"Shadowdemon," Mallory said, "That one sounds familiar. Were you in the news recently?"
"Yes," I said.
One of the other deputies leaned over. "Mallory, he's the one that took out that giant robot that attacked New Port Arthur."
"Oh, right. What brings you here?"
"I've been asked to keep an eye on the Scya while you guys handle the crowds. His security detail is already on their way to pick him up. With any luck, this will be nice and boring."
"Well, in that case, he's over by the spices. I think he's close to having an alien anxiety attack."
I stepped past the line of deputies and moved towards the aisle with a sign for 'Spices and Seasoning'. I'd seen pictures of Scya before, even video, but seeing one in the flesh was a whole different matter. It'd probably have had a greater impact if I hadn't met other aliens before. Seeing him in such a mundane setting gave the whole situation a surreal quality.
He was short for a Scyan male, standing only about six-foot-six. They averaged between seven and eight feet. Despite their height, they had a non-threatening build, slender and stick-like. The Scyan body had bilateral symmetry: two eyes, two arms, three legs. The third leg wasn't shaped the same as the other two, having evolved from a tail. The thin arms ended in hands with four long digits, two fingers and two thumbs. One thumb sat on either side of the narrow palm. The head was sharply triangular. The eyes were massive, taking up a large portion of their face. Each bore two hourglass-shaped pupils stacked vertically. The only other facial feature was a fleshy proboscis which twitched and curled in a manner which looked like nerves to me. What little exposed skin there was was tan with pale orange spots.
He wore a suit of the same material as mine that covered much the same amount of his body. His was a dark blue with lighter blue on the hands and around the collar. Floating just above his head, a little off to the side, was a translator drone. Others had described them as resembling floating hamburgers, and the description was fairly apt. It was made of black plastic, but the shape and the indented ring around the middle fit the hamburger analogy fairly well. Admittedly it would fill most of a dinner plate if it wasn't flying.
Seeing me approach, his eyes turned to me. Around the pupils, they were amber, which faded to a navy blue along the edges. There was no distinct change from the irises to the outer areas, and no white to be found. He clasped his hands together and gave a slight bow. He made a noise whose harmonics I couldn't even fully distinguish. The translator drone spoke in a calm monotone. "Greetings," it said.
"Greetings," I said. "I'm Shadowdemon, what's your name?"
The Scya tilted his head slightly to the side as the translator drone turned my words into sounds I was physically incapable of making. After a moment, his response came back. "You have not worked with Scya before," he said. "Our names are reserved for close friends and family. With new acquaintances, we use titles. Though we do understand that you use names in a more open fashion."
"I see. Well, what is your title?" I asked.
"Junior Adjunct Clerk, Earth Embassy."
"That's a bit long," I said. "Would it offend you if I used a shorter version to address you?"
"I will not take offense," he said.
"I think I'll call you Jace."
"I do not understand."
"It's an initialism from the first letters in the title in English," I said.
"It is also a human name."
"It does have that advantage," I said.
"Very well," Jace said. "I will not object to that form of address."
"Thank you for being understanding, Jace."
"I am trying to learn how to be a diplomat," he said. "It requires understanding alien cultures."
"Your title doesn't sound particularly high up."
"It's not. I am the least senior member of the embassy," Jace said.
"Well, Jace, I'm here to keep you safe until your security detail arrives to pick you up."
"I appreciate the gesture. The last crowd of this size broke through the cordon and began pelting me with refuse and small stones."
"Well, this one appears to be more curious than violent, so we might not have any trouble," I said. "But, it's better to be safe than sorry."
"Indeed," Jace said, "Though I should have chosen a less poisonous location to stop in."
"Oh? What's so bad about the spice aisle?"
"On our homeworld, the chemical competition among plants and animals was less pronounced. It was more physical defenses, with either deft and dexterity or strength and durability being the winning strategies. Much of the toxicity you are adapted to is disagreeable to us."
"You're lucky you're here and not Australia, everything there is a hundred times more toxic."
"I am aware of that. However, even theoretical understanding failed to prepare me for poisons advertised as condiments." Jace gestured at a line of hot sauces on one of the shelves.
I chuckled. "Some of these companies might take that as an endorsement."
"It was merely a statement of fact. Capsaicin is quite lethal if ingested in any measurable quantity." Jace paused. "Well, for me, anyway. Your species is clearly adapted to it."
"Don't worry, not everyone likes it."
"By this point I'd expected you to ask me what I was doing this far out on foot."
"I figured if it mattered, you'd mention it. I'm not going to hassle you."
There was a bit of an awkward pause. "I am uncertain how to react to that," Jace said.
