for Ixahau?" Jennifer and I raised our hands. Ms. Reece took down a note of the result. "And for Shadowdemon?" The other three raised their hands. Not the result I was hoping for.

  "Congratulations," Xiv said. His cheerful tone struck a dissonant chord with the distaste and dread I felt. This was not the job I'd signed on for when I agreed to be part of a team. Jennifer looked at Ixa askance.

  "Why'd you vote for him?" she asked.

  "I didn't want the job," Ixa said.

  "Besides," Icerazor said, "He's spent more time with the team since everyone got here than she has." Jennifer turned to Nora.

  "What's your excuse?"

  "Nepotism."

  "All right," Ms. Reece said. "I'll file this paperwork and schedule a meeting to discuss the proposal for facilities improvements."

  "Can you at least send me the facilities requirements, so I know what we have to strive for?"

  "No problem. The regulations provide ample guidelines." The way she said it was almost the most ominous thing I'd ever heard. Strung together by the mouth of a government employee, the words "ample," "regulations," and "guidelines" evoked reams of dense legalese. I might have been stoic outside, but inside, I was on the verge of tears. "You guys can't operate officially as a group yet, but that does not preclude training."

  "Given how little we've worked together in the past, we're going to need it," I said.

  Jennifer snorted. "We've never worked together."

  "My point exactly."

  "I have to go," Ms. Reece said. "If you have any questions, you know where to find me." She handed off Xiv's manila env
elope to Nora, then headed out of the building.

  "So, Fearless Leader," Jennifer said, "What's the plan for training then? Because I can't get airborne in a confined space like this."

  "While there won't always be room to get airborne, we will need to find someplace where we can exert ourselves and not risk breaking something. Someplace with both enclosed and open spaces would be ideal."

  "Shouldn't the Fund have a training center like that?" Ixa asked.

  "I'll see about getting access to it. In case they say no, does anyone have an alternate location?" I got a lot of blank stares. "Fine, I'll add that to the list of things I have to do."

  "We need comm gear," Icerazor said. "At least tactical radios."

  "I can't wear a radio," Ben said, "I'd fry it."

  "Your problem probably isn't new," I said. "We can check the fund catalog to see if someone's already solved it for us."

  "Don't forget transportation," Nora said. "Icerazor's van is in pieces."

  "We don't have an infinite line of credit," I said. "I'm not sure how far the Fund's generosity will stretch. With the facilities requirement and operational expenses..."

  "This team came together at the request of the Fund board," Jennifer said. "The least they can do is get us up and running."

  "Right, but we can't take that as a license to shop. We need to prioritize, and try to keep it reasonable."

  "Define reasonable," Nora said.

  "This is why I didn't want the job," Ixa said.

  Part 19

  I still remember a time when the idea of being a hero sounded like fun. I was a stupid kid. Trying to read a phonebook-sized government document without my brain clawing its way out of my skull and running off was difficult enough. Trying to juggle with wish lists of equipment people thought we "needed" was a social minefield. To top it off, the Fund hadn't decided how much money it was willing to expend on the team. Their position was "make a proposal, we will decide if it is reasonable." Not the most helpful bunch. Working on that proposal burned through most of my waking hours. The rest were spent sparring with my teammates and tutoring Xiv. I barely even noticed when Jack returned to light duty. Summer was rapidly running out, and I'd accepted the Leyden Academy offer.

  The Fund board was made up of mostly retired heroes from Torquespiral's generation, plus a few non-voting representatives from the business arms to advise regarding fiscal soundness. They all dressed in business suits, mirroring the image of corporate executives from their heyday. They were a solemn bunch, seated around a long table in a glass-faced tower downtown. Appearing before them in any state was daunting enough, but pitching my proposal required appearing before them as Shadowdemon. My costume felt comically out of place. I forced myself to remember to breathe as Jennifer's complaint of "What? No swimming pool?" echoed in the back of my mind. We hadn't even managed to pick a team name, let alone a pithy one.

  Hooking up my laptop to the projector, I tried to not freeze up in the disinterested gaze of so many veteran heroes. I'd grown up with stories of their exploits, but now I was struggling to put names to their faces. My first slide came up reading "Unnamed New Port Arthur Team Facilities Proposal."