"Take it at face value. I'm just here to make sure nothing bad happens and maybe keep you company while we wait."
"I appreciate the gesture. I have not actually had the chance to speak candidly with a human before. I'm told that talking to my security detail distracts them from their work, and the officials I've met have been in formal, strictly regimented circumstances."
"I'm not representative of the population at large, so don't draw any conclusions on humanity based on me."
"What happened to your eye?" Jace asked.
"What?" I was thrown by the sudden change of topic.
"Humans do not tend to opt for bionic enhancement, yet you have an artificial eye. What happened to the original?" The original had been ripped out by an alien surgeon. But Jace didn't need to know that. Besides, it was too greatly linked to my secret identity instead of Shadowdemon.
"That falls into the realm of personal questions. That is, things not discussed without a degree of prior trust."
"Then what is the protocol about such matters?"
"Usually it's politely ignored unless it becomes problematic. With my eye, that means typically never for strangers and new acquaintances."
"I apologize. I meant no affront. I am still learning the skills needed to be a diplomat."
"I'm not offended, it's just... not a topic I want to discuss."
"I understand," Jace said. "I presume we will need a new topic of conversation."
"There is something I've wanted to ask for years, if it's not problematic," I said.
"Ask, or I will not be able to judge."
"What's with this fabric?" I asked, tugging on the sleeve of my suit.
"It is the mechanical counterpressure layer of a Scyan space suit," Jace said. "With a helmet and breathing apparatus, you would be able to operate in a vacuum. Additional layers would be needed for protection against some forms of radiation. Those among your number who wear different cuts would not be able to do so." He pointed at my neck.
"Are you kidding me?"
"No. Attempts at humor are counter-recommended because it does not translate."
"So why does it breathe?"
"The fabric wicks away perspiration so that it can provide cooling by sublimation in low pressure environmen
ts where conductive and convective cooling do not work."
"I see."
Part 2
What had been TNT Research lay in ruins. The shattered remnants of the buildings resembled little more than a burst pustule of cooled lava. Rather than arouse suspicions by trying to hide the presence of Gruefield Eighteen under the TNT compound, the Community Fund hid behind a brazen half-truth. We bought a nuclear missile silo and TNT Research had put labs in the underground facilities. It was a simple answer which left few asking questions why there was a new shed in the ruins and why elevator techs were installing a new lift. Since they hadn't finished, I had to take the stairs down to the main level.
The original launch facility was built deep enough to survive a near miss from a soviet nuclear weapon, so Firegod's attack hadn't gotten deep enough to hurt it. It had cut off external power, so half of the lights were off. A security door at the bottom of the shaft let me into the main tunnel. This tunnel ran all the way from the residential node to the launch facilities. We had no nuclear missiles in the launchers, but two had been used as labs by the TNT staff. A cross tunnel ran between the power plant and the command center. Habit would have carried me into the residential area, but an open door turned me towards the command center.
The crescent-shaped room I entered was mostly dark. The holograph table was off, and two of the massive displays on the outer wall were likewise powered down. The middle display showed a very low-resolution feed from a much more brightly-lit facility downtown. Icerazor sat in a folding metal chair next to our holograph table. He was dressed in a pale blue-and-silver hero suit. I tried not to think of it as a Scyan space suit despite the revelation. His mask was a strip of blue cloth with eye holes. It was knotted at the back of his head in emulation of the pony tail his platinum blond hair was far too short to bear. He was deathly thin, and his left arm was in a sling to remind him not to move the muscles attached to his broken ribs. He'd forgone his red-colored contacts, and his brown eyes didn't fit the overall look.
"I thought you were suspended," he said, a smile cracking the pained expression on his face.
"So?" I asked.
"I'd have thought you'd stay away longer before moping around this place. And in costume no less," Icerazor said.
"I just spent a few hours making small talk with an alien in a grocery store," I said. "I figured I'd check in on how the team was doing."
"I'm still on medical. Jennifer's up at Mercer trying to teach that Keyes kid control. She likes the new headbands, but expected more than two."
"Psychic foci are expensive," I said. "I had to borrow Fund credits just to cover the bill for those two."
"Maybe you shouldn't have broken the first one."
"Oh, come on."
"Lets see. Xiv's around here somewhere being his usual self. Your brother is out trying to learn to drive a stick. Someone apparently told Pam she needed to get out more, so she's 'out,' wherever that amounts to. Your sister's at work, Ben's off trying to teach your brother to drive stick, and I don't know where Ixahau is." He paused. "How did you know to come in here?"
"You left the door open in violation of security policy."
"I can't exactly operate those doors in my state," he said.
"And I'm not exactly team lead right now, so I can't cite you on it."
"Oh. Good." He looked over at me. "One other thing. If I ever loan you my sword again, knock some sense into me. Some souvenir-seeker tried to run off with it."
"The fortune they'd make selling it would almost cover the surgeries to get their arms stitched back on if they tried swinging it around."
"I don't know, you've managed to not chop yourself to pieces."
"Of all my limited achievements, not dying may be the biggest."
"If you're fishing for compliments, it won't work. You've been officially declared a dumbass."
"By my sister," I said. "Her opinion doesn't count."
"Don't you have flying lessons or something?" Icerazor asked. The irritation in his voice caused a slow realization. Talking with broken ribs was probably very painful. I'd hurt enough of my teammates lately.
"I'll leave you be," I said.
"Thank you," Icerazor said, the pain seeping into his voice.
It wasn't exactly 'flying lessons', but the BHA did want to recalculate my premiums. So, I had to meet the adjusters at the Fund's Westbrook Training center. Built around an open-pit mine that had run dry, Westbrook Training Center was regarded as a safe place for powered individuals to test the limits of their abilities. Being a barren hole in the ground, no one would care what happened to it. Clustered on one side of the pit were test centers for more controlled evaluations. My 'entourage' consisted of three bureaucrats from the Bureau of Hero Affairs. One was my case officer, Ms. Reece. Ms. Reece was a rotund, overly chipper woman who'd recently dyed her hair blond. I don't think that was her natural shade given the number of different hair colors I'd seen her with over the years. She was a head shorter than me and twice my weight. She loved the color pink, and had dressed entirely in that shade.
The other two bureaucrats were older men whose mannerisms reminded me of beetles. They spoke to each other in clipped, jargon-laden sentences, laughing at statements that didn't seem the least bit amusing. At least I wasn't alone in that sentiment. Whatever private dialect of English they spoke, Ms. Reece looked to be as ignorant of it as I was. My guess was they'd been in the system too long and the bureaucracy had rotted their brains.
The old ore-processing center at the lip of the pit had been gutted and converted to the first of the test centers. Those down the terraces towards the floor of the mine were new construction. We approached the front door. A somewhat distracted security guard took our identification and looked over our paperwork.
"Purpose of visit?" he asked.
"Actuarial re-evaluation of Shadowdemon's liability rate," one of the beetle-men said. According to the ID that got handed back, his name was Pekkanen. The other older man was Horton.
"You have chamber three. Go on in." The guard stepped aside. The floor of the hallway was made up of diamond-patterned steel plates. The walls were prefabricated cement board. The electrical systems ran through cables visibly stapled to the ceiling. It all looked like it was built to be cheaply replaced. It made sense to me, especially for a place meant to test the limits of rather destructive people.
It took a little wandering to find the door with a massive '3' stenciled on it. The room was a tad anticlimactic. The floor was bare stone, it rose three stories in the air, and had a bank of lights on the ceiling far in excess of what it needed. Some pieces of hardware similar in design to gym equipment sat in the middle of the room. If anything, it looked more durable than standard fare. A lab-coated technician whose name tag read 'Phil Rinaldi' double-checked our identification.
"All right," Rinaldi said. "If I understand correctly, we have a late manifestor and we're not one hundred percent on what he can do."
"I'm standing right here," I said.
"Sorry, what?" Rinaldi looked confused for a second before his eyes came into focus and he looked sheepish. "I knew that."
"I believe the report was, light interferes with his new powers," Ms. Reece said.
"So the question is, how much light, and does the wavelength matter," Rinaldi said.
"I suppose," I said. "Daylight is known to pretty solidly eliminate it."
"All right," Rinaldi said. "That will be our outer bound for these tests. That should be pretty safe, since no one will be exposed to anything they don't get just by walking outside." He turned to a control panel near the door and made some adjustments. "Why don't you go stand in the middle of the chamber and we'll see about collecting some baseline data." The lights came up to the brightness of a sunny day. "With a light color profile identical to sunlight, we're going to get some ba
sic force and speed values."
"Joy," I muttered. Did the bureaucrats really have to watch me pull on cables attached to sensors and run laps around the test chamber? Sure I was in pretty decent shape, but having people watch made me feel like a bug in a specimen jar. In a way, I was. Once Rinaldi had his baselines, he turned off most of the lights save a few dim bulbs to give enough ambiance to not need night vision goggles. I sighed and wrapped myself in shadow. It roiled off my skin, and my body looked like a void within, save for my eyes, which glowed. The real eye glowed red, the fake one blue. To my sight, the world lost every trace of shadow, showing only flat colors.
Gruefield 18 (Tarnished Sterling Omnibus) Page 97