  "Uh," I said, not quite off on the right foot. "As some of you know, I am Shadowdemon, elected team leader of the as yet unnamed New Port Arthur Team founded at the behest of this board." It was a clunky sentence, but I knew if I stopped talking, my brain would lock up on me. Who was I to stand before legends and ask them to spend huge sums of money? "Our main hurdle thus far has been the BHA regulatory requirements regarding team facilities. The building from which we have been operating thus far has not met these requirements, and the BHA is withholding approval of our charter pending a fully-financed facilities improvement plan." I stopped to breathe, clicking forward to the next slide. The mostly-aged board members said nothing.

  "If we attempted to meet the bare minimum of these requirements using new construction, cost estimates begin around five million dollars and go up from there depending upon real estate costs and potential delays." I hadn't done all of the math, but when I'd gotten into that range, I'd started to panic. "As such, I am not proposing entirely new construction." This comment raised an eyebrow or two, but most of their faces remained impassive. "The Gruefield Missile base was built in the fifties and sixties to house early ICBMs, and remained in operation until after the fall of the Soviet Union. Most of the Gruefield base has been sold off and the silos demolished. However, Gruefield Eighteen remains intact and on the market. The empty silo is a large empty space built to withstand the stresses of a missile launch and a nuclear strike in the low-kiloton range. With its many catwalks and side annexes, it provides a near-optimal space for aerial and three-dimensional tactical training."

  "The old control center, offices, and residential facilities will, when refurbished, have ample space to contain all the mandated facilities. There is also a surface garage and helipad already on site. It has the distinct advantage over new-build in being seismically isolated, capable of being environmentally isolated, and was built to be blast- and radiation-resistant. It is only five miles from the current city limits and has roadway access. Most importantly, the cost of purchasing and refurbishing Gruefield Eighteen would be only two million, give or take a few thousand." Only two million. Listen to me. I've never seen that much money in my life.

  "Five miles from the edge of the city seems awfully distant," a woman on the board said. I tried in vain to remember her name.

  "It is closer than many of the bedroom communities from which the police commute," I said. "Gruefield was built when New Port Arthur was just a speck on the map, and the city has grown into the base. The team should be able to readily access the city to conduct patrols."

  "What about emergency situations?" a white-haired gentleman with round glasses asked. "Your response time would be somewhat delayed."

  I nearly choked. "Every site we could have built on save one is on the outskirts, or just outside of the city. The other site costs forty million for the land alone. An investment in vehicles could make up the delay for less than the difference in expense. Plus, the location reduces the amount of collateral damage at risk should the base come under attack. Gruefield is mostly empty land, and the plot around silo eighteen is undeveloped..." I locked up. Their withering gazes bored into me, leaving me unable to continue. In that long awkward silence, I forgot I had other slides. They didn't seem terribly relevant. I'd failed to gain the crowd.

  "Thank you, Shadowdemon," Torquespiral said, putting me out of my misery. "We have your written proposal, and we will take the matter under consideration."

  "You may go," the woman I still couldn't name said. I nodded and collected my laptop. On my way out, I caught the start of their deliberation.

  "Some pitch," one of them said sarcastically.

  "He's sixteen," Torquespiral said, "Could you pitch a two-million-dollar project at that age?"

  "I could pitch a fastball through concrete." The comment got a chuckle. "Two million bought a lot more back then, too." With that, I wandered out of earshot. I collapsed into a waiting room chair, defeated. The receptionist spared a glance my way, but didn't say anything. I couldn't have been the oddest thing she'd seen in this job. It was an impossible bind. Between the insurance and the facilities requirements, the government had made founding a team so cost-prohibitive that it seemed impossible that anyone would risk so much money on an unproven group. A familiar yellow-and-orange-clad figure sauntered past and perched on a nearby chair.

  "You look defeated," Omegaburn said.

  "I blew it. I rattled off facts, but didn't give them good reason to fund anything."

  "Pitching to the board at your age, you'd have to be a salesman-savant to not be rattled."

  I reached onto my pocket and fished out a memory card. I handed it over.

  "Th
anks, I hadn't had an excuse to come to New Port Arthur."

  "How goes things in Minnesota?" I said.

  "The alien portal device doesn't look like it can reach outside the solar system," she said. "That means a ship, and that improves our chances of getting everyone back."

  "Good luck," I said.

  "We may need it," Omegaburn said. "Some of our supposed allies in the army want to send a nuke through and just blast the ship apart, calling the prisoners acceptable losses."

  "That can't have gone over well."